By: Emalisa Rose Unpurpling the sycamore There’s two on the higher branch.Perhaps they’re conversing, in waitof the blonde one, to toss out someseeds again. One tips his wing; ready to sail thrucumulus. He lands, he takes off,in repetitive pattern, next…
By: John Muro Deliverance Wind gusts, strong enough to lift small boats fromThe surface of water, are pelting piers and hasteningThe undoing of long-leaning trees; shredding thickHedgerows in such a way the lower leaves tangleAnd spin like minnows in shallow…
By: Akshita Chaudhuri Firdaus,tell maa her daughter ran awayfrom home in search of a home.tell my mother I am alright;tell her I have my meals on timeand my heart breaks into morepieces as her sobs reverberatethrough the dungeons of my…
By: George Freek LATE AUTUMN AFTERNOON (After Tu Fu) Those distant cloudswill soon be overhead,bringing rain or snow.The flowers will be dead.Squirrels play mindless games.It’s what suits their brains.Flowers and squirrelsare soon past their prime.But as I drink my wine,I…
By: Galen Cunningham Wasp Stings Wasp sting litanies across hairs strongenough to twine earth and hell;wings with wind strong enough to takeroofs off the stone baked houses.Their needling alarm will wakeone’s senses to the burning sun,leaving a thick and red…
By: Carl “Papa” Palmer Icicles always fat at their topstapering down toward the ground,time frozen in melted dropsfrom eaves around the town.They drip in the day,refreeze at night,melt away,out ofsight
By: Enrico Barigazzi. The last time i’ve seen you The fall has come bearing down on my shouldersthe forgotten regrets concealed into a casket full of summer sandand your eyes have been twinkling inside my memoriesas stars in a dark…
By: Angela Moore Your True Worth When you can’t see your worth.You crave fames decadent reprieve.To melt the emptiness within.Bask in the spotlights warm glow.Though it only illuminates the damage they’ve done.To such a beautiful soul.Who was and will always…
By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey Memories sprout like cactusthat I planted in my potsoft,spiky shoots tender as nightremind me of coarse fabrics of your cloththat I dared to touch unmindful of pricksand oozing droplets of blood on my tips.Yellow bulbs of…
By: Stephen Kingsnorth A Faith Community gathers, Conwy Hill, Wales A ruby line, massed silver birch,the purple-plumed ice stalagmites,the russet bracken canvas backed,warm signs, green-bottle conifers,the cold winds ever interrupt. Atop near hill, in silhouette,some branches, high-sky summit stand,an upturned…