Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Cleveland Haiku series by Michael Ceraolo

Cleveland Haiku #431

Geese sit on the lake---
temporary buoys
bobbing on the water

Cleveland Haiku #432

Just above the shore---
a signpost with the sign
missing in action

Cleveland Haiku #433

Lake view---
the illusion of gray and green

Cleveland Haiku #434

"Park closes at dark"
Yet there are lights
on the tennis courts

Cleveland Haiku #435

Plastic bags
flying as flags
on some bare trees

BIO: I am a 59-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had one full-length book (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press) and a few shorter-length books published, and has a second full-length book, Euclid Creek Book Two, forthcoming from unbound content press.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Blush by Alicia Garza


If my hands could touch your body
like my words have
touched your heart,
I could write a love poem
while running my fingers
through your soul.
The most beautiful poems
are not written on paper but,
rather traced upon the
contours of the skin,
and read through whispers
and moans making even the
Moon blush.

(First Published in "Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze" Anthology.)

You can also find Alicia's poetry at Dandelion In A Vase Of Roses on Amazon.

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 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, Anthology "Dandelion in a Vase of Roses".

Friday, April 21, 2017

Stars by Lynn Long


A kaleidoscope 
Of iridescent diamonds
Illuminate night

Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

The Hedgerow Fairies by Lynn White

The Hedgerow Fairies

Where have they gone,
the hedgerow fairies 
in their harebell hats?
I used to see them sitting
under their leafy roofs 
stitching their summer dresses
of poppy and mallow petals
with long silk threads 
catching the summer sunlight
as the smiling spiders spun.
I miss them so,
the hedgerow fairies
in their harebell hats.

I used to see them collecting
armfuls of meadow sweet
to stuff their nighttime mattresses,
making doorways in their new
toadstool homes with sharp stones.
Maybe they’ve gone underground
to escape the passing cars and tractors.
Maybe they only come out at night now
and stitch and stuff under the moonlight.
I don’t know.
But I miss them so,
the hedgerow fairies
in their harebell hats.

First published in Vox Poetica,  2016

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 Quarterly, Guide To Kulchur, Indie Soleil,Midnight Circus and Snapdragon as well as many other online and print publications.

Find Lynn at: and

Thursday, April 20, 2017

To Thee by Joanne Olivieri

Photo by Joanne Olivieri
A tribute to Christopher Marlowe's The Passionate Shepherd to his Love

To Thee

Upon thy lips
pure nectar sweet
I share a kiss with thee

For soft as silk
I pray thee will
come love and be with me

Unto thine eyes 
my soul decree 
thou heart to cherish be

As pure as light
my love this night
I freely give to thee.

Lack of Lamps by David Francis

Lack of Lamps

In the cheap hotels
where the porter sleeps
in the stagnant air
coming through the window

in all the rooms
no matter the area
no matter the station
no matter the floor

so you cling to streetlights
you notice simple fountains
you look for the sun
you look in her eyes

someday you will ask
someday you will buy
but they will never give
they will never give

they will only give flowers
they will give the special of the day
they will give you the key
they will give you water

but there is a famine
there is a shortage
there is a lack
and you have to compensate

you have your vision
you have your hearing
you smell the food
that tastes so good

you turn the light off
you feel the darkness
you wonder about time
you sleep to wake

you listen hard sometimes
you laugh at private jokes
the darkness is without
the fire you have within

David Francis has produced six albums of
songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far,"
a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  His
film "Village Folksinger" has been screened
in the US and the UK.  David's poems and
stories have appeared in a number of
journals and anthologies.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

Call of the Wild by C. David Hay

Photo by Joanne Olivieri - Ocean Beach Sunset 

Call of the Wild

The call of the wild is a restless voice
Of wind and sky and sea;
Beckons all — both great and small
With the yearning to be free.

It drives snow geese in autumn skies
And answers the coyote’s cry;
Blows in the mist of mountain crests
And lifts the eagle high.

The thunder of the river’s plunge,
The whisper of the desert’s dune;
Nature sings a thousand songs
To her jeweled and mystic tune.

