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Showing posts from January, 2017

After His Wife’s Last Operation by Donal Mahoney

After His Wife’s Last Operation
He often got bored with her hobby talk     but this weekend he looks forward to   hours of cooking shows on television  
while he talks with her about her quilting.   He finally accepts that she is dying as the doctor told him after her last operation.    
She is still his core, he knows, his centering,   and he tells her often now he loves her  but she will never know how much.
If he could tell other men one thing  it would be to cherish who and what  a wife is while they have one. 

Let's Take A Trip by Lynn Long

Let's take a trip just you and me Let's tiptoe through the galaxy... We'll follow moonbeams near and far We'll dance  our way  beyond the  stars... And when the night has bid  adieu Let's take a trip  just me and  you...

Spies by Jerry Durick

Spies

were absent from what we learned in school,
our lessons scrubbed clean, the straight line of
history was best and easier to remember, but
we learned about them later in endless novels
and films; the CIA, MI6, and the KGB live out 
their lives as much on the page and screen as 
they probably do in real life, live their shadow 
lives in the safe houses of our imaginations, do
their elaborate schemes following a well-made
plot, staged for cinematic effect, with music to 
set the mood, with witty dialogue and meaningful
facial expressions, one of the several James Bonds
surviving the chase and all the convenient women;
spies’ absence from schoolbooks left them free to
be themselves, to be chief players, our alter-egos
at work, imagining guns blazing, enemies thwarted
as we move on to our next adventure, a beautiful
woman on our arm and just the right thing to say.

Whispering Stars by Blanca Alicia Garza

Whispering Stars
As the Moon rises and illuminates the evening sky it awakens desires of love from so very far away. A soulful shooting star ignites the night while my heart beats on, I silently cry. I saw the stellar sight tonight and I made a wish  I wished for the day that  I will see your beautiful face hold your hand and feel your tender kiss. Perhaps the distance  may separate our bodies  but our love rises together  as two souls in love.
Bio: Blanca Alicia Garza is from Las Vegas, Nevada. She is a nature and animal lover, and enjoys spending time writing. Some of her poems are published in the Poetry Anthology, "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze", now available at Amazon.com. Blanca's published work can be viewed at The Poet Community, Whispers, The Winamop Journal, Indiana Voice Journal, Tuck Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review as well as Birdsong Anthology 2016, Vol 1.

SELFSAMENESS by Sanjeev Sethi

SELFSAMENESS Emperor of my isolation I reign over
mottled enclaves of the mind. Serrations
on keys to my kingdom are chiseled by need.

Examining pixels on the wind-screen I intuit.
Readiness with my inner rondure intensifies the apercu.
When a cloverleaf is choked I taper off the runway
making minutiae my hallmark.

I engage with embellishments in the sky,
observe run of breath, agile colonization by ants.
Welcome a cold caller with warmth.

Are these frig-magnet smarts?
Wisdom for one, hogwash for another.
True as tics: inked on the letterhead
of my life.
SANJEEV SETHI
(First published in Otoliths)


SANJEEV SETHIis the author of three well-received books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). His poems are in venues around the world including  TheTower Journal, Peacock Journal,ThePenmen Review, Red Fez,Indiana Voice Journal, Soul-Lit,The Bitchin’ Kitsch,3:AM Magazine, Morphrog 14, Poetry Pacific,The Ofi Press Literary Magazine,Transnational Literature,an…

Flight by Laura Minning

f l i g h t

Dreams are meant to be fulfilled, and dreams are meant to be shard.
That’s what he thought. That’s what he always wanted.
He was so full of life. His soul was free, but his body was weighted with illness.
His heart grew heavy with each passing day, but he never gave up, and he never lost sight of his dreams.
I respected him for that. I respected him for who he was, and I was grateful for for the time that we did have.
And every time I think of him, I will smile because I know that he would have wanted it that way.

Laura MinningExhibiting Abstract Artist,Published Poet & Authorbrcartandpoetry.wordpress.com

BIO: Laura Minning began writing creatively at the age of nine. She’s become an award winning published poet and author since that time. All in all, she’s had one-hundred and seven individual poems, six articles, two books, two plays and one piece of prose published in both hard copy and on-line. Her work has been featured in publications like “Literature Today”, “Amulet Magazine” and “Slate & S…

