Monday, June 26, 2017

Sweet Memories by Desiree Cady

I can still feel your breath on my skin
Your lips down my spine
I can still taste your kiss
As your lips touch mine

I can still hear the sound of your voice
As you whisper my name
The touch of your hands
As they slide down my frame

As clear as the memories
Are in my head
I wish we were in the flesh
Reliving them instead

©2017 Desiree Cady All Rights Reserved

I am a 33 year old mother of two beautiful girls who have been my saving grace. After a brutal attack a few years ago, I have been plagued by PTSD. After the attack and a few suicide attempts, I vowed to tell my story and help inspire others to get help and to know that they are not alone. 
I am currently wrapping up two manuscripts for publication and am set to be published in an upcoming anthology that will come out mid - November.
You can find more of my work at 

That night I just caught that train by Rajnish Mishra

That night I just caught that train.
For never return. I did not stay 
At home, just left. 
What was it? Inertia, inaction,
Prophetic soul? The Prince and I,
Pathetic both, with self-inflicted wounds and pain,
Nostalgia: missing home.

They’re wrong who say that home is 
Where heart is. 
No, it’s actually where stomach is,
And job is, and monthly paycheck is, 
and the savings account.
Heart is gentle, what worst can it do?
Compare that to stomach’s doings and see 
who wins. Stomach, once aroused, rumbles and grumbles
And pushes the body it owns, 
our body, 

Rajnish Mishra is poet, writer, thinker and blogger. He has published more than a dozen books, and has edited six anthologies. He runs his own poetry ezine: PPP Ezine and blogs and

Friday, June 23, 2017

Miss Me at Sunset by Blanca Alicia Garza

Miss Me at Sunset

When I'm forever gone,
bury me between the lyrics 
of your most beautiful poem 
so I'll never be forgotten. 

When I'm forever gone,
seek my essence among 
the petals of the white rose,
or with the smell of freshly 
brewed morning coffee.

When I'm forever gone,
Seek my voice in a sweet 
songbirds sonnet, or with
sounds of calm raindrops 
upon an old tin roof.

When I'm forever gone,
scatter my ashes in winds
like seeds of a Dandelion.
For once I'm forever gone, 
miss me at every sunset and
feel my touch at every dawn.

Bio: Blanca Alicia Garza is a Poet from Las Vegas, Nevada. She is a nature and animal lover, and enjoys spending time writing. Her poems are published in the Poetry Anthologies, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze", and "Dandelions in a Vase of Roses" now available at Blanca's work can be found in  The Poet Community, Whispers, The Winamop Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, Tuck Magazine, Raven's Cage Ezine, Scarlet Leaf Review as well as Birdsong Anthology 2016, Vol 1.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Virtual Love by Joan McNerney

Virtual Love

full of hyperbole
& alliteration drifted
into the wrong e-mail box.

There she met an erudite
rich text format file.
They became attached.

Her fleeting metaphors
lifted his technical jargon.
They were a word couple
spinning through cyber space
giddy with inappropriate syllables.

Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days.  Three Bright Hills Press Anthologies, several Poppy Road Review Journals, and numerous Kind of A Hurricane Press Publications have accepted her work.  Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four Best of the Net nominations. 

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Last Stop Willoughby by Michael Ceraolo

There was an episode of The Twilight Zone
that first aired May 6, 1960
titled A Stop at Willoughby,
the city of Willoughby has an annual festival
called Last Stop Willoughby,
                                           with a parade
and an airing of the TV episode
and several other festivities
there was an episode of real life
that could also be called Last Stop Willoughby
much more interesting than either

Christmas Eve 1933
the churches would be doing double duty
Josephine Kilmczak,
                                5'4" tall,
with auburn hair and hazel eyes,
as Sophie to her family
(parents, five sisters, three brothers)
had arrived here yesterday
(or possibly even before that;
the aftermath of subsequent events
there would be tales of reported sightings of her
before her confirmed arrival,
one that she had been kicked off
a streetcar in neighboring Kirtland
two days earlier)

She had found lodging
in a boardinghouse on Second Street
(or Third; accounts differ)
run by Mrs. Mary Judd
                                   (or Miss;
either way Ms. hadn't been coined yet),
when she awoke on this day
she asked Mrs. Judd about church services
and wished her a Merry Christmas

When she left the boardinghouse
she was carrying a suitcase
and was dressed appropriately
for the seasonable weather
                                         (for good reason
she would later be called The Girl in Blue),
a blue dress
a blue sweater
blue shoes
a blue coat
a blue scarf
She was carrying a blue purse
that had in it ninety cents
and a train ticket to Corry, Pennsylvania

She walked about a quarter-mile,
when passing the Willoughby Village Cemetery,
authored two mysteries,
                                    one of which
was never (and will never) be solved

She suddenly dropped her suitcase,
sprinted a half-mile to the train tracks,
where she was struck by a passenger train
and sent flying onto the gravel siding
No blood
No visible wounds
But dead nonetheless

Since she had no ID on her,
who she was was Mystery Number One
The town's residents unofficially adopted here,
a local funeral home preparing the body for burial
and letting her lie in state for two weeks
in the hopes that someone would ID her
and claim the body,
when no one did so,
the money for her tombstone

               IN MEMORY
                  OF THE
             GIRL IN BLUE
           KILLED BY TRAIN
        DECEMBER 24, 1933


then buried her in the village cemetery

Five years later her brother Leo
showed up and ID'ed her,
the cemetery sexton didn't write down
her last name,
                      nor could he remember
the correct spelling or pronunciation,
The Girl in Blue resumed her anonymity,
she remained for the next fifty-five years

When the local rag wrote a story
on the 60th anniversary of her death,
the story made its way
to a paper in Corry, PA,
it was read by one Edward Sekerak,
a realtor who,
was at the time involved in selling the Kilmczak farm
Mr. Sekerak remembered Leo had said in an affidavit
that his sister Josephine had died
on Christmas Eve 1933
When this information made its way to Willoughby,
the mystery of her identity was solved,
it took another decade for a second headstone,
this one bearing her name,
to be placed lying flat on her grave

And today,
under a mulberry tree
in the center section of the cemetery,
people of all ages visit her grave
and leave
                 flowers real and plastic
                 and other mementos
in order to connect with her,
contemplating the unsolved mystery
of why

I wonder if Serling,
was nine at the time of her death,
used Willoughby in the title of the episode
for the same reasons

Bio:  "Michael Ceraolo is a 59-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet. This poem is from Book Three of his encyclopedic epic, Euclid Creek:  A Journey, about the place where he lives. Book One was published by Deep Cleveland Press and Book Two is forthcoming from unbound content press."