“Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.” — Carl Sandburg



Taidhg Trocmé

As I walk I feel the soft snowflakes on my cheek,

Every step brings the crispy crackle of a twig,

Every breath a cloud of mist.

I hear the sparrows call in little chirps.

They tell me…

Another man is here

He carries a machine

To kill the trees

Suddenly… Silence…

That’s when the woods started to wail.


Golden mango

Benjamin Braun

I remember,

the sweet sour taste

of the cold

piece of mango,

on a beautiful

golden beach

With soft warm sand

Between my toes.



Yves Rinterknecht

The brown bun in

my hands is messy.

The red ketchup drips off

the soft meat.

The green salad that always

annoys me because it sticks out of the bun.

But I love burgers.

When I eat burgers, it’s like

sleeping in my bed,

or not going to school.

It’s like reading an adventure book,

or wearing my favourite flannel trousers.

Burgers are happiness.

The moon 

 Jil Madundo

As the moon puts on its glittering coat 

the children prepare themselves to sleep. 

When the only noise there is to hear  

is the bellowing of a deer, 

the moon bends over  

the peaceful faces of the sleeping children  

and whispers sweet words into their ears.