Aron Visuals

Time

Heath BrougherOctober 15, 2019

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Rate this micropoetry

Sending

User Review

5 (4 votes)

Time

written by: Heath Brougher

Tomorrow

I
think

now.

About
Latest Posts

Heath Brougher

Heath Brougher is the Editor in Chief of Concrete Mist Press as well as Poetry Editor for Into the Void Magazine, winner of the 2017 and 2018 Saboteur Award for Best Magazine. He is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee and was awarded Taj Mahal Review's 2018 Poet of the Year Award. His latest collections are "Bleeding Backwards" (Diaphanous Press, 2019) and "Change Your Mind" (Alien Buddha Press, 2019). His first book of nonfiction is due out later this year.

Latest posts by Heath Brougher (see all)

What I’ve Learned from Poetry Workshops - February 15, 2020
AMillion Tennis Balls - December 21, 2019
Time - October 15, 2019

Ger White

Gerardine White (mostly called Ger) grew up in wild open country of West Limerick, Ireland. Her country life is represented in her poems and has a strong bearing on her core values and education. She inherited the skill of poetic rhyme from both of her parents and her Grandad – who were all fine poets and storytellers. Her education took place mostly in South West Ireland and the rest of it is gleaned from travel, from life, and from being an avid reader of all kinds of books. In recent years she has returned to poetry writing. This past year seeing her published in four Anthologies from Clarendon House Publications. She sees herself as a Spiritual person, very connected with life in all forms. She is happily married for past 20 years and currently lives in Sussex, UK. She enjoys healthy pursuits of country walks with a nice cuppa tea and chat at the end.

Resurrection by Suzanne Craig-Whytock

On the day that Budgie died, I was young and very sad. He was a pretty bird, always singing in his cage. Sometimes we let him out to fly around, and on that day, the curtains were wide open and he slammed into the glass hard. Momma put him into a shoe box and I cried as we buried him in the back garden among the lilies. The next morning, very early, I snuck out of the house and dug him up with a garden trowel because I wanted to see him one more time. When I took the lid off the shoe box, his eyes were open and his wings fluttered ...