Poetry

You tell me to shape sounds with my mouth. I tell you, I have left my tongue behind.

he is an endless incoherent sentence in her body if she questions him words will blur letters will change their position explain to me will be

SINÉAD MACINNES On your whistle-stop tour of the Highlandsand Islands our whispers are saidto be heard by native ears O Dhiadè rinn iad?               Oh God              what have              they done? Aon.One. The Barabhas moor on Lewis is empty. Leòdhas –…

He reached into the darkness for the midnight drink to find the glass empty.

A false dawn awakens us. The right time, when the cloud-facts explain us to each other and absorb the spilled light.

Juice All through Tuesday the air smelled like one big orange slice as if I could dip my fingers in the bedroom wall and bring them back coated in syrup. I could eat all the oranges I wanted:I was twenty-one and home for the summer and my dad was dead and love was oranges and…

ILIAS TSAGAS IS A GREEK POET WRITING IN ENGLISH AND IN GREEK. HIS POEMS HAVE APPEARED AT THE SAND JOURNAL, THE SHANGHAI LITERARY REVIEW, THE STREETCAKE MAGAZINE, TINT JOURNAL, THE AWAY WITH WORDS ANTHOLOGY (VOL 4) AND ELSEWHERE. HE WAS ALSO A RUNNER-UP AT THE BRIEFLY WRITE POETRY PRIZE 2021.

Thumbs pressed together at his breast,  fingertips a tingle or two apart, lips a soft horizon of grief, eyes absorbed 

The water will be gentle on your hair, or maybe apple blossom if the season is right, or a handful of paper snowflakes, bubbles or just words, sung as a candle burns, scented with honey and pine.