By: James Aitchison When smoothly goes life,stop to love and listen then,take an accounting,see the wreckage in the soul,the chance to turn again and findknowledge of all knowledge,truth of all truth.Walk outside of life,for the blest onesleave no footprints.Step through…
By: Shannon Winestone ASHES OF APRIL Ashes of April—farewell, goodbye…You were my harbor, my city, my sky. THE SAGE for Himself The voice of the sage rattles the mountains,Sighs through the orchards, whispers with the rain—Singing the songs of Israfel.His…
By: Jim Bates Fall’s changing colorsGolden-yellow orange and redKalidoscope glee. Oak tree forest giftFat acorns dropping like rainSquirrels ecstatic. Quiet woodland pondWhite swans feed in unisonBeautiful ballet. Midnight open fieldMilky Way washes the skyStarry cosmic joy.
By: Richard LeDue “Poem Sized Questions (In Lieu of Big Ones)” Why are there poetswho are so sure they’ve seen godor at least through him enoughto brag about oblivionlike it’s an award for a poetry contest? Why are there poetsso…
By: Paweł Markiewicz the dreamed winterthe storks sitting meekly in Africathe butterfly frozen in the marvelous pondmice write a gorgeous mytha rural boy longs for the moonglowwitch apollonianly bewitcheda stunning worldin a moony wayI am full of druidic wizardriesYou are…
By: James Aitchison This is the nightwhen you are still.My voice in your soulis the voice of all things.I speak when youmost need me.I will bind you not withfear or ritual, but withpeace and silence.I demand of younothing.I spin the…
By: Ranjit K Sahu Autumn winds The wind gives a little nudgeIt’s cold touch unwelcomeThe autumn leaves peak in glory at dawnTheir pinnacle of colors is hereShall they not enjoy it a little longer? The leaves flutter a littleA shiver…
By: Bruce Levine The Beetle Parade The beetle paradeCrossing the floorSeeking new bound’riesYet trapped by a doorFollow their leaderTo rooms yet remainThe prizes for beetlesIs another refrain Ants Ants live on a farmAnd sometimes they live on a hillIt seems…
By: Debbie Tunstall This is my story to tell.You do not get to choose the wordsthat everyone needs to read.They are for me, and for others. If I get cutyou do not get to choose how I bleed,If it tricklesgushesor…
By: Gopal Lahiri Breathing Incense It’s what speaks to us, that corner, that edge of lifefrom which emergesa vitellus of pigment and tinges, like bloodyfiligree of bones,spreading the autumn sky.the daylight is winding down from theshouldered hill.Oleander tree sheds its…