A Glimpse Of Your Soul by Lynn Long

I thought I saw your soul

gazing into mine

And, for just the 

briefest moment

I was somewhere

else in time

A place I'd forgotten

where memories 

still remain

A place of long ago

where once,

I spoke your name

Soaring high,

above the sky

My heart skips a beat

In the feelings

I so denied, now

suddenly, let

free

I thought I saw your soul

gazing into mine

It was just a glimpse,

a memory lost in time

Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

Skyward by Joan McNerney

Skyward

Another hot day at

the playground filled

with shrieks from kids

tumbling down slides.

 

Shouting boys hop on and

off the whirling carousel

as girls sing songs to

double dutch jump rope.

 

Waiting for my chance

on the swing.  Finally

one is free as I clutch

the metallic link chains.

 

I pump myself up

pushing pass trees,

feeling cool breezes

brush over me.

 

All the noise is far below

as I rush towards

blue skies.  My feet are

walking on clouds now.

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

Moon Over Sad Cuba by Grant Guy

Moon over sad Cuba
What have your blue moon eyes seen
Upon this land of revolution 
Where nothing has changed for over fifty years

 

What have your blue moon eyes seem
Over hot Cuba
Hot sex along the Malecon 
The mist off the Strait of Florida
Tasting the kisses of love

 

What have your blue moon eyes seen
Over sultry Cuba
Where dancing leads to love leads to sex
Leads to life
Where soft breezes touch the soft breasts of love

 

What have your blue moon eyes seen
Over sunny Cuba
Yes hot love hot sex
And
And cold- blooded murder
Arm and arm in the sweaty breath of death 
And the living love

 

What have your blue moon eyes seen

Grant Guy is a Canadian poet, writer and playwright. He has over one hundred poems and short stories published in internationally. He has Five books published: Open Fragments, On the Bright Side of Down, Blues For a Mustang, The Life and Lies of Calamity Jane and Bus Stop Bus Stop His plays include an adaptation of Paradise Lost and the Grand Inquisitor. He was the 2004 recipient of the MAC’s 2004 Award of Distinction and the 2017 recipient of the WAC Making A Difference Award.

Askew by Neil Ellman

Askew

 

(after the painting by Kenneth Noland)

 

                                                     

In the perfect

roundness of our space

degree by degree

in equal measure

inequities abound     

imperfections so slight

no device can  

calculate and rectify.  

 

The earth’s orbit

almost circular

the planets’

elliptical

and in life

no reincarnation

from birth to death

and birth again

no karmic echoes

of our sins.

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 this poem is that of the original image 

What use is poetry by Gauri Dixit

What use is poetry?

Last few dusks

Have stolen the beauty

On this stale evening

The colors are a pale shadow of themselves

The music

Has forgotten its own voice

The instruments whimper

Melancholy clouds hope

The air is heavy

Sitting on my chest

Breathing is an effort

The oxygen is making me work

With it

And without it

They have all given up

Finding a sanctuary within their various addictions

Abusing everyone and everything including their souls

The onlookers only call a foul

I am still here

Sitting on my rocking chair

Reading aloud poems

Waiting

For the new dusk to bring back the colours

©. Gauri Dixit

A software professional from Pune (India), Gauri started writing poems couple of years ago. She writes in number f Facebook poetry groups. Her poems have been featured in multiple Indian and international anthologies. She has also contributed to a number of e-zines including Learning & Creativity, Glomag and Mind Creative (published from Sydney, Australia). She loves to read, write and travel

A MAP, A HISTORIOGRAPHY By Michael H. Brownstein

A MAP, A HISTORIOGRAPHY

 

The map of who we might be 

binds itself to the paradox of the dead

duck and lamb decompressed near the back fence.

How did they come to be this way?

 

A swamp of flesh,

a tide pool of artery and heartbeat,

rind of cacti, rind of lemon,

rind of orange

the green taste of river gourd

thick with mucus and algae

inner workings of bile 

the meat of the core

all of the wisdom

from the merchant of the moon

 

This is the map of foreplay

the cartography of what comes after.

spring breeze by Theresa A. Cancro

spring breeze...
walking the curve
of the labyrinth


Bio: Theresa A. Cancro writes poetry, short fiction and nonfiction. Dozens of her poems and short fiction pieces have been published online and in print internationally. She strives to find sparks of wonder in the ordinary.

