Tag: poem
Best of the Net 2024, Crash, The Hooghly Review https://sites.google.com/view/thehooghlyreview/nominations/2024
Best Short Fictions 2026, Sometimes things grow, ANMLY, https://anmly.org/ap41/eirene-gentle/
Pushcart, 2026, That’s one way it could end, Silly Goose Press, https://sillygoosepress.com/issue-six/one-way-it-could-end
Self-sick
https://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/self-sick-by-eirene-gentle
Have you ever ridden a bike into a lake? It’s not difficult, you just keep going. The bike feels grass and gravel but doesn’t know what to do with water. We’re like that, feeling until we don’t know what to feel. But I don’t tell the girl this.
I’d like to tell her
https://heroinchic.weebly.com/blog/id-like-to-tell-her-by-eirene-gentle
I hate you with the whole of my mouth, she said and I want to tell her to save it.
If we knew would be anything but damp
https://www.electric-pink.org/poetry/if-we-knew-would-we-be-anything-but-damp
We thought our world would flare. Not
burn. But water isn’t often where we need
it. We dreamed of flight/plucked fragile wings
from flying things. We punctured space and left our
Trash. From outside earth is too bright to look at. Is
that why we burned it? There’s nothing more
flammable than human ambition. We
torched little kids like they were
sparklers. If we knew would
we be anything but
damp? Sprinkle us
over the burning.
Soothe this
blistered
world
Time gets suddenly fed up
https://yoursuddenflash.blogspot.com/2026/07/time-finally-gets-fed-up.html?m=1
Time used to shrug it off. The defamation, bargaining and fear but it’s sick of the lies. Time doesn’t march or stand still. It hasn’t stopped, not even once. It’s had enough of blame.
Two stories
We’re the only things that burn and Independence Day, published in Does it have pockets
https://www.doesithavepockets.com/fiction/eirene-gentle-2
My brother had a firefly that danced on a pin. I don’t know where he found it. He pulled me from my bed to show me, down the small hall to the left, three normal steps for him, giant ones for me. His lamp splashed like chocolate coins in gold crinkly paper that disappeared when he flicked it off. My feet itched from cold. I was about to whine when something tiny bounced on his little wood desk.
The end
https://www.claudineliterary.com/eirenegentle
They kept an old lady in the attic and no one cared except it wasn’t an old lady it was a grown woman and they figured she deserved it except it wasn’t a grown woman it was a young girl and they got flustered but it wasn’t their business except it wasn’t a girl it was a young boy…