Posts

Showing posts from October, 2016

Dreams by Lynn White

Dreams


One day soon they'll try to dig up your dreams.
You'll be dead by then,
unable to protect them
any more.

They'll let you rest in peace, but not your dreams.
They'll want them for sure,
they'll want them.
They'll want them to try and find you,
to try and discover who you were.

They'll dig them up, scrabbling amongst the dirt,
seeing what they can find.
Digging up the dirt
to see what they can find 
in there.

They'll discard this piece here, another piece there.
Dross from the dried up remnants,
They'll hang on to the moist bits.
The juicy bits are worth further analysis.

You may be in there.
In your dreams.

Someone else will scrabble to catch 
the dry pieces,
those fragments of dreams thrown away.
The little pieces blown away in the air.
Little snippets,
dreamlets.

But there are flakes of gold hidden there.
I hope they don't find them.


First published in Anti-Heroin Chic, February 2016


Bio:
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social just…

TWO WOMEN IN A CAFÉ TALKING by Michael H. Brownstein

TWO WOMEN IN A CAFÉ TALKING Two women in a cafe talking honestly. "...like an attempt  to murder," one said. The sun lifted its mane behind the clouds. "More like an attempt at suicide," replied the second, and when she laughed, her front tooth wiggled. A soft drizzle rainbowed down the window. "...an attempt at love," answered the first and a blue river opened a path within the clouds. "Yes, that's it. An attempt at love."

This Is How You Compose A Love Poem by Michael H. Bownstein

THIS IS HOW YOU COMPOSE A LOVE POEM
The sparrow hawk in the tree is not who I am, lemon seed, flicker brush, the decay of skunk grass. I follow to where the path goes through the belly of bark into the skinny trail of hammer thronged ants, wheel bird beetles and a flourish of sapsucker bees. Here the way is blocked, here the way continues, This is how you compose a love poem from the sighting  of a bird on a tree near the cone heads and boulders, the end of a plain and a playing field, a thin waterway,  the land of flesh eating darters and mud bottom bass.

Untitled by Gabriella Garofalo

Sorry to bug you again, you know I’m a PITA,
Got some leftovers of light for us, God?
It’s Whitsun today  -
OK, it doesn’t show, but I can’t blame you
Can I, only I sorry need blue blankets,
It’s May’s fault, he’s running amok
To breed cold lights, coughs,
Wild skies, our only option
On the outskirts of a light we die for,
On the fringes of a light where we snuggle up
Nonchalant to heartburn and trinkets  -
Know what, God, sometimes our souls
Are sort of lawns suburban matrons
In slippers and bikinis trample  -
See how the smashed cows stumble  -
Or maybe it’s warriors in chukka boots
Who trample, leave pitch black prints,
Oh, and toddlers running riot on trikes,
Toys anywhere, alien contraptions all over
To bite and bruise, nope, I kid you not  -
Green? Maybe a lovely veneer,
But lilac and periwinkle went AWOL
Or lost in action  -
Ancient stones are hissing
They spotted them hidden in ladies’ hair,
Or so they sigh in a disturbance of colours,
McDonald's balloons shriek louder than toddlers,
Don’t they?
Now …

Quietude by Joanne Olivieri

Image
quiet envelops the trees leaves speak foreign tongues ancient manuscript
joanneolivieri.weebly.com



Skeletons In The Closet by Melissa R. Mendelson

Image
Skeletons In The Closet by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Green light seeped through the closet door as the door knob slowly turned, and I tossed and turned in bed. Darkness turned green as the door slowly opened, but the coldness shook me awake in time to turn on the lights. The door slammed shut as I jumped out of bed and approached the closet door. My hand hesitated on the knob before pulling the door open to reveal nothing. The dust bunnies greeted me while my clothes were pushed together, but there was nothing else in there except for corners of spider webs. I closed the door and headed back to bed, but something made me pause as I glanced back at the door. I pulled my wooden, brown chair over and leaned it against the door. I then curled up in bed and turned off the lights as green light appeared under the door, but the door remained shut. I shuddered beneath the white covers as the door knob continued to turn and whispered to myself that it was nothing but the skeletons in the closet.
http://channillo.com/series/lizardi…

Burning Kisses by Melissa R. Mendelson

Image
Burning Kisses by, Melissa R. Mendelson
His lips brushed my neck and caressed the skin until it found the spot and bit into me.
His teeth gnawed into the skin as I stared ahead into a harvest moon while he drank my life away.
He lowered me to the ground as he slid like a shadow into and through my shivering body, and his face filled the moon.
His lips brushed my face with red as I licked my lips and stared into his eyes while his lips settled on my ear.
He pulled me into him as my skin shivered in the moonlight, and I held him closer as he bit down into me again.
He was gentle like a lover while his bite was sweet like burning kisses upon my flesh as I moaned for more.
Then, he just held me as my last breath slipped into the breeze, and I opened my mouth to drink his love from him into me.
http://channillo.com/series/lizardian/

A Step Away by Melissa R. Mendelson

Image
A Step Away by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Behind the curtains of time, change is but only a step away, for without change, the world would be endless, caught up in the same routine. Swept up in time, we march forward to the tune of change, but those who no longer hear the winds of change are left behind in a world gone gray. Only in time do we find our true selves and possibly why we were born, but for us to discover that, we must keep moving forward. Otherwise, the world will move ahead of us, leaving us with nothing but the past, and then we must wait to slip back into time and retrace our footsteps toward the unknown future.\
http://channillo.com/series/lizardian/

Click here for Glass Skies Over Home on Amazon.com

Aftermath by Lynn White

Aftermath

How can it be that someone
I don't see, 
only think 
about sometimes,
but never contact,
or try to,
leaves such a gap,
in their final leaving.

