By: Mohit Saini The forest sighs in hues of gold,A tapestry of fire unfolds.Each trembling leaf, a whispered note,Descends in silent, graceful float.The earth is dressed in amber light,A fleeting blaze before the night.The air is sharp with cinnamon,As dusk…
By: Bruce Levine Upper West Side apartmentsA hidden agendaNot so hiddenTo the literatiAnd intelligentsia PsychologicalSocietal studiesFamily relationships Real and dysfunctional Phobias and foibles Siblings and psychosis Fantasies and follies False or deferential Dixieland orCafé society piano Introspective or Hyper-sensitive Transcendental…
By: Richard LeDue As Okay as It Got Some Days The silence used to be a tin can phoneI talked to the president on,only for the line to die in my sleep,as I tried not to dreamabout a nursereminding me…
By: Tanjila Ontu Last year I found a manBrown eyes with curly black hair.I wonder what I saw in himOh I fell in love that October. Your gaze was filled with love,words can’t express it.A sea of emotionstoo great to…
By: Mary Bone Art Is Rest A model rests on a draped cloth,as artists capture her form on paper.Lights and shadows appearusing charcoal to shade.Tendons are stretched in movement,as blue veins are highlightedwith light pastels. Poetry Is Restful Our minds…
By: Jim Bates Mourning Dove cooingSweet sure sign of early springCalming to the soul. Briskly blowing windWaves lapping along the shoreSpecial serenade. Bitter blowing windIce and snow pelting windowsSpring stepping backward. First day of AprilLight fluffy snowflakes fallingSuch a fickle…
By: James Aitchison Take refuge in theinner self, the pure heartof your being.This is the storehouseof your soul, where thevoice speaks in the coreof the subconscious.Here are all your life’sactions and emotions,the hopes and the goodness,the self that has livedall…
By: Bruce Levine Picasso Good artists borrow Great artists steal A Picasso quote I look in the mirror I see myself And yet I paint With Picasso strokes Picasso lines Picasso designs Am I possessed By Picasso? Do I have…
By: James Aitchison A flute playsin the snowas the soulexaminesthe self,each noteresonatingin the eternalsilence,and the fibresof truth are woveninto a clothof gold.
By: Cynthia Pitman to the Harmeling sisters, Fran and Lilah My little sister has the Vision.Born breach at midnight,she was guided into the worldby the gnarled handsof the old shaman-midwife.When my sister wouldn’t stop crying,the shaman spun a spelland gave…