Ploom #078 Recovered Liane McKay A bee hums over jaggy tips of gorse.The ferns have unclenched their fists and they tickle me green as I pass.Clouds sweep the horizon, puffedas if the same crystallised breath we blew out at the year’s end. I remember staring from the windowthrough January grey at dead hillsides, mute and drainedof colour and […]
Ploom #077 Precious dusk NL Whiteley silver opaline sky polished by bats in fingerprint-whirl flight NL Whiteley NL Whiteley is an office manager from London. She started writing during Covid lockdowns and hasn’t stopped yet!
Ploom #076 Dandelion Michael Finney A child reaches a hand to the grasspicks a puff of seedsdraws it to their lipsand blows. We scatter on the breezeas dandelion milk stickies a hand.The stalk is cast away. The year turns.When we have settled, the child reaches againwith a secret smilepicks another dandelion puffand blows. Michael Finney Michael
Ploom #075 When Death Comes Calling Lyndsey Croal When Death came to call, I was planting flower bulbs in the garden. There was a strange whistling sound before their descent. Like an arrow piercing the air. Then, Death landed with a thud on the newly unearthed soil. A moan of something like pain. A wing
Ploom #074 Dance of the Midges Nikita Parik Lying skywards on a wooded bench by the loch, eyes looking up at an evening descending, an explosion of ebony forming & unforming galaxies in shifting spirals: now a DNA now a bird’s nest, now the shape of a serpentine river that flows through this city, until
Ploom #073 For sale: childhood memories Mixed bundle including (but not limited to) rainy holidays, school parents’ nights, first kiss. Middle child, no family pets, distant fatherWould interest collectors and curious alike Selling as lot, needs gone ASAP£40 ono. Swaps considered Liane McKay Liane McKay is a poet from Hamilton. Her work has appeared in magazines and
Ploom #072 An experiment with ChatGPT Amidst Scotland’s embrace, soor plooms, a taste of grace. Sour petals, hues so bright, unveiling flavours, pure delight. Childhood whispers, secrets shared, tongues tingling, memories bared. In sweetness found, a soul blooms, soor plooms, love’s sweet perfumes. Editor’s note Intrigued about the growing field of artificial intelligence and learned
Ploom #071 Ghost in the Machine Hilary Ayshford My washing machine is haunted. Two months ago one of my husband’s black socks went missing. That in itself is not unusual, but since he is a creature of habit and always buys the same brand and colour it never takes long for a stray to find
Ploom #070 A Trick of the Dappled Light Ellen Forkin I wanted to believe in something. Ghosts. Dragons. Will-o-the-wisps. I stood at the edge of the forest, peered into the dark and deep. I trod through derelict houses, touched their decay. I counted the standing stones, once, twice, waiting for lightning to strike. An unearthly
Ploom #069 Time Katy Ewing I’m using A.I. to colourise old photos, my late dad as a toddler, suddenly his knitted jersey and underpants made of coloured wool, not just a texture of greys, his curls golden, his cheeky smile brought alive and maybe even more astonishing, the lawn and hedges green and living, lifted
