Gary Beck is back with yet another collection of poems called ‘Conditioned Response‘. ‘Conditioned Response’ reminds us that we are prepared by family, experience, government to react to the events that affect us in our daily lives, shaping our future,…
By: Zunayet Ahammed 1 Your blue sky the stream of rain whiteness, greatness, beauty, and the light of innocence always make me gleeful like an aura of symphony of the poetic hearts or the raving beauty of the greenness of…
By: April Mae M. Berza To love is a tragedy, it is to die a million times in the arms of Aphrodite. To love is a tragedy, it is a surrender, a defeat when you could have been an oasis with…
By: April Mae M. Berza Dying is another form of romance Written in the cold-hearted testament And romance is a surname of trance. When flowers embrace my hands, My hands embrace flowers you’ve sent; To die is a new form of…
By: April Mae M. Berza Let my hello catch you once more, a checkmate in our conversations, the blades of grass not yet mowed as high as the fence. The river be a river envious of the pearls in your chest…
By: Steve Slavin Almost everything I know about women I learned from Bonnie. Although she was just 21 – two years my junior – she already knew more than most people learn in a lifetime. Bonnie was kind of pretty,…
By: James G. Piatt Teal colored waves, bursting over mossy rocks, The never-ending sea tossing white foamed sweet Moisture high into the air, fleeting drops of brine Upon my face, awaken my drifting senses. The eternal tide of the ocean, softly…
By: James G. Piatt Oh, gentle white rose quietly enduring the unhurried day, counting the closing minutes of the fading Magenta sun as you emit sugary aromas from buds so sweet, worry not; for soon the journey to the horizon’s closing…
By: James G. Piatt As I was quietly ambling in the woods, I saw beautiful pink irises under an old Sycamore tree, they were seemingly Humming, a silent tune. The purple Flowers were plentiful as leaves on The old Maple tree,…
By: Adreyo Sen Till yesterday, I was glass. No one rubbed their hands against the dusty windowpane through which I looked out the world, seeing the brightest colors grey. How I shrank from it all. I was always cold. Little by…