Stanzaic Stylings

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 water 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.

Blush I f 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.) Click Here for Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze on Amazon.com 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 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 w...

Stars A kaleidoscope  Of iridescent diamonds Illuminate night Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

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 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 drea...

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. http://joanneolivieri.weebly.com/

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 Biography: David Francis has produced six albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  His film "Vil...

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...

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 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 vo...

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 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 ...

Medley April quietly turns emerald green. Breezes shake apple blossoms… an aromatic blizzard. 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 “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.  

Moon Your light inspires Illuminating the night Embracing my soul Lynn Long is an aspiring writer/novelist.

Summer rains the urban pavement a concrete ski slope orange sunset tequila sunrise at last call beach bonfire his alcohol breath fuels the flames sunbathing 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 fantasies 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...

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 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.

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 olde...

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 piercin...