Etiqueta: poetry
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Tea, Anyone? by Tina Hudak
Rabbit holes abound here hidden beneath dead tree stumps, among the wild back yards wooded in pines. At dusk, at the magic time, when one imagines]movement -is it real or imagined, the rabbits, large and brown, move stealthy among low lying hostas and stairways to heaven. Despite my despair at …
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Leaving (It’s Time Now) by Paul Tristram
A big old bag of ‘New Beginnings’ … take it and RUNNNNN!!! Don’t look Back, except to marvel at the Distance you’ve made… when safely out of Reach of the Past which tried to DESTROY you. Bet on Tomorrow, whilst Planting ‘Seeds’ Today. A much clearer Vision is always Gifted…
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Handcuffs of Galaxy by Friscia Magbanua
Handcuffs of Galaxy by Friscia Magbanua In the beginning, there was darkness—quiet, complete, untouched.Then you spoke—and it felt like: let there be light.You put stars inside me.Not gently—but like ignition.Like something inside me had to break openjust to make space for them.They grow day by day—too bright, too many, too…
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“Footprints in the Sand” by Bill Tope
Her name was Gilreathand she was fifteenyears old. She was not readyto start a family, tocarry the issue of herabusive stepfatherto term. She wanted nurturingparents and friendsand love. Two wrongs don’tmake a right,she was told.Then why are youabusing me twice?she asked. There were wetprints in thesand to showwhere the girlstoodbefore…
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Motor Park by Uchechukwu Onyedikam / Christina Chin
Agege motor park an ọmọ ọta scarface diesel coughs the dying neon flickers — Uchechukwu Onyedikam / Christina Chin
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The Saddest Lines After Pablo Neruda and Johannes Pietsch By: Alexis Araneta
The Saddest Lines After Pablo Neruda and Johannes Pietsch By: Alexis Araneta I’m done writing the saddest linesYet the onyx silk sky still stretchesOver two lands groaning in the duskAnd the sapphire stud constellationsStill shiver from lightyears away I’m done writing the saddest linesMy tongue’s vanilla clouds have dissipatedAnd the…
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The Soap by Kushal Poddar
A thin sliver of soap, translucent, glycerine, slashes my skin. I hold it before my eyes. It filters the toilet, washroom into a slow sunset scene. Blood and drawing structures- where have I seen it before? I drop to my knees as if memories is a thick mist puddled near…
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DYNASTY OF DUST AND SULFUR by: Khaley Dela Rama
DYNASTY OF DUST AND SULFUR by: Khaley Dela Rama The republic sounds like a cathedral bell with cracksWe can still hear its loud ringsBut every peal comes with scripted yellsThe chambers holding their own gavelsLike butchers that polishes their cleaversRecurring surnames skulking across the earth-toned hallMistaken the government for inheritance…
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HOLDING HIS NAME by Margaret Watson
It feels softer now, yet its depth never alters. Any cuts sustained from cliff edges no longer matter. The passing of years has never changed the vista. The leaves may have fallen on many autumns, still, I will not let go. And yet, it does feel softer since I loosened…
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“in which you become the spaces” by Yongbo Ma, Helen Pletts, and Nolcha Fox
Art by Ken Tomaro in which you become the spaces of white tailored openings in morning light,the bold of red withstanding winter in the rose hips,the tiny shape of these in red, incrementally,as they mirror each of us in redness on the branches (Helen) You are the spaces between breaths…
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«My Odyssey» by Maritess B. Javelona
«My Odyssey» by Maritess B. Javelona Life, from the spectacles of my childhood, was simple, so easy, T’was, then, when my world started revolving around my family, Watching the naughty baby and doing errands for my mommy, Banana cue from a street vendor, a reward that made me happy. Playing,…
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Midnight words. by John Coyote
1- Savior.Sweet blue eyes girl told me.You ask for so little.We have so much to give and we open up the desire love so rarely.Love can be a sweet treasure.You can be someone savior or live in regret of walking this life alone. 2- Midnight.Midnight sweet,midnight wild.Secret places and secret…
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«Spanish Harlem»
SPANISH HARLEM The number 6 linecarves righteously through116th and Lexington Avenue:El Barrio.Red beans,Medalla Light.Tito Puente on a distorted speaker.Dominoes.Cardboard shoesdancing on the cracksfrom where no water rises.Tenements,Sirens,The only melody freely profferedBy the city.Gun versus gun.Police sort them outaccording to their accent.Red, white and bluein shades and different patterns.Smoke spears throughThe…
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Ghosts in Breakers Creek by Tony Ashenden
In muddy mouthed Portsea Creek unwatched forgotten ships lay beached and breathless dashed and smashed weather beaten cut and bled picked and broken by the dockside’s stooping crane’s bill slowly dying. Their final journeys to the shallows scraping barnacle crusted bottoms over shingle groaning past the red flagged gunnery range…
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Ars Poetica by Smitha Vishwanath
Ars Poetica by Smitha Vishwanath You want to write poetry still your minduntil-there’s only the faint sound of your breathing, hush your nerves –all that breathless blabbering, your headfinds it hard to keep up Shhh… let everything around you go backstagekeep your eyes open or close Breathe in, count to…
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she thought by John Yamrus
of the cold, dark river and she thought of the boy who jumped or was pushed and she thought of the clouds and the sun and the sky, all of which would never change no matter what.
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