Stanzaic Stylings

washed too many times in hot water   she looked like a hushed desire washed too many times in hot water   i laughed as she told me i was the man of her dreams   i asked her when did she think she was going to give me the speech why i should give her my life savings   she said as soon as i started to bore her   i laughed   said it was a damn good thing i'm poor   she let out a sigh you could probably hear in neighboring countries   she knew i wasn't the sucker she was looking for J.J. Campbell on Goodreads

Destination You smell ocean salt through open car windows. You exit long before  envied places for the rich. In dreams, you destroy their serenity with pumping bass lines that shake their sanity from a tall wall of black speakers. Your choice of humble dock is not much to look at, but still you do,   late in the day, searching your soul amongst precarious piles of used books.   The local tales hold no interest; you seek something to bruise your soul: a radical philosophy to change all you have known in life to this point. You sleep like a peaceful child, awaken forgetful of problems.  August holds you in its maw, hot, restless, eager for why. Tourist traps and dives break up long sunny days. When you finally remember how to breathe in a way   not triggered by anxious anticipation, it is time to go home Gary Glauber is a poet, fiction writer, teacher, and former music journalist.  His works have received multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominations. His two collections, Small

Ordering and Detailed Information on Amazon Exposed by Michael A. Griffith is the most powerful collection of poetry I have ever read.   It thoughtfully speaks to the everyday struggles and journey of people with disabilities.  It offers poignant insight into the emotions buried within the infirmed.  People with disabilities are often looked upon with pity. This chapbook allows you to see inside the heart, soul and minds of the disabled and helps you understand what they experience daily. The poem Courtyard resonated deeply with me and had me crying throughout each word.  I experienced the emotions first hand while reading through this poem.  I was there and felt it. The opening stanzas in Downfall display the creative imagery Michael Griffith employs. Bleeding from a dozen-plus wounds, the bull turns on stiff legs. Matador smooth, tall, slender, in black and silver jacket, his shirt whiter than bones.  Applause is his bride. The crowd is a haze of sound;  rank with perfumes, sweat, an

Silt I am beginning to forget more than I care to remember. Turn out the light and I may forget what is in the room. I remember Batman and Robin wearing their underwear on the outside and The Joker had a moustache. Did I remember to change my underwear today? I am wondering if I knew you or if I know you. No, you: you there. Faces, not names, come to mind. As smells and sounds wash off decades of silt, and some details come to the surface like dead fish. I am ending. I go on ending. I go on worrying when I can't remember my way home. Did you remember to call me like you said you would, or am I remembering the last time you said you'd call me and come take me home? Michael A. Griffith’s poems and other writings have appeared in many print and online publications. His chapbooks Bloodline (The Blue Nib) and Exposed (Soma Publishing and Hidden Constellation Press) were released in fall 2018. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for poetry in October 2018. He liv

Grace I am too old to be photographed gracefully, there are too many lines and not enough decent stories to go with them. I tell you this as you try to take my picture once again, tell you that these are pictures that belong only above an obituary, don’t show these to anyone until they’re requested by those I leave behind. I close my eyes and lie back on the bed and I hear you take the pictures anyway, at me stretched out naked on the sheets, leave nothing imagined, I imagine autopsies, embalming, the careful hands of a cosmetology student as she tries to make me look lifelike enough to set before an audience. You tell me you still find me beautiful, even now I don’t believe you. Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in  The Cape Rock,   New Ohio Review , and  Gargoyle . Her newest poetry collections are  A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press),   In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press),  A Wall to Protect Your

World Tree You are my tree, the root system Anchoring me to all that is sustaining. You are my balsam, my juniper, fragrant and indomitable in the face of bitter cold. You are my hickory, my strength and abundance. You are my hazel, bringer of protection and wisdom. In your grove, I find fruit and flower, air and shade, and when my head is bowed, you are my willow. You draw your curtains around me in the dank places and never let me weep alone. Lauren Scharhag is an award-winning writer of fiction and poetry. She is the author of U nder Julia, The Ice Dragon,  The Winter Prince,  West Side Girl & Other Poems,  and the co-author of   The Order of the Four Sons  series . Her poems and short stories have appeared in over eighty journals and anthologies, including  Into the Void, The American Journal of Poetry, Gambling the Aisle  and  Glass: A Journal of Poetry.  She lives in Kansas City, MO . To learn more about her work, visit: www.laurenscharhag.b

take your time, while stealing mine finally in the good heat in pure waves of sunlight                         of renewed hope where our talk of escape seems like something more than lies and self-delusion forget pollock forget the jumper and the children he leaves behind the woman who watches him fall imagine yourself rising up above the need for hatred and war not blind but blinding brilliant above the rooftops and the hills and without the fear of bursting into flames without the fear of coming down too soon without any fear at all John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY.    He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include HEATHEN TONGUE (2018 Kendra Steiner Editions) and BASTARD FAITH (2017 Scars Publications).

