Oatleaf

Editor's Note: Congratulations to Helen Smith for winning this month's competition!

... My feet fall down the centre Of the old high street Right past the boarded windows And long closed doors, Your feet fell too, beside mine On the old high street Corners of your mouth turned down At cold dead stores. A hundred other feet fall On the old high street Faces pointed downward and Awash with blue You tugged my sleeve and pointed Down the old high street At zombies that surrounded Both me, and you They shuffled through the shambles Of the old high street None set foot inside a shop All baskets full We stood there, in the centre Of the old high street Whilst husks just wandered, soulless Down the high street new. ... Luke Meyers is a Welsh writer and poet who started writing during Lockdown. He has been published in anthologies by Icebreakers Lit, From One Line, and Muse Pie Press, as well as writing on Bluesky. @sonnetsmith.bsky.social

... She is in a transient state, Between woman and rock, The ripples in the pool, Prance around her Like fish or beggar children, Her hair has begun To thicken and green And her heart, is solid now ... Bernard Pearson's work appears in over one hundred and thirty publications worldwide, including; Aesthetica Magazine, The Edinburgh Review, Crossways, and The York Literary Review. In addition, he is the author of three published novels. In 2017, a selection of his poetry ‘In Free Fall’ was published by Leaf by Leaf Press. In 2019, he won second prize in The Aurora Prize for Writing for his poem Manor Farm. www.abookatberntime.uk

... take me down to the sea, i said, the one that smells like love and sex and broken things. he took me hand in hand, my wayward heart in his other palm, and promised he wouldn’t let go until i was ready. we walked on damp sand, kicked up mists of wind and water, and i could taste the salt on my lips. i asked him why he had taken so long to find me. he looked at me with an understanding smile. sometimes it takes a while for people to melt into each other, he said. you were just too hard and i was too busy being cold. i had time to kill, so i spent it slowly melting away, like a clock that hangs on the wall, except time doesn’t stand still. when we reached the end of our walk, where water met land and we couldn’t go any further without getting wet, we sat down and watched as the sun started sinking into the horizon, casting orange light across the sky. ... Claudia Wysocky is a 16-year-old Polish poet based in New York, celebrated for her evocative creations that capture life's esse...

... without you, an old, rusty, rickety- rackety farm truck on dusty, rugged, unpaved roads, moving more side to side than forward, with me hanging, like the charm, to the rearview mirror, swinging uncontrollably with the slightest of bumps. With you, it is a gentle perfume nestled in the grooves of the crooked fate lines of my palms that evaporates into thin air, as I struggle to stop it in clenched fists, and ’am left with two tired, sweaty hands. Empty… ... Joseph K. Wells is a poet and healthcare executive from Ohio, born in India. His poems have found a home in nearly two dozen journals and lit mags. https://paperonweb.wordpress.com  Each stanza of this poem was previously published as a standalone poem with separate headings in The Scarlet Leaf Review and Napalm and Novocain, respectively.