By: Daniel Moreschi As sunset paints a stage at the unwieldy mouthof Maracaibo Lake, sporadic breezes leadthe water’s surface, stirring swirls among the reeds,creating shimmered mirrors that reflect a shroud of gray, covertly brimming overhead. Though veiled,the Andes loom like…
By: Andrea Myinga. Where to look at,When the stars are dimming,And the sky isn’t appealing.Where to hide a face,When bones of courage are broken,And shame is chasing back.Where to find a trust,When friends have vanished with it,And heartache melt down…
By: Bruce Levine Far beyond the face Sounds coalesce No one knows how Or how they stream Into the subconscious They take no space And can’t be assembled Yet they do assemble Forming patterns Phrases and sentences One after another…
By: James Aitchison When smoothly goes life,stop to love and listen then,take an accounting,see the wreckage in the soul,the chance to turn again and findknowledge of all knowledge,truth of all truth.Walk outside of life,for the blest onesleave no footprints.Step through…
By James Aitchison When Hollywood was simply a dusty backwater of fledgling studios and orchards, and Los Angeles an uncultured outpost, America’s film capital was New York City. The great Broadway theatrical stars were simply a taxi ride away. Even…
By: Shannon Winestone ASHES OF APRIL Ashes of April—farewell, goodbye…You were my harbor, my city, my sky. THE SAGE for Himself The voice of the sage rattles the mountains,Sighs through the orchards, whispers with the rain—Singing the songs of Israfel.His…
By: Jim Bates Fall’s changing colorsGolden-yellow orange and redKalidoscope glee. Oak tree forest giftFat acorns dropping like rainSquirrels ecstatic. Quiet woodland pondWhite swans feed in unisonBeautiful ballet. Midnight open fieldMilky Way washes the skyStarry cosmic joy.
By: Richard LeDue “Poem Sized Questions (In Lieu of Big Ones)” Why are there poetswho are so sure they’ve seen godor at least through him enoughto brag about oblivionlike it’s an award for a poetry contest? Why are there poetsso…
By: Paweł Markiewicz the dreamed winterthe storks sitting meekly in Africathe butterfly frozen in the marvelous pondmice write a gorgeous mytha rural boy longs for the moonglowwitch apollonianly bewitcheda stunning worldin a moony wayI am full of druidic wizardriesYou are…
By: James Aitchison This is the nightwhen you are still.My voice in your soulis the voice of all things.I speak when youmost need me.I will bind you not withfear or ritual, but withpeace and silence.I demand of younothing.I spin the…