Michael Ceraolo 500 Cleveland Haiku Book Review

For details and ordering instructions

CLICK HERE

It is such a pleasure to read work by a writer who understands and has a firm grasp on traditional poetic styles.  Basho, Bison and Kyoshi would be proud.

This book delves into the everyday and ordinary life on the streets and suburban areas of Cleveland written with a classic yet modern view of the sights and sounds within the city. It is a testament to the poetic artistry Michael Ceraolo is able to express within this particular genre.

A few examples:

Winter scene ---

my exhaled breath

freezes on my eyelashes

April ---

bird shopping for food

on my lawn

Signs proclaiming 

that land is available---

they'll kill the trees for you

Economics depression ---

even the dollar store

goes out of business

An uptempo tune ---

the trees dance erratically

to the storm"s music

The haiku in this book tell stories with insight into city life and reflect wit, inspiration and compassion.  Each haiku delivering a message and/or statement.

Reading 500 Cleveland Haiku takes you on a journey through city life as seen through the eyes of the writer.

Reading this book was refreshing and a lesson into the intricasies of writing haiku.  Haiku is a style that only a few have mastered well and Michael Ceraolo proves through this anthology he is the master.

By: Joanne Oivieri

Night Ninja by Mary Bone

Night Ninja

I was a night time ninja

In my dreams.

I woke up in a sweat,

With nightmarish screams.

Ninja warriors came at me

From every direction-

Punching and kicking

My midsection.

I hit the ninjas with

A karate chop.

Now all they do

Is flip and flop.

My poems have appeared in Oklahoma Today Magazine, Literary Yard, Poetry Pacific, Whispers in the Wind Blogspot,  Spillwords, Duane’s Poetree Blogspot and numerous other journals and newspapers. Mary has been wring since the age of twelve and has had two books of poetry published.

On Dying In A Mass Shooting by Joanne Olivieri

On Dying In A Mass Shooting 

Bloody Chaos

The door swings open

rapid fire storm ensues

my body hurls to the ground

chaotic screams

deadly thunder pops

permeate bitter air pockets

and I lie still.

My friends, classmates

scattered around me

breathing dust, residue

a warm sea of blood

mingles with others

saturating wooden floors

and I lie still.

I am slipping away

soaked in death

blood tears escape my eyes

and I cannot see

fear embodies my being

I cannot move

and I lie still.

Mom and Dad, I love you

my friends by my side, I love you

don't let me die in vain

resist the hate, the fear

do it for me, do it for us

the chaos stops

and I lie still.

All I ask is why, 

please tell me why

why, why?

And I lie still

forever.

Hearts That Die Young by Stefanie Bennett

Stefanie Bennett, ex-blues singer and musician has published several books of

poetry, a novel and a libretto and worked with Arts Action For Peace. Poems

have appeared in Shot Glass Journal, Poetry Pacific, Poetic Diversity, The Fib

Review and others. Stefanie’s most recent titles – ‘Black Spring’ – Ginninderra

Press; ‘The Vanishing’ – Walleah Press and ‘Blanks From The Other World’

[due May-June] are available from Amazon. Of mixed ancestry [Italian/Irish/

Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Queensland, Australia.

 

 

 HEARTS THAT DIE YOUNG for Vittoria Anna-Maria    [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

I clutched the vision

Of the magnolia,

Fine as pollen...

The coloured halo

Of your hair.

 

Some hearts die young

Without wilt or piety.

These are the ones

Mater dulcissima

I offer you now.

 

And this you’d known all along.

You took me walking

As a child, and through

Child eyes you pointed

To the Imera’s silken flowing...

 

Ever young – “forever there”

You said – and as I fingered

Blood oranges

By the seller’s cart

And asked the whereabouts

 

Of day-stars and hermetic charts

Your smile fell upon

The Madonie peaks. There was

No failed mystery in your language.

 

And now I clutch at visions; I’ve work

To do. Sometimes with

Arrows that pierce

Heart and paper. Sometimes with

Rivers seeping, changing course.

 

But memory, you remind me,

Is landscape enough.

Scars – mended lines of living.

I raise mid-aged eyes

And the street of clouds

 

Rest on a field of white magnolias

“Ever there.” Your final

Word – Mater dulcissima.

It must be so!

Fine as pollen, as haloed hair.