Crystals of Light by Jane Taylor Hardy

erstwhile a halcyon extant universe incessantly ceaseless
cradled itself in hues of violet phosphorescence
laced with cobalt shimmering stars 
perpetually whole it nonetheless
sought to know itself

encompassing all that is bubbling over in effervescent ebullience
intertwined with indescribable catastrophic splendor
it shattered into tens of millions of splinters
of eloquent efflorescent light 
shining in the night

each splinter heretofore imbued with sempiternal felicity 
began to conjure sumptuous dulcet elixirs 
furtively seeking out savory emollients
to mollify the pique of separation
plummeting they fell 

into monstrous competition seeking demesne they lost the purpose
of gaining awareness and intelligent consciousness
surreptitious estrangement overflowed
deluging them in excruciating agony
thus an epiphany was born

the carving of the beleaguered fragments inked with tremendous pain 
created a transfiguration of splinters to crystals 
hence enlightenment commenced as the gems
magnetized together constr…

On The Edge by Lynn White

On the Edge

I’m standing on the edge,
on the rim 
of the perimeter,
on the outside, looking....

I’m not sure where I’m looking,
outwards over the horizon
or inwards to the inner depth,
the inside of something.

The inner void or the outer space.
Face or about face.
But there’s no confusion.
Both faces are the same,
I think...

Can somewhere be full
of emptiness?


First published in Calliope, June, 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' was shortlisted for the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition 2014. This and many other poems, have been widely published, in recent anthologies such as - ‘Alice In Wonderland’ by Silver Birch Press, ‘The Border Crossed Us’ from Vagabond Press and ‘Selfhood’ from Trancendence Zero - and journals such as Apogee, Firewords Qua…

Beginnings by Michael Brownstein

BEGINNINGS You know everything has its own inherent qualities. Mine are to be deep and hard to cross.       —King of the Ocean to King Rama in Phi Kah Phi Lam FIRST I have the strangest dreamslide. Images slip like smiles through landscapes of fence and caressed brush. I never imagined a line of hose could stretch so far or that I could run as fast as the spray of water. Everywhere is a story sky and the Tree of Life misplaced in the Garden of Eve comes to seed as stock root reinventing itself after the picking, comes to fruit like the head of Bathala after the burying. Look to the herb bunched with yellowed fingers. Study the face of the coconut. Find the slits in the bamboo. Seek out the crevices in rock and cave. And the tears of the lonely giant drip into wings, feather into birds, fly to the bamboo in the first valley attracted to each other, attracted to quiet song. They have not yet found voice to sing, but they are hungry for it, finding softness in the hardest of bamboo. Malakes and Maganda slide to …

GAME OVER By Desiree Cady

GAME OVER By Desiree Cady
Sometimes life hands us a card from a deck when we were not even aware that we were a player in the game ...and it stops you dead in your tracks for a moment. You find yourself gridlocked, not knowing what to do. 
Life has dealt me one of these cards.
I always say that knowledge is power. When you are faced with disease, arm yourself with as much information as you can, so that you understand the beast that is bullying you.
So I guess that is what I must do. For whatever reason, if you believe that sort of thing, someone has handed me another test. One, at first that I crumpled up and tossed away, because I hadn't studied. A pop quiz that I wasn't prepared for.
But I've always been an overachiever. Not content with not succeeding. And in this case, I have no choice but to attempt to make some sort of sense out of this nonsense.
But its going to take me some time to regroup. My mind wasn't quite prepared. I knew by the amount of pain, bleeding, and su…

Seagulls At Night by Joanne Olivieri

Image
Seagulls At Night

A twilight canvas
barren of life
prelude to the masterpiece
hovers unseen
upon desolate skies
waiting to be fashioned.

Out of darkness
they emerge
white winged choreographers
painting circles and
breeding life.

Seagulls At Night soar,
faithfully,
indiscriminately
a free form phenomenon.


© Joanne Olivieri 2005 Photo and Poem All Rights Reserved

Union by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Union
* for H.
In your light, I dance to the faint glory of dawn, as it beats inside me.
A momentary tide draws nearer to my feet soles, I breathe your fresh breath in sprinkles of the salty sea.
This temporal body of clay extinguishes each evening at the close of dusk.
You are the veils, a solitude in which I fold life away, while secrets slowly unravel as firm roots spread over hills.
You lift me as the miracle that settles between stars and the semantic of their fragments.
In the string of voices that ebb relentless, I sing to your color, it illuminates a deeper chord through sea-shells.
The whole universe is blue again, as daybreak brings birds back to chirp a new paean.
Brief Biography: Sneha Subramanian Kanta strikes a chord with vast spaces, water-bodies, wildflowers, the musky warmth of spring, among several else. You can write to her on s.sneha01@yahoo.in

Beauty and The Beast by Desiree Cady

She was the beauty  And he was the beast Teaching her the things She never knew about in the least.
He brought out a side of her That she never knew. Making her want to do things That enchanted lovers would do.
He brought out a side Of lustful, raw, desire. Each time they touched Her mind went higher and higher.
He brought about the  Free spirited wild side of her  But don't be fooled For he, too, had some things to learn.
She taught him about things Like true love and trust. Taught him there should always be Passion not just lust.

