By Michael Lee Johnson Rose Petals in a Dark Room I walk through this poem one step at a time. I walk in a mastery of this night and light my money changers walk behind me they’re fools like clowns…
By: Rex Chilcote The Betrayal It is inevitable that life will betray you. The betrayal is as certain as the rising and setting sun. There are many types of betrayal: There is the physical; as time goes on the decomposition…
By: Aashika Suresh I Am Running Out of Places to Clean My cupboard is arranged by pants, shorts, skirts, shirts, tees, formal wear, semi-formal wear, informal wear, indoor, outdoor, forest, beach, blues, blacks (mostly), whites and the rainbow. My bedside…
By: Hardeep Sabharwal Room and Heart While vacating a room Someone who goes Covers all the necessary things And leaves Waste things Scattered here and there In the room, In the same way When someone goes out of the heart…
By: Yan Yin Phoi The Blind Storm You hear it before you see The skies morph into darkness. Its roar cracks through your soul. Plop plop plop. They fall heavy, swift, as expected. People run and rush for shelter. They…
By: Kashiana Singh Compare and contrast She lived a flower arrangement routine Details, twines, pin holder perfection I box flowers in confused bursts tiger lily’s unabashedly preen peony’s skip in affection embarrassing edges wilt with thirst She taught with…
By: Harrison Abbott To wake, so many times under the canopy of non-sleep; Dreams held in bizarre crossroads, lashed piers, burnt woodlands, Wherein the clowns reside and horsebacked men tap their pistols. Dreams rocked by ladies’ words from their reptile…
By: Emily Jukich Memorize I want to run my fingers down your chest like a reader following the lines on a page Scanning over the braille of your skin I need to be able to see you in the dark…
By: David I Mayerhoff Enter At Your Own Peril Life’s warning signs Everywhere to be seen Except for those Who choose not to look Danger lurks all around In all forms Waiting to pounce On those not willing to sacrifice…
By: Ted Mc Carthy FROM THE LONG ROOM The First Fruit The first fruit is the fruit of dreaming. A layer of day peeled and held up to the light: three girls pose by a distant mountain wall, the sea…