Categoría: poetry
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“Begin again” by Cynthia Cady Stanton
but this time from a different place thanyou usually inhabit.Not from the ground of judgement.Not from the excruciating angst of perfectionism.This time spring lightly from the soil of grace -that place of freedomwhere all is well, andyou are fine.That place of nurturance from which life springs.Begin again.Not from the energy…
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“Saloon-and-Toy Store” by Sam Moe
glistening with expensive emotions, an obscene love of gelatin, a housefull of dream-cream heat-sensitive beans, please prepare moon oysters and crescent cream cheese boats, I’m particularly soft at the thoughtof your hands on the stove, stirring tortellini or just spooning crested firecracker rice, at times you cease to exist in the bruise,…
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«In My Will» by Michael Lee Johnson
In my will, there will be a pinball machine.A renovated jukebox from American Pickers,a cable TV show. For the taverns, bars,and basements of fun seekers for thosewho long to be free and ferocious.I no longer fear death.Empty vodka bottle by my bed.A dusty Bible underlinedJesus’ messagesin red. Copyright © 2025…
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«The Cascade» by Harrison Fisher
In “The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis,”there is only one movie playing in town,The Monster Who Devoured Cleveland. It has two sequels:the Bride of, followed bythe Son of. In one episode, all three titles appearon the marquee of the Cascade Theateras a “TRIPLE HORROR FEATURE.” We read nuclear family structure…
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“Techno Elemental Akasha” by Shannon Hensley
Meryl Sweep moves across the floorand under the table sucking up yesterday’s crumbsSometimes she gets stuck between the rugand the rubber shoe mat in the entryOccasionally she just seems confusedand even tries to spin out the closed back doorThe door stops are all just the right heightto accidentally turn off…
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“Keeping the Wheels Rolling” by Ken Gierke
Used cars, always about three-years-old. A less-than-modest income ensured that, but you always gave those cars the greatest care. It’s a bit hazy, but I remember a green ’53 Pontiac Chieftain with that iconic hood ornament. Your favorite was the ’56 Buick, painted deep green with the lower panels in…
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«my old dog’s gone deaf» by John Yamrus
my old dog’s gone deaf it happenedpracticallyovernight. the vet sayssometimes ithappens that way. she’s notin any pain, andit doesn’tseem to bother her. when she’sout in the yard, and icall herto come in, shesits there, andstares at me. sameas always. sometimes,i even forgetshe can’t hear me. actually,she never reallylistened to me,…
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Monse…by Francisco Bravo Cabrera
If I were to introduce the sweetest angel,a companion for the sins that grace the soul,who lives close to the crossroads,and I’ll mention,her door is always open for a call.Her arms will always be there to give comfort,She’s always so polite and in control,You’ll dream of her soft touch forever…
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«FIRST TIME I SET FOOT IN FLORIDA, CIRCA 1959» by Suzanne S. Austin-Hill
Student of the dance for about five years;Driving trip south, road-side billboards appear.Mermaids announcing elaborate underwater shows,Lying on their sides smiles hiding Jim Crow.Thoughts of themes, props and music could not be effaced.Drawn like a magnet, Weeki Wachee, the place.Are we there yet? Are we there yet?, nose pressed to…
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“Love during Ice Storm” by Julie A. Dickson
Crystals form from heated breath,my love and I entwined – cannot tellwhere each appendage ends windshield glazed over, translucentlight outlines shape of birds, naydoves on the wing, raptured frenzied flight to ecstasy we reachfor lips, caress down long spinesa-tingle, my eyes see clouds on glass, icy privacy laced in songwaltz plays as bodies…
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“Empathy” by Dawn Pisturino
I feel your painand the darkness that grips youI reach out my arms to youbut you aren’t thereYou’re far away in another nightmarestruggling to hold onI throw you the lifeline buried in my heartbut the distance between us is too wideThe darkness engulfs us both—and I’m losing you. . .…
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«I walk» by Julie A. Dickson
I walk They follow medown this winding pathfeeling both guardiansand stalkers, watchingmy every step as if they know where I go,even if I do not; handsshoved deep into pocketsfor warmth, or to hidethe shaking I can’t stop. I walk slowly, a lone figurebetween fields and patchytrees, swooping noisily as ifto…
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«A Woman on the Verge of Becoming a Twitch Meme» by Alex Carrigan
After Monica Prince I’m seated here before my son’scomputer trying to make sense of whythis box always called for him.Why he had to tan himself with its glow,humming the Windows startup soundinstead of hymns, hands not claspedin prayer but held flat like someonewas going to stab the gaps between hisfingers…
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”The Other Self” by Strider Marcus Jones
the other selfabstracted in the pressof turned down pages,gets mucked up in the messand shows how unlaminated age is.if nothing else-these nude notesbeing played behind the curtainwhere the stage is,by soloist stringsand hermit woodwinds-are far hopesof uncertainopening chordscalling outto the dueti haven’t come to yet.and afterwards,if all those afterwardscould talk…
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“The Hunter” by Christian Ward
CW: childhood trauma Toy guns were forbidden at the battered women’s refuge,so I cocked my nine-year-oldthumb and forefinger into a pistolto blow away imaginary mallardsplaying Duck Hunt with my boredom.Sometimes I’d stalk invisible micescurrying up the curtains. Others, buried like land mines in the carpet,or hidden among the canned peaslike cardboard cut-outs for…
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«Transition» by Eugene M. Gagliano
rushing rapidssettled into rippleswild iris leavesfrayed by hungry deerstagnant pools of algae greengold of sunflowers,golden rod, and sticky gumweedroyal purple of thistleasters and gay featherdays shorten, shadows lengthensummer slips away Copyright © 2025 Eugene M. GaglianoAll Rights Reserved
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