The call of the wild is a will within
To venture where few have trod,
With a captive sound that makes hearts pound —
It must be the voice of God

(Previously published in Ya'Sou! Ezine)

C. David Hay is a retired dentist living in Indiana and Florida. He received his BS  and Doctor of Dental surgery Degrees from Indiana University. He is the author of five books of poetry which are dedicated to his wife, Joy. He has been widely published nationally and abroad and his poetry has been read on the British Broadcasting Channel. He was the first American published in the Nezavisimaya Gazeta in Russia. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry and is the recipient of the Ordo Honoris  Award from Kappa Delta Rho.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

I Will Survive by Desiree Cady

I Will Survive

I will survive 
Because it was not too long ago
That I once walked away
From a devil in disguise 

I will survive
Because I have been broken down before
Though this time without you
There is a lack of life sparkling in my eye

I will survive 
because I know that as much as it hurt before
It hurts a thousand times more now
But there is one thing I still have in this life

I will survive
Because I have two beautiful girls
I have to survive because I am their hero
And there is no doubt that they are mine

I will survive 
Though I don't have the slightest clue how
But I will survive because how I handle this
Will teach my children how as they watch with their innocent angel eyes

©2017 Desiree Cady

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 

Heart Over Mind by Desiree Cady

Heart Over Mind

They say follow your heart
She is supposed to know the way
But she is running away with my emotions
Which is making for a wonderful today

What if she is falling 
Just a little bit too fast?
So scared she may be wrong
Lord knows she was in the past

So she has decided
To have a conversation with her mind
Despite what her heart says
She will take each day one at a time

She will not put up those walls
Guard herself from possible pain
There is no need to judge this ray of sunshine
By the ones who brought her rain

Live in the very moment
Take a step away from the past
The mind says give it a chance
Maybe the heart is right...
Maybe this one will last

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 

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Medley and April Blue by Joan McNerney


April quietly turns

emerald green.

Breezes shake apple

blossoms… an aromatic


Listen to this soft

symphony of raindrops.

After showers, gardens

of stars flower.

Evening is the dawn

of night time.

Meteors write poetry

across heaven.

April Blue

This is when we search for

color to transform cold grey.

Rainfall begins its magic

high lighting sky blue.

We see stacks of luminous clouds

as plants pop out and forsythia

bursts sparkling yellow stalks.

Just today a breath of warmth

brought alive crepe myrtle.

Aromatic lilac bushes cluster in

soft bunches while birds and bugs

encircle them.  Ten trees all dressed

up in lustrous greens boogie through

noontime breezes.

Spring is waiting for us!

What Comes Next by Jerry Durick

What Comes Next
“This is the Hour of Lead – 
Remembered, if outlived"

Like a freezing person 
recollects the cold – 
I feel the hour of lead, 
that formal feeling 
come on -- 
the way she said it would – 
the careful phone call 
the messages, arrangements, 
flowers and all – 
my ceremonious nerves
and my questioning heart
as stiff as mechanical feet
go about their business
the wooden way
of outliving this new pain
and, of course, this feeling 
that follows me
like a shadow.


Monday, April 10, 2017

Moon by Lynn Long


Your light inspires
Illuminating the night
Embracing my soul

Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

Haiku Series 1 by Joanne Olivieri

Summer rains
the urban pavement
a concrete ski slope

orange sunset
tequila sunrise
at last call

beach bonfire
his alcohol breath
fuels the flames

she burns toast
for breakfast

morning sun rises
across Eastern skies
an orange smoothie

desert Summer
sans humidity
her hot flash lingers

cumulus clouds
pattern the sky
cotton candy

moonlight stroll
a spider
webs his way through darkness

hot air balloons
his speech goes in one ear
and out the other

Summer night
crickets scatting jazz tunes
my ear wax gone

midsummers dream
in high definition

sunrise minuet
he hits the snooze button
and sleeps in

high tide
low tide
the yin yang of it all

quietude envelops the trees
leaves speak foreign tongues
ancient manuscript

a diverse species
hugging limbs
sharing the wind’s breath

mingling leaves
standing free
a natural commune

union square
a frenzied chaos
cries without you

a nonsensical
delirium on the rocks
shaken not stirred, Cheers!