My life has not been changed.
All is the same.
So why the difference now
that you're really in the past,
when you were already part of my past
and not of my future.

Nothing has changed for me,
not really,
not in reality.
So why do you occupy my thoughts
in a different way.
Why does my future feel different
now you cannot be part of it,
even though you never would be
and I knew it.

Perhaps because I can no longer
dream you there.
But why not
when you could never be there
and I knew it
the same then, 
as I know now.
Why is it different,
now
even to dream?

First published in With Painted Words, July 2015


Bio:
Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. Her poem 'A Rose For Gaza&#…

The Ghost Tree by Michael H. Brownstein

THE GHOST TREE
The ghost tree reflected in the window white as blood-free linen does not move to the beat of the wind. It forms no shadow, makes no nest for a family of squirrels, no flurry of leaves, no glitter of sunlight, nothing compromised, nothing overridden. We look to the street to find its nature, see only yellowing blossoms on young trees a starting of green, but the ghost tree is nowhere. This is how it is when it is nothing at all. Later we hear the scraping of feet, the breathing of air when the wind stops, the sudden fist of a limb cracking. Somewhere violence happens: a tree limb in a window.

Seasons of Love by Joan McNerney

Seasons of Love
Spring Tide
Green I wore green that night when we danced how we danced at the picnic during     spring lustrous and green.
Rainfalls flooded the air where we danced. You left whispering sweet words       kissing my eyes closed.
Sliding under green green waters slipping sliding over night      hiding in nebulae turning we dance finding your hand how we dance this endless night.
Last Summer
Golden sunshine spilling over cathedrals of trees forest of summer.
Your eyes are oceans of light beams of light soft beaming dancing through rivers of memory.
Forest of rivers drowning in oceans of eyes. Your eyes when sunset spreads over sand dunes warm golden.
Stars gliding past heaven as night explodes in cathedrals of light.
We bed down together in forest of memories your body so strong golden last summer with you.

Apple Time
Red yellow brown carpets of crunchy leaves spread out to welcome you.
You are coming home to aromas of cinnamon and me.  I've been waiting so long to touch you    feed you    juicy apples.
Finally you ar…

meadows, voices by Gabriella Garofalo

Hey, wassup, waiting for some lousy harvests
After sowing tears?
Afraid not, those merry darlings elves and fairies love,
Haven’t got time for her gifts, no time no room,
Only the odd smile, a sprinkling of sweet sweet words
Then high time for bites when the cheap magenta sky
Makes her dizzy -
Here come rejections, the wild scene, a creepy set
Scattered across mashed limbs and western souls -
Why are the meadows your voice
Loved to haunt so silent?
Didn’t you know? It’s the latest fad, all the rage this silence
Haunting huts, condos, mansions, semis, oh, and who built them,
Unredeemed  hands perhaps? Sorry, can’t remember -
No voices, great, nothing but her eyes
Deeply set on creepy deals, no probs, trust me,
Dancers or smiling parties alfresco don’t give a damn
For  questions or shattering eyes, they’ll play dumb if you hand around
Pats or yellow chrome – deal?
No, I won’t cool down, I saw it all, I saw her gasping the name of God,
I saw craven souls fretting over the sudden rebirth
That  blinds and cuts…

Woman Encircled by the Flight of a Bird by Neil Ellman

Image
painting by Joan Miró

Woman Encircled by the Flight of a Bird
(painting by Joan Miró)

A little bird with its wings on fire by Neil Ellman beating faster than a hummingbird’s circles a woman afraid to move hears the beating of her heart and feels the shiver In her loins.   
She knows the secret meaning of its courting flight       its twists its swirls        the hovering fancy of its desire the urgency in its blood to touch and be touched itself for the sake of everlasting life.
A woman encircled by the flight of a little bird with its wings on fire is not the least deceived by its cunning and deceit.

Neil Ellman is a poet from New Jersey.  He has published numerous poems, more than 1,000 of which are ekphrastic and written in response to works of modern art, in print and online journals, anthologies and chapbooks throughout the world.  He has been nominated twice for the Pushcart Prize and twice for Best of the Net.
Editors Note: This is an ekphrastic poem and based on a work of modern art. The title of…

Haze by Melissa R. Mendelson

Image
HAZE by, Melissa R. Mendelson
Forget is what I am afraid to do, ignoring the dreams inside my heart that cry out in my mind to not disappear, but disappear they will, if I allow myself to forget everything that I ever hoped to become and do. My dreams will vanish, and it won’t be time that will steal them away. It will be the cloud inside my mind, fogging my thoughts, burying my dreams, and if I am lucky, I might remember them. Otherwise, forget I will the dreams of my future that could have brought true happiness and meaning to my life.

http://channillo.com/series/lizardian/

Click here for Glass Skies Over Home on Amazon.com

I POSSESS NOTHING by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I POSSESS NOTHING


I possess nothing.
The night knows this.
The moon shines me on.
My dreams know I’m poor.


I try to sleep and
I struggle with it.
My feet wear out the rug.
I dream I have insomnia.


I possess nothing.


The night takes my last dime.
I pay to watch the stars.

In July 2016 Kendra Steiner Editions published my latest chapbook, Make
the Light Mine.  The chapbook could be ordered through Kendra Steiner
Editions, who also publish music as well.
https://kendrasteinereditions.wordpress.com/2016/07/15/new-poetry-chapbook-from-luis-cuauhtemoc-berriozabal-make-the-light-mine-kse-364/
Bio:
Luis works in the mental health field in Los Angeles CA.  His poems in English
and Spanish have appeared in online and print journals.  His latest chapbook,
Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions.