Categoría: little chews
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5 Poems by Lynn White
And Here We Are In Wales This is a grey place,grey slate, grey granite,grey houses built of both.And it rains a lot,vertical, horizontal,or swirling rainfalling greylyfrom heavy misty clouds. But when caught by a sunbeam,it makes glistening slidesshimmering across the slate,and falls in bright white tailsor snakes like silverwhere the…
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“Before the Rain: A Diptych” by Dale Scherfling
I. Dale A young girl steps into the afternoon, and the day lightens, though the sky is low and the air already smells of rain. I’m walking my dog when I notice her two houses away, tall for her age, blond hair streaming beneath a blue helmet as she rides…
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3 Poems by Peter Lingard
Doors Dianain and outup and downround and roundopen and closedon’t let it hit you…Light My Firesafetywoodenironshut Shortlisted in Positive Words Poetry Competition, November 2011 ~~ Empty In the bare, uncared-for house,my footsteps sounded hollow.The vacant hallway wasdevoid of wall hangings,as were the dusty rooms.An abandoned car restedin the cavernous garage,seemingly…
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2 Poems by Fred DeMeo
Rainy Season In the stoic shadow of Diamondhead,UB40 soothes an entire island with cover songs.Underneath a groping banyan tree,A drug dealer, car thief, and drunk driver playRock Paper Scissors.Disease is 18 months in Paradise. I rarely went to the beach,I never had Shaved Ice,I surfed once.Early morning phone calls to…
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“I’m Falling” by H.L. Dowless
I’m ambling quietly through an evening-time garden mist,The ethereal sensation moves me along,I near a stony edge, then my foot suddenly slips,Unto this realm now I no longer belong…I’m falling, I’m falling, I’m plunging,So far down,Where my feet never touch the ground.My arms wave frantically through the air.My poor being…
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“If I Were a Plum Cake” by Snigdha Agrawal
(baked only at Christmas) If I were a plum cake,All fruity, rich, and nutty,You’d find me once a year.At Indian homes aplenty. It’s that time when ovens start to hum,And aunties start their quest.Searching for whiskey and rumMix with ingredients for that extra punch Flour would puff its chest and…
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3 Poems by Bob McAfee
Spider There is a red fly swatteron top of the refrigerator,three steps away from any pointin the kitchen, sure deathfor any airborne invader,no mercy shown. On the windowsillis one of those lidded,round containerswhich originally heldbalsamic vinegarfor a take-out salad. She uses it to capturespiders, gently,easing them into the cylinderthen sliding…
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“The First Face We See” by Carolyn Babjak
Name… Date of Birth? “John Kendall. Twelve-five-eighty-five.” “Have a seat. Someone will call you soon.” Without looking up from her computer, the woman at the desk—her name badge read Judy—slid the glass partition shut with a thud. John Kendall did as he was told and took a seat in the…
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5 Poems by Wayne F Burke
A Crow Swoops with fingertip wings, bouncingonce on thegrass, then taking off–little legs like landinggear–to the roof of thePost Office, gray graniteblock rock solid in Grant-style–the General buriedin the basement besidehis cross-eyed wife, Julia, whileFish & Ward, Grant’s swindlers,installed on an upper floor,condemned to lick stampsonto eternity. ~~ ? a…
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“Sweet Serendipity” by Pegah Rahmati Nezhad
sitting alone in my roomi sawa tiny insect on the wall i jumped to check what it isjust to finda neon green creaturewith lace wingsof the same color i didn’t even know its nameor whetherit’s a friendor an enemy after googling…i realizedit’s harmlessan uninvited friendwho has taken refugein the warmth…
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“Beatrice Entombed” by Devonne Brown
Millard watched the undertakers close the drawer that held Beatrice’s casket, and waited until everyone left the cemetery. A dusty brown cloud followed a parade of black limousines crawling their way up the side of a mountain to the main road. The last thing he wanted was to be part…
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“he wanted to write” by John Yamrus
he wanted to write likeHemingway,but it came outsounding like bad Bukowski. ontop of that,he had nothingreal or new to say,but that didn’t stop himfrom saying it again and again and again.
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“Pumpkin Moon” by W. M. Pienton
It was a foggy night. It was spring. The glow of the full moon cut through the haze. The two sisters sat on the front porch. “I like when you visit. You should do it more often. Orange moon tonight.” Lilly took a drag off a joint. “A Pumpkin Moon.”…
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“THE TAWNIES” by Catherin J Pascal Dunk
for Venie Holmgren Daily walk, dusk on Maple,an upwardly mobile familyspots me first. One swoops from jacaranda,golden-eyed, flashing a death stare—startles me halfway there. Two more shadows fleet,cryptically absorbin cedar tree, harden. I drop, perch lowin my gutter, house dressriding high; knickers exposed. Humans dwell so noisy—clashing music, outdoor phone…
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