By: RC deWinter give me some skin there you sitowning yourself magnificentlyso at home with who you are that’s irresistiblethe sight of someonecomfortable in his own skin no tricks no gamesno attempt at disguisecontent to just to be how did…
By: Bharti Bansal I have always fiddled with the idea of happiness;Of being like my mother; sacrificial and toying with this act of compromisesSo everytime someone showed me that I could be loved too, I ranI ran towards them until…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley April keeps her grandmother’scrystal and chinain a glass front cabinet.She cooks in battered pots and pans,washes chipped dishes and cups,hangs faded clothes on a line out back. Wonders if the red roosterperched on top of the peeling…
By: Aadi Desai I stare down at the umber river I stare down at the umber river embraced and blackened by the night the reflections of illuminated billboards lie on its surface. Here next to me, the prostitutes near a…
By: George Munyasia A Black Webbed Wasp There is a blackwebbed wasp fidgetingin the thick wintrylight, determined to freeitself.The predatordraws closer. The poor preyflaps the half-brokenwing one more time.One more time. ### In Memory of Victor Paled star of my…
By: Priya Chouhan WEDDING RING Curtains drawn, choking back the tears,loved him more than the love, my lips whitened. Curled myself into his arms, the scent of a beautiful bond fading,lying on the floor, with a heavy ring resting on…
By: Richard LeDue Old Poems Sometimes, reading my old poemsfeels like the closestI’ll ever get to time travel,as the person I used to besends a message through my present dayvoice, hoping to prove the pastmore than those moments one thinks…
By: Mary Bone Mudlarker’s Jewel I was the mudlarker’s jewel,washed in from the sea.You put me on a pedestalfor all the world to see.Of all the trinkets you found,I didn’t have the glam and glitter,until you washed off the mud….
By: Paweł Markiewicz We think of the fascinating charm.We fantasize about wizardry.We ponder on the amazing bard.We reflect on poetic beauty. We muse about astonishing moon.We dream of the surprising vessel.We philosophize about fair throne.We describe awesome Indian summer. We…
By: Alexey Tarasov The dawn is stuck in baked milk.The patch of window is trembling slightly.A mosquito is motionless on the ceilingWith a seed of pomegranate in its belly. This is the way the new yesterday comesAnd crawls coldly under…