cherry blossoms
blanket barren branches
Spring snowflakes

sky, ocean and earth
meet beyond the horizon
daily reunion

the sand dollar
rests upon the shore
seaside sands of time

unfold my petals
tonguing plucked
a sensuous touch

behind fog
the sea plays hide n seek
morning escapades

the horizon debut
where sea meets land
a commingling

dreams planted
seeds of life
Spring resurrection

perfection yet seen
insignificant am I
my beauty astounds

you sailed away
riding an ocean of tears
my heart in dry dock

delicate petals
gently unfurl
a soul hidden

canvas of color
tulips and daffodils sing
the praises of Spring

freedom paints the skies
on wings of inspiration
a seagull in flight

mirrored reflection
engage your senses within
contemplative thoughts

fallen petals
paint the landscape
nature’s canvas

perchance love whispers
on the wind of Winter’s breath
melody at dawn

November breeze
a faint whisper
rustling leaves

night frolics
upon satin bed sheets
breakfast in bed

ageless diaries
unspoken words
the introvert speaks

Tainted Heart

fiery venom
pervades darkened arteries
love, a dying flame

Order the book here

White Roses by Blanca Alicia Garza

White Roses 

A white rose and
hear "I Love You"
from your lips 
was all I wanted 

The "I Love You"
got stuck in your pride

The White rose
waits in a notebook 
of unfinished poems 

A love left hidden 
in the shadows 

A love left to starve
to death 

Perhaps love has given me 
more thorns than roses;
but it was my choice to 
turn them into the most 
beautiful pristine bed
of white roses.

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 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.

