Dawn
The moon has retracted its roots
while the sky glows like a toaster filament.
The houses below sleep. Few
wake so early to the regimented pop-up of
toast, the kettle’s dominant click.
The foxes are hiding to rehearse for night.
The birds are part of the background. Even
the insects are only extras, now.
Night will empire like mycelium later.
Still, we’ll ask ourselves if love
can survive the cost of living.
These words have meaning.
Remember that the heart
can outweigh more than dusk.
Puddle
A Rorschach test
with unlimited interpretations.
My childhood
clinging like tree frogs,
rain to a cloud,
edging
edging away.
Anti Valentine’s Day Poem
God how the cicada infected
with deadly fungi
attracting unsuspecting mates
reminds me
of you
Christian Ward is a UK-based writer who has recently appeared in Open Minds Quarterly, Double Speak, Obsessed with Pipework, Primeval Monster, Clade Song, Uppagus, and BlueHouse Journal.