YOUR VOICE Take comfort in your voice, in your walking shoes, in the signs of protest  you hold in your hands. This is your voice. Do not let one small voice take it away. Raise your voice to the rafters, to the celestial skies, through the black holes of time. Let your voice be heard and drive that one small voice of hatred back where it cannot hurt anyone.

 Published by  Cajun Mutt Press   And available on  Amazon . Absurd by Bremner would have Ginsberg proud and maybe a bit jealous. The chaotic prose is laiden with incoherent yet cohesive imagery mirroring Plath with each and every prose story. This book is fueled with rich language and metaphor which makes for an interesting read.  My favorite work is Kelly.  Fantastic narrative and deep message. If you like the Absurdism, Beat or Dada movement or have never experienced it in a literary form, this is a must read!

Young They were young once With eyes of brightest blue Legs that ran so fast And bones that quickly grew. He was young once Took off for college life Met a sweet girl And made her his wife. She was young once Had their babies with ease Loved them all beyond words And worked hard to please. They were young once When the kids left home They all flew away To start lives of their own. Their hair is gray now Bodies are old Bones are so brittle And the house is so cold. Won't you come by to visit now and then? Their minds are still alive Like way back when. They were young once.

Learn from the moments For each is a stepping stone  On the path to you The path that I walk Is one I choose carefully And with clarity Accepting myself In all my imperfection Brings inner freedom Teetering the edge Balancing life carefully Fearing the unknown With trepidation I peer into the abyss Of my so called life Find your happiness Embrace in the sheer wonder And... never let go Lynn Long-  https://zolanymph1.blogspot.com/ Poet, writer, aspiring novelist, daydreamer and believer in the impossible Contributing artist @hitRECord.org and Scriggler.com Published in the following Ezines, Publications and Online Journals: Antarctica Journal Duane's PoeTree In Between Hangovers Stanzaic Stylings Poetry Poetics Pleasure Whispers

Shadows of Waves She steals away, careless, confused, drawn to the compromise of sad stability, leaving him remnants of a long, tawdry dream. So he floats, pondering what should have been, swimming against social currents of unfair advantage doled out at birth. It was a lifelong pursuit, a false confidence revealed as insufficient: a handsome face, an armoire stocked with beautiful shirts, calling cards of wealth and respect. Now there are only empty clock hands, hours spent waiting for calls that won’t come. A sweet few weeks of secret ardor, the rustle of silk and lace, shared laughter, opportunities seized.  It all seemed a good idea, as if past could be recaptured in a seismic flurry of heartbeats quickened. Instead the sudden death of all once held dear, vanished overnight and irrecoverable. He dreams yet of her face, the alluring lilt of her musical voice, forever relegated to memory. His exotic tales no longer matter,

Christine Tabaka is a favorite. Her poetry speaks to all who enjoy the written word.  This volume of poetry in particular displays her unique talent for breathing life into a mixture of words and launching them throughout the universe in a style that mirrors the mystic poetry scene. Her poem Unreality is the perfect example of a true seer with its teachings and inspirational vibrations. It has you thinking and understanding the world by using your senses to touch upon the meaning of life as you experience love, pain and thoughtful moments. I was truly transcended into another dimension by reading the poetry within these pages. Another written masterpiece by Christine Tabaka.  Thank you. Reaching For Dawn by Christine Tabaka on Amazon

Broken By Desiree Cady I discovered long ago I'm way too good at goodbyes You ask me what is wrong, afraid to be hurt I cover the truth with a lie Let you see me shed a tear You'll never get a chance For too many before you sat it out When it was their turn to dance Open up, reveal my thoughts Take a chance and let you in That's not something I can do For me, that would be a sin Please understand that it's not you It's not anything you've done This is all about protecting me For I am the only one The only one to keep me safe I need to be my own best friend For when you decide to say goodbye It'll only be me in the end ©2019 Desiree Cady

Outside My Room I can hear your hand on the door your fingers sensing my room on a time-learned path shadows no longer as if I’m asleep brazen, you’re here anyway I hear your feet dragging down the hallway, hear the jagged intake of your breath, even now hollow fingers brush my hair back all the things I’m screaming to forget BIo: Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in  The Cape Rock,   New Ohio Review , and  Gargoyle . Her newest poetry collections are  A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press),   In This Place, She Is Her Own (Vegetarian Alcoholic Press),  A Wall to Protect Your Eyes (Pski’s Porch Publishing), I'm in a Place Where Reason Went Missing (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.), and  The Yellow Dot of a Daisy (Alien Buddha Press).

