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Mint & Gold Poets 
Chris Rothwell
Pamela Scott
Priya Chouhan
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I Bet

I bet out of all the people you know,

that she's the oldest one you love seeing!

I bet you bask in the warmth of the glow

you feel flowing from her inner being.


Her kisses? Her aura? Her embrace?   

It's hard to explain her essence;             

but, I bet you're in a happy place         

whenever you're in her presence!           


I bet her happy place is with you too,       

and it doesn't matter when or where!        

I bet it doesn't matter what you do;                 

you both cherish the time you share!         


I bet there's a halo above her,        

because she's been your angel from the start!   

I bet that's the reason you love her;       

or is it because she thinks with her heart?


I bet if you were in a fairytale

she'd be your enchanting patroness,

who instinctively shows up without fail

to rescue you when you're in distress!


I bet her love for you is strong and pure,         

like that of your mom and your dad.          

But unlike your parents I bet for sure,                 

that your angel never gets as mad!


Affectionately I bet that she'll be,            

forever and a day nearby!                       

For I bet thinking of her turns the key,        

to happy places in your mind's eye.         

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The Mist

Foggy night, neighborhood wrapped in a dead hush,

unable to see my shaking hands, the mist danced around.


A living nightmare, black, the color of this small world,

footsteps of enthusiastic children fading off.


A haze of steaming coffee, moisture painting my silver-rimmed glasses,

the unclarity, an abode of mistrust.


A folding chair, slippery floor, the balcony fence stood in an upright position,

my arched shoulders reliving the good former times.


Sky, overcast with fear, lights had to be switched on in my room,

the trees were veiled in a fine mist.


The shadow of birds flew past me, frosted toes,

I slept away quietly.

Foggy night - - - - - - - danced around!

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The Secret Stashes

                                                                 I find bottles of beer, wine and

                                                                 vodka all over the house, like little

                                                               bombs waiting to blow up in my face.


I’m sprawled on the couch, drunkenly

making out with some random I

picked up in a bar. I can feel

something hard and cold press

into my back. My fumbling fingers

press against a bottle of vodka,

half-drunk during a binge last weekend.


I’m rummaging around my bed

looking for some nice shoes for a night out.

I notice the box containing my

Manolo Blahnik’s stuffed into a dark corner.

I almost pop my arm out of the socket

stretching under to get the box. I open it

to find my shoes are missing, probably left

somewhere and two bottles of wine have

taken their place. One half-empty.


A week before pay-day I run out of

toilet roll. I’m sure there’s some

stashed away at the back of the cupboard

under the sink. I get down on my

knees and start to go through everything.

There’s no toilet roll but I find several

un-opened six packs of beer. They’ve

been there so long they’re thick with dust.


                                                                           My secret stashes

                                                                     haunt me. They’re echoes

                                                               of a life I’m trying to leave behind.

Image by Hannah Olinger

Chris Rothwell loved teaching, but had to leave the profession early due to Toxoplasmosis, which has left him visually impaired. Thanks to Wise Owl Magazine, Chris can still connect with children through his riddle poems; that he hopes you'll enjoy, and share with others!

Image by Luke Southern

Priya Chouhan has completed her graduation in Economics Honours from St. Xavier's College, Jaipur, Rajasthan (India) and is currently preparing for her Masters. For Priya, poetry is a tool to speak on silent matters. She has been writing poems since 6th grade and  her poems have been published in magazines/journals like Corvus review, the Black moon, Dreich, Brief Wilderness, Literary Yard, Littoral magazine, etc. 

Pamela Scott.webp

Pamela Scott lives in Irvine, North Ayrshire in the UK. Her work has appeared in various magazines including Flash Fiction North, The Poet, Buckshot Magazine, Brilliant Flash Fiction, A Quiet Courage, Allegro Poetry Magazine, and Dream Catcher. She is working on her second novel. 

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