Etiqueta: poetry
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“Tanka” by Wayne F. Burke
night dark as burnt toastI would not eat thoughGrandma insisted burnttoast good formy teeth Copyright © 2025 Wayne F. BurkeAll Rights Reserved
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«The sticky web» by Ken Tomaro
8 am on Tuesdayand I’m eating a bowl of cerealwatching a spider suck the soul out of a mothbefore he wraps it in a cocoonseems like we’ll both have a busy day Copyright © 2025 Ken TomaroAll Rights Reserved
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«MY MOTHER’S LOVER» by Kabir Deb
The house trembles with my breath,signing off the head. Paradingthrough those tiny squaredwindows. My mother loves a strangeman. He feeds on her breath,sleeps on her thighs. She patientlytightens the legs when he asksfor it, and quickly broadens herheart to hold him close! I think of the man like a lie.Often…
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«Looking for Father» by Ma Yongbo
My mother passed away in the summer.I was at sea in the summer.The waves of freedom were endlessly spreading towards the horizon.Butterflies traveled with the ship, often landing on the ship’s side. After a long time, I returned to land.My brothers and sisters were busy packing our luggage.They didn’t tell…
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«Decaf Espresso» by Gary D. Grossman
Words thatshould nevercomingle—insentence or cup. Copyright © 2025 Gary D. GrossmanAll Rights Reserved
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soul stabbing wounds by Bogdan Dragos
“Isn’t it odd?” she would say, “that as a writer your father has such a limited vocabulary when speaking to us, his family?” Yes, mother. That is very odd. I don’t know how it came to be this way… The boy would only think of these words, never utter them…
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«after work» by John Yamrus
icome home, walkinto the kitchen and throw my wallet onthe counter. thenmy pens, mycards andfinally mykeys, whichslide along the counter, spin,do a little dance and finallycome to a stop. some day so willi. Copyright © 2025 John YamrusAll Rights Reserved
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«Sprezzatura» by Pete Mladinic
Nonchalance, like Jeter robbing a hitfrom Suzuki at short in Seattle,an away-game, making it look easy;like an Ester Willams water balletin an early 40s flick, bodies like flowers,three rehearsals for one shot. I thought it was ease under pressure.What you don’t have,not you, dear reader, necessarily,but a you who goes…
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Untitled by Mehran Hashemi
the bird and my heartfeel each otheras they long for freedomone from the cageand the otherfrom the ribcage Copyright © 2025 Mehran HashemiAll Rights Reserved
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Forest for the Trees (a Return) by Laura Bennett
Image by Kevin from The Beginning at Last Returning to the forest After a long while Rustling breeze of trees Always make me smile The first time I came Among season of Spring With deep green leaves And blue birds that sing Now darker upon Autumn The air is mysterious …
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A TAP LEFT RUNNING by Gregg Norman
Feeling farmerish in a flat deck FordBut there is a novel on the seatAbout the way dogs thinkI wouldn’t show it to my neighborLest he think me a transplanted fool Sign at the well says if you drink thisWe won’t be responsibleBut town water is yellow with treatmentsThis community well waterIs…
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THE DOOR by Carl Scharwath
{A story poem} In the quiet of twilight, where the edges of dreams blur with reality, an old man stands before a door. It is not just any door; it is the door. Weathered wood, splintered by time, and hinges rusted with a forgotten life. The door stands as a sentinel…
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«VACANT ROOMS» by Strider Marcus Jones
take my thoughts with you,as I cast them into the ocean,and let the seagulls drown my words,from cliffs where clouds sweep low. wild, wind-swept spray, spitsat time turned rocks,and stands them impotent too-on sands that shift: like truths, turned false and cut loose,like flesh, that fades on a bone-bleached sky;it…
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«Acorn» by Julie A. Dickson
I thought I recognizeda gnarled oak upon this pathmy eyes search the tree line –perhaps I am mistaken Acorns at my feet rollamong roots and brushI hear a far-off crylone red-tailed hawkgliding lazily abovereminding me of somethingjust beyond the edge of thoughtoutcropping of rock aheadstands as sentry to beyond I…
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Seguidilla of the Sky by Valentí Gomez i Oliver / Photograph by Marga Clark
Hun-ab-kú, the firts God Of de Mayan world. Itzanmá, Godo f Sky. Rhirteen heaven exist; Hells, only nine, Where the lords of the night Slumber for all of time
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Ç’est la Guerre by Walter Bargen
It was not his intention,to sit quietly, hands together restingin his lap, holding each other in orderto comfort and assure, as if they no longerwere headed in different directions,as if to convince him of the wholeness of his sitting. Eyes closed wanting only to be a listener,reduced to pure vibration,…
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