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…
By: Cynthia Pitman Based on true events i. Raindrops wrinkle the river.Soft waves gently slapthe sand where I stand.The trees around mewhisper in the gentle breezethat will soon growinto a wild wind.I stare across the expanse.A lone boat heads home.The…
By: Bruce Levine Focused on the road Out of mediocrity Goals set and fulfilled *** Sailing through the maze Choosing turns that make dreams clear The path is defined
By: Debbie Tunstall If this is the endIf this air I breathe is indeed the last,I want it to fill every inch of what is me.I need it to rush from mouth to veinswith a spring in it’s step,Delicate but…
By: Jim Bates Hot September dayDry grass crinkling underfootThirsty squirrel pants. Equinox arrivesEqual hours day and nightNature’s symmetry. Autumn breeze goes stillThirsty leaves hang crispilyDry air feels languid. Geese flying honkingSwallows amass on taut wiresSense of change looming.
By: Arvilla Fee Once Around the Block Lenny’s eyes sag, his chin sags;he’s just one sad sack of bonesbound to a wheelchair.Bored—bordering on depression.No family. No visitors. Stuck.Come on, Lenny, I say.He lifts bushy gray eyebrows,casting me a look of…
By: James Aitchison Weak shouldersdo not have to bearenormous anguish.Soft words,impervious to grief,await in the bastionof the soul.Let no mangrovel for answers.The soul containsthe means to gentlylight your path.