Stone Cold Kiss by Melissa R. Mendelson

Once upon a time, there was this little girl, who lived in the woods. She was raised only by her grandmother. Her parents, she never knew. Her grandmother once sadly slipped and said that her mother was the most precious fairy of them all, but alas, she died in childbirth. The father had no mention, and it was only after her grandmother’s passing did this little girl realize that her grandmother had been hiding her from the world, a world that she was now lost in, a world that never knew her name.
Alone, she wandered, living off scraps and on the kindness of strangers. Nobody really talked to her. Nobody asked her about her name. They took care of her for one night and then demanded for her to be gone the very next day. At first, she was okay with this arrangement, traveling to strange lands and enjoying breathtaking sights, but one day when crossing the river, she spied a young man in a boat nearby, kissing a young girl. Why was he kissing her, the little girl asked, and the older man rowing the boat barked about something called, Love. What was Love, the little girl asked, never receiving an answer and then shortly afterward being left alone again.
It was cold tonight. Nobody was showing kindness, and her stomach was growling from hunger. The little girl hunched down against a cold brick building, wrapped her arms around her bare legs as her toes numbly picked at the ground beneath her. She was about to fall asleep when this warm light fell around her, and when she opened her eyes, this most beautiful woman stood before her. And she smiled a breathtaking smile, and she said that she knew who this little girl was. She even knew her mother, and because of that, she would grant the little girl one wish.
“I want to know Love, but all of Love. I want everyone to show me Love,” and the woman smiled.
“Just be careful of the glass bottles,” she said as her smile began to fade. “If you hit the bottom, it will break,” and then she was gone.
The little girl wanted to know what she meant, but she never got the chance to ask. And not even a second went by when this man hurried over to her, rescuing her from the cold. He showed her shelter, warmth, and for some time, he treated her like one of his daughters. And his daughters treated her like one of them, and the town grew fond of her. Everyone loved her. Everyone wanted to be with her, but nobody ever asked her her name, which she no longer cared about. It was just a name, and the little girl grew up.
Ten years later, she had traveled once more to another strange land, and a big party was thrown in her honor. She was like a celebrity, treated as if she were gold, but in all these years, she never felt Love. She just felt empty instead, and then at that party, there was this most amazing man. Maybe, he was a prince, and he looked at her, stealing her breath away. And they danced all night long. And then the night turned into morning, and maybe, she thought, maybe she had found Love. And he went to kiss her, and his kiss was as cold as stone. His eyes were empty, and his face twisted into a horrid look, a look that drove her far, far away into a dark, mysterious tavern, where she saw creatures similar to that one from years ago. And another fairy appeared.
“You look like you could use a drink,” she said.
“A drink,” the girl replied.
“Yes. Come. Over here,” and the fairy gently nudged her over to the bar. “Pick your poison,” and the girl looked over at the glass bottles. “Something wrong?”
“I… I can’t drink from them,” the girl said.
“And why is that?”
“Um… Something about something breaking.”
“Come on, girl. One drink. It won’t kill you, and besides, you might like it.” And as the fairy said this, the bartender picked up a glass bottle and poured the girl a drink. “How about one drink, and if you don’t like it, then you don’t have to have any more.”
“Okay,” the girl finally said and downed the drink. “Wow. That is good,” and she wiped her mouth with her hand.
“Another,” the fairy asked, and the girl nodded excitedly.
The morning peeled away into day, and day fell away to the darkest of night. The girl returned to where she was staying, only to be screamed at and chased away by an angry mob. Nobody wanted her around. Nobody wanted to look at her. Nobody wanted to love her. They all wanted her to go away.
“Why,” the girl cried to herself. “What did I do,” but nobody answered her. And for a long time, she wandered, being chased away by those that once showed her love. And strangely, after a period of time, she stumbled back across her old home. It was as if it waited for her, and when she entered, there was her grandmother standing by the fire. “But you’re dead,” the girl exclaimed. “You died!”
“I did and didn’t,” the old woman said. “I just needed for you to see.”
“See? See what? You left me all alone.”
“To quench your thirst for knowledge, for your dreams, to know what lies outside this home. You can’t make people love you, Medusa. They have to do it on their own.”
“But they think me a monster.”
“You are a monster.”
“But I didn’t ask to be born this way.”
“Nobody asks to be born this way.”
“So, nobody will love me,” and Medusa burst into tears.
“One day, a man will come and make you his wife. He is a god of all men, and he will see your real beauty. But you must be patient. This is my last gift to you,” and when Medusa looked again, her grandmother was gone.
A few years passed, and then knock came at the door. She barely moved from her chair, stoking the fire when he walked in. She had forgotten what her grandmother had said, and now she looked up at this strange man. And she fell madly in love with him, and before she could say or do anything, he embraced her in his mighty arms. And he whispered words into her ears that made her melt to her core, and he was not afraid. He said that he had dreamed about her, and after all these years, here he was, ready to take her home.
“And my snakes,” she asked.
“They are as beautiful as you,” and when he kissed her, it was the last thing that she would ever remember.

Monday, April 3, 2017

The Gang by John Grey

THE GANG                                                                 

smoking, rooftop sunning,
MTV at all hours, McDonalds,
Boston Baked Beans and Red Hots.
pilfered cigarettes,
beer thanks to a kid of 21 we knew -

fished, paddled,
tried to water ski,
stifled giggles at the shy parade
of a girlfriend's first bikini

played piggy-back in the water,
splash wars, near-drownings,
followed by bottle rockets
at twenty paces

gritted out teeth
at school's twelve year
lashing program -
hated teachers and cops -
fed our lockers
on whatever didn't embarrass us

in sleazy neighborhood
shop windows,
yearned for a piercing
and a dragon tattoo

ate footlongs, drank root-beer,
at home football, dodged questions like
"how come you're not out there on the field?"

competed in peeing contests, literally, peeing contests
nearest to the ceiling was king -
purred over an elder brother's first wheels

and carved -
wherever we could we carved -
trees, desks, light poles —
no presence went unrecorded

these days,
we meet and drink.
play poker and rap

this is some of the stuff we rap about -

did we really do that?
were we so stupid?

nobody can remember it happening to them
but they sure recall it happening to all of us

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, South Carolina Review, Stillwater Review and Big Muddy Review with work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Cape Rock and Spoon River Poetry Review.