1.2poetry

Wild Whispers Poetry Magazine Issue 1:2 October, 2025

as long as it takes for a set of three poets to read
she takes four shots of gin behind the bar
one for each poet and
one for the scar
beneath her right eye

ANA CONSTANTINOU

the smell of coffee
O rapturous aroma
surely God drinks it

RUARI JACK HUGHES

(I am still) healing from him, cracked open now by time and space,
a raw thing, yet unbroken, edges stitched and just holding on,
I eat salt and build myself joy, a home-made gift, to myself.

ALYSHA HERRMANN

Left

I don't want this blue orb to heave
a relief sigh when I die
when all is done and said and I pump out final breaths
I want to have left the world
a better place

DAVE CLARK

resting
flamingo style
on one foot
she contemplates
her history

KATHERINE E WINNICK

faded bruise
a smudge in the rearview
as she drives away

COLLEEN M. FARRELLY

space junk

brother-in-law pretends not
to see me drift towards
the portal in the ceiling
as covid rules are transmitted
by the funeral director

MELANIE CORAM

harmony

across the miles of suburbs,
you in your own bed
and me in mine, we listen
to the same pulse of rain on the roof

STEVE EVANS

blank canvas
an olive shoot paints
the rubble

COLLEEN M. FARRELLY

I’ll take that chitchat to go

it is hard to swallow the decaf of polite chitchat, tongue clawing
at the creamy peaks of mochaccino-ed mundanity

until there is no more flavour to extract, the coffee-grind dregs
of gawky silence swirling at the base of conversation’s cup

DAVE CLARK

lunar

moon in whose lying
light we swore eternal love
has mountains, creations
of violent collisions
in lake waters it quivers

PRAMOD LAD

searching for treasure
beneath the old stone
forgotten purpose
in ancient keys still tangled
with memories and dust

FATMA ZOHRA HABIS

angry angel

reserved in faded silver
the thread of my spider veins
a skeleton leaf

DARRELLE SPENCELEY

cinnamon, sugar, coffee

cafe pilgrims ghost
alleys, hover for cul-de-sac
parking, suck at air pockets, nerves
wadding like crushed paperbag balls

SAMANTHA BOSWELL

ring of green bottles
where the roadhouse girl whistles
round the parched pear tree

JOSEPH HOWSE

on vinyl

needling black spirals peel
tunes from the outside
in sounds cease, centring,
poised, until that final
true clickclack of return

SAMANTHA BOSWELL

all this universe
galactic immensities
I’ve nothing to wear

DEAN WILLIAMS

harboured sailboats
the carillon of sheets
against metal masts

JENNY SHEPHERD

change of life
the moon releases
its hold

SONDRA J. BYRNES

potential

a wave was building. it had potential;
broke surged and drove a salient onto dry foot-printed sand
left a smooth apron on its retreat
for comrade waves to attack higher
on the incoming tide.

ANDREW HAYDEN

faraday cage

sometimes the best lightning
can be made with a few socks
and an unassuming sister.
I wish I could say I built
a faraday cage before the next zap!

ANGELA ACOSTA

light on river

tea stained river water
shivered by morning wind
sunlit dimples ruffle surface

VERONICA LAKE

harbingers

bees tumble hazy
from blossom’s centre
almond petals drift slow
follow a path of whimsy
leading to spring

VERONICA LAKE

new fashioned

i reach to touch the plastic stars
a greater miracle than birth somehow
these centimeters towards valor
giant jeans now house my little boy
luminous at his rarest

VERONICA TROUP

high ekphrastic sky
gymnastic clouds ovulate
puffy babies swirl

MIKE JURKOVIC

the security guard
scrutinises
shoppers' movements -
I hide my dismay
at the cost of living

ANNE CURRAN

retreat

we shrink our world under the covers
sun filtered through broderie anglaise
frangipani cast reindeer ear shadows
on pineapple-coloured walls

MELANIE CORAM

the long breath out

at the school gates
I let go
of my daughter's hand
and the best part of myself

CELIA JENKINS

below the cliffs
where pounding waves
grind rock to sand
I find a grotto and traces,
visitors who passed this way

MARILYN HUMBERT

autumn wind
umbrella takes a walk
without me

MARTINA MATIJEVIĆ

I lost my dog
but later I found him
in all other dog’s eyes

MARC BRIMBLE

escaped bird

I’m sorry my attention flew
out of the window
I know you had many important
things to say
but I saw a silhouette against the sky

MARC BRIMBLE

delusions of grandeur

the ibis, tagged D44, rummages for crumbs
under our table, then walks off
with head high, with a sense self importance
thinking it’s in a place that calls it sacred

COLLEEN KEATING

want

womb
is my house empty
absent of commander in this labyrinth that is my name sake

LEONE GABRIELLE

the wind is trying its entropy fingers
on the walls / without maintenance
even a website slowly falls apart
its code may stay the same but that
all around it changes

JACKSON

seafarer

I sit fast like barnacles and limits cling,
seagulls cry and swoop above the churning waves
which break – my heart – oh relentless, cyclical,
waiting for my love

CELIA JENKINS

I

I steal a bit of poise
in this metalic metropolis
and let weakness drive my choice
to put me at ease. time's shadow
is in my mind's meadow.

PRATIK MITRA

cardamom

i make preparations for tomorrow using lotions
draw the house blinds and become unseen
cardamom pods float in milky liquid
whilst i contemplate
conceptualise never waking up

MICHELLE DARK

kidney disease

steroids eject you far from ward 9c, orbiting
alpha centauri with dr smith, penny and judy,
drugged morning rounds performed by shadow
figures, footless attendants to hospital beds

SAMANTHA BOSWELL

catching the eye

a flick of a flicker's tail
a scarlet rush of tanager
a flutter of bunting blue
eye
consider yourself caught

JOHN GREY

touch me
when you have time
maybe later today
tomorrow in your free hour
touch me

ANDREW FLETT

how
a small beetle can
decimate
a forest

ROSE VAN SON

needle for the stitching

you have to earn a squinty access
through the steely eye
a few words about precision,
patience and the cyclops
of mending

KATRIN TALBOT

emergence

the quaking shock of early motherhood
soft folded moth-like wings
damp with milk, perspiration and cord blood
steeped in dreams of catastrophe

DAISY THOMAS STONE

snowy village –
sliding into the new year
with a spicy raclette

MINH-TRIÊT PHRAM

I listen to the sounds of morning
the birdsong and the hum from factories
and wonder with expectation
what fabulous joys the day has in store for me

OWEN O’SULLIVAN

deja vu
a character in the novel
tells my story

WILBERT SALGADO

auntie

you would have told us to forgive him your murder
like God asks us to forgive. you would have told us
not to dwell on its violence because you loved the Lord

you are home now, in your favourite pink dress
praying for your druggie son, like you always were

WENDY BEACH

you always leave me feeling
like you’ve got something planned
but won’t say what it is

ANA CONSTANTINOU

Selector: Tim Parkin

Wild Whispers Poetry Magazine Issue 1, Volume 2
In honour of Lyn Marie 11th April, 2025.
Please pray for her soul and for the souls of women killed in family violence situations.

IMG: Lyn and Ruth
Auntie. We love you and miss you so much. Peace and comfort.