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 Amazon.com. 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

A
long
slim
poem
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,
                                         and
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
                                          But
there was an episode of real life
that could also be called Last Stop Willoughby
much more interesting than either

Christmas Eve 1933
Sunday,
                 so
the churches would be doing double duty
Josephine Kilmczak,
                                5'4" tall,
with auburn hair and hazel eyes,
                                                known
as Sophie to her family
(parents, five sisters, three brothers)
had arrived here yesterday
(or possibly even before that;
                                           in
the aftermath of subsequent events
there would be tales of reported sightings of her
before her confirmed arrival,
                                         including
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),
                                                          and
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),
                                                               wearing
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,
                                                 then,
when passing the Willoughby Village Cemetery,
authored two mysteries,
                                    one of which
was never (and will never) be solved

She suddenly dropped her suitcase,
                                                      then
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,
                              then,
when no one did so,
                               raising
the money for her tombstone

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

UNKNOWN BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

                                                        and
then buried her in the village cemetery

Five years later her brother Leo
showed up and ID'ed her,
                                      but
the cemetery sexton didn't write down
her last name,
                      nor could he remember
the correct spelling or pronunciation,
                                                       and
The Girl in Blue resumed her anonymity,
                                                            where
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,
                                    where
it was read by one Edward Sekerak,
a realtor who,
                     providentially,
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,
                                                         though
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
                 coins
                 toys
                 and other mementos
in order to connect with her,
                                          some
contemplating the unsolved mystery
of why

               And
I wonder if Serling,
                            who
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."

What Should I Write Of? by Rajnish Mishra

What Should I Write Of?

They call me passionless, in my head, half-alive half-dead.
I lack sorely (what do they call it?): inspiration: 
Those drops of blood that the heart brings on page. 

My poems are hard as stone, artificial. 
I bring no flowers of hell with me, 
No, that’s not all, no fires of heaven bring I. 
The visionary glance is not mine. 
Love, longing, thorns of life, not mine,
Nor envy’s green flush, shame’s blush scarlet, fear’s pallor: 
They have almost been done to death. 
Of what do I write then?
Can I take a prophetic stance on Self or Man, 
Doubt or Faith (all inventoried subjects) Nature or Nation? 
Crawling in mud, or flights sublime on wings of passion?


Bio:
Rajnish Mishra has a PhD in English literature and he has been active in the areas of teaching, research and writing for nearly a decade now. He has published more than a dozen books, and has edited six books. His love for his city and his awareness of its effects on his psycho-social development ledhim to start his own blog: rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com in 2011. The blog features both his academic writing 
and his writing on his city: the City of Light, Varanasi. Blog URL:
https://rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com/

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

I May Not Return by Rajnish Mishra

No, I may not return ever.
Yes, that’s destiny, 
self-scripted,
inflicted.
Had I known,
written the script, 
contemplated The end 
of the road less travelled? 
Had I, ever?
Past is not a place
to revisit.
Past is not a phase
to re-live.
Past is not a page 
to rewrite.
Past is past; 
the slippery sand 
that slips dryly
From between the fingers,
is lost,
Is gone.


Short Bio:
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 

poetrypoeticspleasure.wordpress.com and rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com.

A Lonely Night by Blanca Alicia Garza

A Lonely Night

Looking at the moon
through my window,
it's dark, but she shines
like never before.
A glass of wine in my hand,
but the other is empty,
empty as my heart without him.
Through the moon 
I sent him my love,
through the breeze 
a sweet and tender kiss.
Despite the distance
we are looking at
the same moon,
like two hearts 
beating in one soul.

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 Amazon.com. 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.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Thrift Shop by Joan McNerney

Thrift Shop

I descend clutching a
teetering banister to the
bowels of this holy place.

A sign welcomes me to
St. Mary’s Basement Boutique
where scent of unloved
clothing assaults me.

I finger grubby blouses
and skirts hanging limp
week after week unwanted.

Where is it? Hidden beneath
mounds of faded tee shirts?
Where is that swag I will
brag on for months?

