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Nightplayer My dad loves football He even plays it in his dreams. Mum doesn't mind, But when the whistle blows she screams. a poem by Liam

The Existential Grid by Peter Christian Ness We are born into an invisible grid, each and every one of us Intersubjective, but never intertwined. What does it…

Picture framed by Rebecca McDade I'll paste into the future plan places I must go sights I'll see, things to be heard knowledge I must know then I'll frame up…

SILVER THREADS by Joel Moody How sad the years do beckon back Our thoughts along Life's beaten track; And visions of the long ago Float round us as they come…
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