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Showing posts from June, 2017

An Ozarks Fourth of July by Donal Mahoney

An Ozarks Fourth of July
World War II was over but still fresh in the minds of folks who lived  in Bill’s hometown in the Ozarks. Independence Day was important. It called for a celebration.
When his father had the money, and that was rare, he would buy  a lamb for the Fourth of July. He'd roast the animal on a spit in the yard, turning it slowly  and dousing it with mop sauce.
Bill was 10 on the Fourth in 1948.  His job was to make the ice cream  turning the crank on the freezer. His relatives would watch in the yard  and laugh and yell when he had to pause and go to the bathroom. Banana ice cream, his father’s  favorite, had to be just right. Never stop turning the crank.
In 1948, there were no parades  in town or concerts on TV. No television sets back then and  the town was too small for a parade. But after the Great War, people  in the Ozarks were quietly proud  of their independence, not silent  or oblivious as Bill believes  some Americans are today.

Bio: o:Donal Mahoney lives in Belleville, Illinois. He…

Perchance a Dream by Lynn White

Perchance A Dream

'To sleep perchance to dream'.
Who said that?
Sounds so gentle,
but there's a rub,
a rough edge to it.
Not the long deathly sleep, though 
but drifting away in night time slumber.
It can take you anywhere.
Take you to places you haven't been
and may not want to go.
Send you spinning,
tumbling,
raging,
spiralling,
crashing
out of control
to an indeterminate end,
with demons and dragons
as companions.
Daytime dreaming is preferable,
more gentle than it sounds
fitted into a busy schedule.
In wakeful dreams
you can determine the beginning,
at least,
and invite the participants.
Sometimes
they may act out an old story
with a predictable end,
sometimes 
they can drift into a new story
and then
the demons may join in
your daytime dreaming
as well,
perchance.

First published by Pilcrow and Dagger, Midsummer Night’s Dream Issue, 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 especial…

Sweet Memories by Desiree Cady

I can still feel your breath on my skin Your lips down my spine I can still taste your kiss As your lips touch mine
I can still hear the sound of your voice As you whisper my name The touch of your hands As they slide down my frame
As clear as the memories Are in my head I wish we were in the flesh Reliving them instead
©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

That night I just caught that train by Rajnish Mishra

That night I just caught that train.
For never return. I did not stay 
At home, just left. 
What was it? Inertia, inaction,
Prophetic soul? The Prince and I,
Pathetic both, with self-inflicted wounds and pain,
Nostalgia: missing home.

They’re wrong who say that home is 
Where heart is. 
No, it’s actually where stomach is,
And job is, and monthly paycheck is, 
and the savings account.
Heart is gentle, what worst can it do?
Compare that to stomach’s doings and see 
who wins. Stomach, once aroused, rumbles and grumbles
And pushes the body it owns, 
our body, 
around.

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.

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 …

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. 

Last Stop Willoughby by Michael Ceraolo

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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 A 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 arriv…

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…

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.

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 Journal…

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 her…

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 wante…

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…

Rude Skies by Inge Wesdijk

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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

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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 l…