At last I uncover something
beyond belief….a mohair sweater
snow white with pastel flowers.
A good fit, my prayer answered.

Retired ladies glance up.
They are volunteers filling
another empty afternoon.

The cashier consults her price list.
“One dollar” she says as I reply with
quick “thanks” fleeing blissfully.

When I get home, my bonanza
is baptized in cool water and suds
now reborn, lustrous and all mine.



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. 

Monday, June 12, 2017

I Ate The Bait by Michael Marrotti

I ate the bait
till I choked 
manipulated
my thoughts
into a belief

Maybe this
time around
he'll carry out
the mantra

America First!
America First!

I didn't vote
for another war
that would benefit
the Zionists 

I didn't vote 
for another
banking conquest
the Rothschild's 
already have 
enough to eat 

This vote 
was for the 
indigenous
goyim of 
America

Not 
the Synagogue
of Satan
who exploits
our fears 
if need be 
into a global 
catastrophe

To attain 
what little is left
the chosen
choose the wars

They'll label this 
anti-Semitic
misleading rhetoric
they'll vilify it
or even suppress it 
they'll call it anything 
but the truth



Michael Marrotti is an author from Pittsburgh with a chemical imbalance and lack of patience. His writing has propagated the small press like chlamydia in Beechview. He's been faithfully volunteering at the Light Of Life Rescue Mission for the past three years now, the man believes in action.  His chapbook, FDA Approved Poetry is available on Amazon. He can be contacted here: michaelmarrotti@gmail.com

Goodbye By Desiree Cady

Goodbye

So many times I have let you in
Just to play with my emotions
Yes, it is true, love may cause tears
But mine could have filled the oceans

I am finally free of the chains 
You once held over me
Now you want to come back
We'll make it work, you beg and you plead

If I thought for one second That things could change
That the words you spoke were true
I would sacrifice my happiness for my family
That is the girl you thought you knew

But I have had time to examine myself
I have also met someone
I have learned there is more value to me
And I deserve better than what you have done

I stood by and gave it my all
Through so many torturous years
I am smiling now most everyday
I will not go back to the tears

You had a good woman
One who loved you til she had nothing left
But what I was doing to myself
Was leading me to a slow death

You made your choice 
When you walked out that door
Left me heartbroken in pieces
Lying in my tears on the floor

Now be a man and own up 
To what it is you've done
You no longer wanted to play the game
Now just accept, it's over, you won.

©2017 Desiree Cady All Rights Reserved


Bio
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
Www.Facebook.com/Gemini.allure 

Becoming Echoes by James Dennis Casey IV

"Becoming Echoes" 

Beside a hidden river 
Trees seek
The cover of night
As waves journey
In an air 
Of silent comfort

Lovers whisper
At the shore
Lying on a bed 
Of wise owl feathers
Cravenly
Wondrously
Staring 
Into each other's eyes
Becoming echoes
Of ghosts
Forever 
As one

Memories turn
The children of evening's
Beautiful mountain souls
Into dreams of time
Under moonlit darkness
While countless stars
Reflect upon the water
And beneath the surface 
Spirits wander
As seasons fade

©James Dennis Casey IV



James D. Casey IV is a published author of three volumes of poetry: "Metaphorically Esoteric," "Dark Days Inside the Light While Drunk on Wine," and "Tin Foil Hats & Hadacol Coins." His work has been featured in print and online several times at places like Triadæ Magazine, Pink Litter, In Between Hangovers, Indiana Voice Journal, Poetry Breakfast, Beatnik Cowboy, Scarlet Leaf Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, Whispers, Your One Phone Call, I am not a Silent Poet, Tuck Magazine, Outlaw Poetry, PoeTree, Story Mirror, Stanzaic Stylings, Spillwords, Micropoetry, Leaves of Ink, Poetry Life & Times, and Realistic Poetry InternationalYou can find links to his books, social network profiles, and other projects on his website by clicking here:  http://louisianakingcasey.wixsite.com/big-skull-poetry

