Stanzaic Stylings

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 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 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 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 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 SETHI   is 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   The   Tower Journal, Peacock Journal,   The   Penmen Review, Red Fez,   Indiana Voice Journal, Soul-Lit,   T...

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 & Author brcartandpoetry.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 co...

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 enlig...

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 A...

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 o...

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...

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 * 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

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. ...

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 antholo...

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 l...

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

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       ...

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.