Litter You watch them birthed in a corner of the barn, Mama made as comfortable as possible on an old quilt. You watch them grow, wean, and begin to cut their teeth. You choose names for them that you know they will not keep. In no time, they’re toddling around the yard, tripping over their own ears. You take pictures and post them online. You put up flyers on the grocery store bulletin boards. You interview potential placements. Your son begs you not to let them go, but you do, knowing that we can’t keep everything we love. Lauren Scharhag is an award-winning writer of fiction and poetry. She is the author of U nder Julia, The Ice Dragon,  The Winter Prince,  West Side Girl & Other Poems,  and the co-author of   The Order of the Four Sons  series . Her poems and short stories have appeared in over eighty journals and anthologies, including  Into the Void, The American Journal of Poetry, Gambling the Aisle  and  Glass: A Journal of Poetry. 

My Valentine You were my only Valentine The shape of my heart was you But the day you were taken from me My broken heart turned blue. You were my Valentine Loyal, loving, and true Rising from my heart's remains Will always be you. We had only a brief time together Not near as much as we craved But someone had other plans for you How I wish we'd had time saved. There is no Valentine for me this year Just the memories from years ago But I will see you again one fine day Where tears no longer flow.

First let me say that I love books that can take my mind and body through a cultural journey of peace and reflection. Kashi is a series of sonnets reflecting on a colorful culture and depiction of life within the city.  Rajnish displays his talent for the traditional sonnet style with exciting language, rich in imagery and metaphor.  Each sonnet pays tribute to a diverse aspect of everyday life.  He also includes photos with each sonnet that brings in focus that of an ekphrastic poem.  Reading through this book, I felt as if I were living within Kashi and experiencing all the wonders of life in each setting. Each sonnet portrays a message of hope and peace with a yearning to hear more and experience this diverse culture.  This book is a true treasure and a must read. Kashi by Rajnish Mishra on Amazon

Joe’s Gizmo Joe had a new gizmo, something his dad made— a handle on one side, a handle on the other, in between kite string strewn like a hand-held loom, something Gandhi might have used to weave loin cloth, but we didn’t know about Gandhi, his efforts to free his country from British rule, create peace, or that he forgave his assassin with his last breath. We were in Lions Park in 1960— ten years old under a massively blue Cheyenne sky. Joe’s gizmo propelled our kite so high as to befuddle hope with envy. Our cheers echoed the sonorous promise, the crisp vocal cadence, of our new presidential candidate, John Kennedy. With volitant optimism we attached more string to Joe’s gizmo. Our dreams of flight at Icarus height were quickly dashed by a loosened string that snapped. Our kite disappeared into a cobalt abyss only to descend, battered and torn, three years later o

Once Upon a Time We were but a chapter- in which to begin... Mere words of a story A tale without end Wished upon starlight,  dreamt beneath the moon A happy ever after... Written too soon Lynn Long-  https://zolanymph1.blogspot.com/ Poet, writer, aspiring novelist, daydreamer and believer in the impossible Contributing artist @hitRECord.org and Scriggler.com Published in the following Ezines, Publications and Online Journals: Antarctica Journal Duane's PoeTree In Between Hangovers Stanzaic Stylings Poetry Poetics Pleasure Whispers

Marginalia The museum’s long cast iron windows let in streams of refracted light; these golden arrows point the way to glass display cases that reveal  the cursive precision of one romantic poet from centuries past who composed sonnets full in his head long before ever touching quill to paper: lines of perfect iambic pentameter, well wrought and committed with meticulous care to an ideal page  in a pretend world without flaws. The next book is its direct opposite, chaotic meanderings of the wild jocular Irishman whose obsession with language led to scribbles, doodles, lines crossed out and more. This sorry mess of ink-stained genius, a hectic collage of ideas struggling to find order and expression, captures the ongoing discontent of one dedicated beyond reason to achieving precision of meaning, striving for years toward a particular vision, a flawless Fibonacci sequence of sentence. Standing on metaphorical shoulders