By: Jim Bates White swans on the wingFlying over frozen lakesSpring so elusive. Spring creeping slowlyPlants lie in fallow slumberWaiting to burst forth. Swamps coming aliveBirds flocking chirping madlyGulls soaring overhead. Another day of sunCloudless sky over open lakeWild geese…
By: James Aitchison Why keep the mindshadowed and suppressed?Plunge truth’s razor edgeinto the darkest corners.Cut the threads which tiethe soul to the self.Let no earthly fault beburied in your being.Order and wisdom willbe yours, for youwill not be bound tothis…
By Carl Papa Palmer player support three different breakfasts forthree grumpy grouches slowlybecoming two grand girls and a papatalking about the early game of theirfast pitch series forgetting to thankgrandma for getting them out thedoor in time to arrive at…
By: Mayumi Yamamoto Regarding the Empire Overseas-IAmerican Age Bornin the mid-twentieth century,in an island of Asia,and raisedduring the so-called American Age,unlike the others who flocked to the States,I never made the journey.Nor will I ever. I’ll leave the world without…
By: Arvilla Fee Everything I Leave Behind Do not weep, my darling,as you lay me down;I haven’t gone that far; I have flung my poemsinto the stars,see how they winkconspiratoriallyabove your head, I have planted wordsin the aspens and the…
By: Paweł Markiewicz You dreamful, dreamy, moony and dreamed King of Elves!You became in the most amazing ways: A dazzling statue of Buddha, as If a ghost created it from the moony dreameries.A parrot on the statue: the paradise-like birdie,…
By: Bruce Levine My eye’s on the rainbow Holding on to dreamsKeeping pace with forever My time to shineSimply faded Holding a near empty glass Her life is about making money My life is about making art What is one…
By: Juairia Hossain Thou, a shade that dwells ‘neath moonlit skies,Thy face a mist, lost in the winds of time,Thou comest when silence doth rise,And shadows of night stretch o’er my rhyme. Oft thou appearest in the darkened veil,When solitude…
By: Sawyer Olson The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead,And memory, too, holds its claim.Your voice hums Superior, where the iron ore fled,A ship lost to the storm’s cruel name. Memory,…
By: Judith Ferster I am a good friend If you do not want me to intrude on your worry for your son fighting for Israel, I won’t. If you tell me on October 7 not to say the words“settler colonialism,”…