Friday, June 9, 2017

Rude Skies by Inge Wesdijk






SKY-HIGH (double Haiku)

I just can't reach you
Cold, wrapped in ice crystals
as a cirrus cloud

Dim, cold marble shining
A touch of a memory
slipping through my hands



RUDE (double Haiku)

A rough diamond is
beautiful in its pure rawness,
a nature's treasure

Refined, a brilliant
shining star at the firmament
No need to get rude


Bio

Daginne Aignend is a pseudonym for the Dutch poetess Inge Wesdijk.
She likes hard rock music, photography and fantasy books. She is a vegetarian and spends a lot of time with her animals.
Daginne started to write English poetry four years ago and posted some of her poems on her Facebook page and on her website
www.daginne.com

Not one soul at the lake, and then by Judy Katz-Levine

Not one soul at the lake, and then

a descent of sparrows to the bone
causes a birth of black stars
and the never-ending list of names
falling like tarnished grins
for the creation of you as a magnolia
leaves me stunned and unable to cry
there is only one sound, that of someone
far away and breathing sweetly
after a sudden thunderstorm
and I will always call you
after a swim in icy waters and a flask
of strong tea, when the lifeguard
high on a wooden post
oversees the rescue of our
camouflaged doe and fawn



BIO: Judy Katz-Levine is the author of two full-length collections of poetry, "Ocarina" and "When The Arms Of Our Dreams Embrace".  Her most recent chapbook is "When Performers Swim, The Dice Are Cast." Her new collection, "There Are Those Of Us Who Are Close By" will be published by Cervena Barva Press (in press, 2019).  Judy has  been published often in the blog of Miriam Sagan's "Miriam's Well" and  "Unlikely Stories Mark V" just last week. 
She is also a jazz flutist and performs in the Boston area monthly and writes compositions for flute.




Blue Moon by Lynn Long

 Blue Moon

Your light leads the way
To adventure and freedom
Come shine upon me


Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

Nice to Know at Last What Is Meant by JD DeHart

Nice to Know at Last What Is Meant

Yes, it’s nice to become
acquainted with sound
and reason of other beings,
makes one feel like one belongs
to an invisible club –
the lines were always drawn,
but it’s helpful to know they
were not imagined.
It's remedy for the sanity.

Finally nice to know what is
meant by all these chuckles,
to get the inside joke,
to speak the vernacular, try
it on like a glove on the tongue.
Practicing in the mirror
three times this morning alone.

There now, doesn’t that feel better,
or does it make matters worse,
now with a heavy mouth?



JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His writing has recently appeared at Cacti Fur and Oddball Magazine.

Cleveland Haiku #474 by Michael Ceraolo

Cleveland Haiku #474

Visitor to our town---
she added beauty here
in many ways


Bio: "Michael Ceraolo continues to work on Cleveland Haiku and other poetry projects, some of which have appeared here previously."

Thursday, June 8, 2017

One Step Away by Melissa R. Mendelson

One Step Away

Behind the curtains of time,
change is but only a step away,
for without change,
the world would be endless,
caught 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.


Friday, June 2, 2017

One Fine Line by Rajnish Mishra

One Fine Line

Mourn for the departed glory, 
For poems that left earth
Unheard, unsung.

Poetry lives in a line, or two,
The rest is merely glue, it’s true.

A bold lone stroke stands not for art, 
Nor one fine phrase for a poem.

When I see now, what passes for it, 
It saddens; emboldens me a bit.

For who now crafts their one fine line
At a time,
And then, one more?



Short Bio:

Rajnish Mishra has a PhD in English literature and he has been active in the areas of teaching, research and writing for nearly a decade now. He has published more than a dozen books, and has edited six books.


His love for his city and his awareness of its effects on his psycho-social development led him to starting his own

blog: rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com in 2011. The blog features both his academic writing and his writing on his city: the City of Light, Varanasi.

Blog URL:
https://rajnishmishravns.wordpress.com/