Size / / /

Brought into being
with a cosmic slap on the bottom.
Consigned to oblivion
by the blown fuse
of an imploding star.
In between,
nothing of consequence,
the weather was changeable,
the butterflies,


Copyright © 2001 Derek Adams

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Derek Adams was born in East London, England in 1957. He has worked as a professional photographer since leaving school and has been working as a photographer at the Natural History Museum, London, since 1984. Derek has previously had poems published in Apostrophe, Poetry Nottingham, Red Lamp, Sol, Southend Poetry, Tears in the Fence, The Whistle House, and Winedark Sea (Aust.); his short stories have appeared in Udolpho, House of Pain, and Writers Muse. For more about him, visit his Web site.

Bio to come.
Current Issue
5 Jun 2023

Jackson sat at Kay’s bedside, one of her hands laid atop his, palm to palm, fingertips against the soft inside of her wrist. His fingers measured her temperature and pulse, her blood pressure, and her blood oxygen levels. She was no weaker or stronger today than yesterday. He was unsurprised and uneasy. Her vitals were regular with sleep. She had been resting when he returned from the shore.
You do not mean this as slang.
certain people of the town go outside, kick off their shoes
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