Saturday, July 21, 2018

At the Crossroads by James Dennis Casey IV

At the Crossroads  

They who seek
And kindness

It will be found

They who seek
And darkness

It will be found

For I
Have been down
Both paths

There comes a time
In every life
For reevaluation
Self reflection

Will you like what you see?

To truly love
One must love

Perfect imperfections
Make us
Who we are


Study the lines
Of the face
That run parallel
To the palm

We all have a path
Unique to each
Yet all the same

The wrong roads
Can lead
To the right ones
If we listen 
To our hearts
At the crossroads

©2015 James Dennis Casey IV

James D. Casey IV is a southern poet with roots in Louisiana & Mississippi. He currently resides in Illinois with his Muse, their 
 dog, and two black cats. He has authored three books of poetry: 
Metaphorically Esoteric, Dark Days Inside the Light While Drunk on Wine, and Tin Foil Hats & Hadacol Coins. His work has also been published in print and online by several lit mags and small press venues including Triadæ Magazine, Whispers, Stanzaic Stylings, Indiana Voice Journal, Beatnik Cowboy, Dissident Voice, Scarlet Leaf Review,  Zombie Logic Review, Tuck Magazine, Outlaw Poetry, and many others. Mr. Casey's books and other projects can be found on his WordPress site: 

Van Gogh’s Stars by Paul Tristram

Van Gogh’s Stars

‘Awe’… is such a small word,
but, it is all I have.
Electric blues and lemons…
I am drawn in, magnetically,
engulfed in the splendour 
and wonder.
‘Wow’… there’s another small word,
again, it is all that I have.
It’s one of my all time
favourite paintings.
Unbalances me, inside…
trippy, in a beautiful way.
I shudder and cringe,
whilst smiling.
It’s alive…
flowing, deep river undercurrents,
and the sea… waving
and lapping…
at, and through time.
The surface of the
is merely the tip of the iceberg
(So To Speak).
There are rhythms,
swaying feelings and emotions
at play, beneath…
the tender magic and craftsmanship
of a Genius
painted with childlike innocence
from an asylum east window.

© Paul Tristram 2018

Paul Tristram is a widely published, Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way.

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Being Friends by Joanna M Weston


the words we never say
bind us like a ribbon
that stretches across miles

those words unsaid
laughter that lights our days
or brims into tears

the love unspoken
that trips us both
bumps and moves on
into discoveries
at a table and walked
into memory

JOANNA M. WESTON. Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, raccoons,
a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame
and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry,
 ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, 2016.
Other books listed at her blog:

Monday, July 9, 2018



Depression began the hour of our leaving,
Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist
And still we worried each other still believing
Depression began the hour of our leaving
Holding us captive to a vast simple grieving
As if everything we held onto an empty list.
Depression began the hour of our leaving,
Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist.

Saturday, July 7, 2018

I Am by Angelica Grace Lee

My name is Angelica Grace Lee and I am a first-year Legal Studies major at UC Berkeley. I am a San Francisco native and have enjoyed the vibrant culture of the Bay Area my entire life. Currently, I volunteer in the Bay Area as a San Francisco Police Activities League Cadet Lieutenant and intern for SFPD's Field Operations Unit. I also run a Facebook group called "Kindness in the Darkness" where I share heartwarming acts of kindness in hopes of brightening the days of those who may be suffering from dark times. In my spare time, I like to write poetry, read dystopian fiction, thrift shop, and go to cafes to study with friends.

I Am

I am a fish in the San Francisco Bay

Swimming in and out of the door of opportunity

Moving towards a faint light in the darkness

Am I as sharp as the edge of a broken glass

Burning as bright as the yellow disc in the sky

The questions I used to ask myself?

I used to be as certain as the ending of a mystery book

Aimlessly walking through the well-known fog

Wondering if the world would ever become clear

But now I am a voice cutting through the noise

A soft blanket of hope to warm the despaired

The needle in the haystack of the misunderstood

I’m glad I am a red rose being watered with knowledge

A crystal door that opens with a friendly knock

A butterfly that flies into the hearts of the lonely

I’m glad I’m not the bull’s eye of the shadowed ones

The ones who wear cloaks sewn with the threads of fear

A target of theirs I shall be no longer

You are a dandelion where the wind whistles fiercely

The half used eraser that has been lost and replaced

A person of my past but stuck in my future

I am certain I can be the one who helps you touch the stars

The one who shows you the blue in between the clouds.

I am the one for you, for you were the one for me.