Stanzaic Stylings

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  ...

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 s...

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. 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 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 Journa...

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. 

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 du...

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 awar...

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 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 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 ...

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. ...

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 ...

"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 Jo...

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 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 Sto...