By: Carl “Papa” Palmer seeing a squared up column of lower case clauses is how to recognize my poetry scoffing capitalizations and poor punctuation are allowed to liberalize my poetry finding my meter improvised, alliteration ill advised, deemed as duly…
By: Carl “Papa” Palmer Happy with myself the first time in years, able to look folks in the face unashamed, knowing another day has been conquered. My friends, my family, all proud of me, of how my life is finally…
By: Emily Ruggieri I’m driving away The day is new, the sun kisses my cheek through the glass Warm like the touch of the hand that cares, do you care Feelings are there, feelings I’m afraid to share Feelings that…
By Susi Bocks this determined path sometimes leads to places of not wanting to be staying stuck even my goals are far-reaching and my ambition is strong yet, i still find myself at an unpredicted stop life is devilish like…
By: Anadi Naik The room is cool With a humming air-conditioner. The bed, the chair and the table Overused by ever present patients are old. The walls are empty like the face of that mirror sunk into the north side…
By Chinese Poet Yuan HongriTranslated by Manu Mangattu Outside the Universe of Sapphire Don’t you think the key is sweet If it condenses into a diamond in solitude And its song unlocks the portals to unseen gold? You have discovered…
By: Ethan Owens Malvern Hills in June This little cabin and your long nose make me feel at home Among the crumbling beams, white but blue. On this chair lies the greycoat, forgotten like the red before him, Rolled and…
By: Keith Moul Diana Ipso Facto Far from soft nights in Rome, prairie pauses for ritual witness to headlights gleaming back from dozens of reflectors lining a half mile of rude driveway: sparkling nymphs to court Diana’s statue (long erected…
By: Simon Perchik * To clear your lips –a simple wipe though once spread out your sleeve fills with shoreline follows on its own, washed with enormous wings shaken off the stale crumbs half sand, half seabirds half before each…
By: Winston Derden Old Friends She told him he would end alone, an old man with his books. He wrote that in a poem I read myself into with a grain of satisfaction, a forethought of acquiescence into the comfort…