A new kind of world  He is living in now. He promised forever And stayed true to his vow.
She gave him new feelings He'd never known about before  'Til it wasn't long he made a request  And his children she bore.
He traded his life that he'd had in the past. Just to hear his little girls say "Daddy we love you" And with her a love that would last.
She was the beauty  And he was the beast Now they're living a life They wouldn't  trade in the least.
© Desir…

Coast Town in a Valley by David Francis

Coast Town in a Valley


Rays come down
geese honk above the flat lake
reflecting the mountains
lichens slant
toward town

A northern house with a
sharp, sturdy roof
starts the town
only one skyscraper
spoils the horizon
on either side
coast and cove
not blurred
but made blue

fog in the valley

on the hill
a leveled fence
with unknown burrows
footholds

stepping between wires
and overlooking

sliding falling running
down mud
to roadside flowers

the wind blowing
the clouds blackening
but passing

and then out of the sea
like oil
a few colors shoot

straight up
over or through
rays

and end
in brown inland

only the ends

somehow in a moment
the sky clears
and you see
the rainbow


Biography:

David Francis has produced five albums of songs,
one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of
lyrics and drawings.  His film "Village Folksinger"
has been screened in New York, Texas, Connecticut
and England.  David's poems and stories have
appeared in a number of journals and anthologies.
http://davidfrancismusic.com/

Identity by Harshal Desai

Identity

Oft I wonder, of who am I? What is it that defines I?
Am I a poet?  I weave pretty words in verse verily from the heart, And I pour pieces of myself in sonnet and soliloquy,  To add to this new world some beauty and wonder? I know I can't stay bound and follow iambic pentameter
Am I a visionary perhaps? Leading my band of misfits to create magical solutions A world filled with creativity and design, shaping the future, for the self, an empire of mavericks set out to do good, I know I am not, I could care less about building empires.
Ah, I am a Designer & Photographer...right? Seeing the soul of nature and interpreting it in art, As I stare the nuances of this world, peek at its secrets, giving them form through art or photos for the world to see. I know this is false too. These are hobbies, not identities.
What am I? A son?A husband?A father? A boss?A leader?A director? A lover?A giver?A listener? A romantic?A cynic?A pessimist?
What am I? I keep asking over and over...and suddenly it hits m…

Midnight by Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Midnight
* for H
(i)
the carnations of time bloom within the gray womb of a sky. tidal waves toil, tether westward winds now bygone.
(ii)
time is an apostrophe night, a stencil smudged over its steadfast slippages.
(iii)
in the inertia of a darkened ether is the dream to share a common sky.


Biography: Sneha Subramanian Kanta believes in dreams and the quiet language of shores. Write to her at s.sneha01@yahoo.in

Teddy's LA After Dark by John and Paula Hackett

Music by                          Lyrics by
Teddy Edwards                John & Paula Hackett


           Teddy's L.A. After Dark


               Come to life
               On this changing scene
               Here's your part
               Live your wildest dreams
               Night arrives
               just to celebrate
               It happens here
               in L.A.
               After dark

               From the beach
               to the mountainside
               L.A. streets
               take you for a ride
               Hollywood
               Central Avenue
               It happens here
               in L.A.
               After dark

               Daylight steps aside and
               Lets the city lights start to glow
               Play out your part as the night
               Puts on a show

               Happy now
               See the dawn arise
               Just for you
               Cross the morning skies
               Don't forget
               Night…

Leftovers by Jerry Durick

Leftovers
Now, we’re only two, so we misjudge
things, too many, too much; families
grow smaller, but recipes lag a step or
two behind, never adjust; refrigerators 
fill, various sizes of plastic containers,
sandwich bags, freezer bags, original
jars we can close, pretend they reseal,
line up, get stacked one meal on another,
crowding till they squeeze space, demand
command our attention; what were we
thinking, saving things we would never use 
and, after a while, we can’t even recall,
odd smelling moldy green things, things that
liquefied over time, grew white hair as they
aged surrounded by other anonymous things,
surrounded by the cold reality – we make too
much, haven’t learned our lesson, to divide,
to measure anew, revise the count, to plan
better around quiet meals, our limited needs
now, now that we’re only two and should know 
by now what leftovers are all about.