Stanzaic Stylings

So if you run from one thing, you're going to keep running from everything. That's why you need to stop running and face whatever it is you've got to face and deal with whatever you've got to deal with.  When are you going to stop running?  God, your're going to use the weakest part of me to do the greatest thing's. Strength is made perfect in your weakness!!!!!!

Just Before Waking Poetry & Photo by Joanne Olivieri Joanne Olivieri Website Your lullaby caressed the sound waves of his inherent desire  to acquiesce  to the cliffhanger of his nocturnal episode  and debut in the finale of his dream. He is descending into the incoherent realm of euphoria. Apprehensive of his destiny He will awaken.

from  Euclid Creek Book Four A Hike and a Lecture A Monday evening in late June, temperature in the mid-70s (a few degrees below average) I make the short walk  from my house to the park The hike is led,                        and the lecture given, by a retired archaeologist from the area He,       along with the sponsoring Metroparks, provided some pre-hike refreshments There were some on the hike who, despite having reached adulthood, had not learned how to dress themselves, wearing sandals and even flip-flops for the trek over                  exposed tree roots                  moss-covered rocks                  decaying leaves                  up and down hills,                                             slong with broken glass left by those who love to foul beautiful things                                                 (I'll bet there was a substantial overlap between those so dressed and those who just showed up for the event without doing the required pre-registration,

midsummers dream fantasies in high definition Haiku and photo by Joanne Olivieri http://joanneolivieri.weebly.com

Keepsake     There are too many clocks and not enough time.  I will take and save this minute for myself.   This minute of mercury this swift night as sleepless stars glide through the sky in aerial ballet. 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. 

His roar is thunder Hushed by the rain Hers the howling wind Quieted in storm's bewray And in their stillness of destruction and disarray Love is not yet conquered,  but in the silence made

At the Crossroads   They who seek Virtue And kindness It will be found They who seek Hate And darkness It will be found For I Have been down Both paths There comes a time In every life For reevaluation Self reflection Will you like what you see? To truly love One must love Themselves First Perfect imperfections Make us Who we are Whole Study the lines Of the face That run parallel To the palm We all have a path Unique to each Yet all the same The wrong roads Can lead To the right ones If we listen  To our hearts At the crossroads ©2015 James Dennis Casey IV James D. Casey IV is a southern poet with roots in Louisiana & Mississippi. He currently resides in Illinois with his Muse, their  ​goofy  dog, and two black cats. He has authored three books of poetry:  Metaphorically Esoteric, Dark Days Inside the Light While Drunk on Wine , and  Tin Foil Hats & Hadacol Coins . His work has also been published in print and online by several lit mags and small press venues including  Triadæ

Van Gogh’s Stars ‘Awe’… is such a small word, but, it is all I have. Electric blues and lemons… I am drawn in, magnetically, engulfed in the splendour  and wonder. ‘Wow’… there’s another small word, again, it is all that I have. It’s one of my all time favourite paintings. Unbalances me, inside… trippy, in a beautiful way. I shudder and cringe, whilst smiling. It’s alive… flowing, deep river undercurrents, and the sea… waving and lapping… at, and through time. The surface of the Masterpiece is merely the tip of the iceberg (So To Speak). There are rhythms, swaying feelings and emotions at play, beneath… the tender magic and craftsmanship of a Genius painted with childlike innocence from an asylum east window. © Paul Tristram 2018 Paul Tristram is a widely published, Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way.

BEING FRIENDS the words we never say bind us like a ribbon that stretches across miles those words unsaid laughter that lights our days or brims into tears the love unspoken that trips us both bumps and moves on into discoveries at a table and walked into memory JOANNA M. WESTON. Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, raccoons, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry,  ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, 2016. Other books listed at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.word press.com/

DEPRESSION BEGAN THE HOUR OF OUR LEAVING Depression began the hour of our leaving, Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist And still we worried each other still believing Depression began the hour of our leaving Holding us captive to a vast simple grieving As if everything we held onto an empty list. Depression began the hour of our leaving, Hanging onto us both claw and fury, nail and mist.

Bio:   My name is Angelica Grace Lee and I am a first-year Legal Studies major at UC Berkeley. I am a San Francisco native and have enjoyed the vibrant culture of the Bay Area my entire life. Currently, I volunteer in the Bay Area as a San Francisco Police Activities League Cadet Lieutenant and intern for SFPD's Field Operations Unit. I also run a Facebook group called "Kindness in the Darkness" where I share heartwarming acts of kindness in hopes of brightening the days of those who may be suffering from dark times. In my spare time, I like to write poetry, read dystopian fiction, thrift shop, and go to cafes to study with friends. I Am I am a fish in the San Francisco Bay Swimming in and out of the door of opportunity Moving towards a faint light in the darkness Am I as sharp as the edge of a broken glass Burning as bright as the yellow disc in the sky The questions I used to ask myself? I used to be as certain as the ending of a mystery book Aimlessly walking through t

Free Speech Canto LV Bisbee, Arizona June 26, 1917 About 3,000 miners go out on strike against Phelps-Dodge mining company The authorities will suppress such speech, but how? It took a little over two weeks for that question to be answered Near dawn on July 12, 1917, having shut down the telegraph and silenced all outgoing phone calls in order to keep their doings secret for as long as possible, 2,200 deputies "having no authority whatever in law" rounded up some 2,000 men in a manner "wholly illegal" Several hundred of those rounded up renounced the strike at gunpoint, but many more maintained solidarity                                                         And so either 1,186,                    or 1,286,                                  or some other number of those were crammed into 23 rail cars and deported from Bisbee to a desert camp 200 miles away It was just dumb luc that none of the deportees died,                                                though on