By: Kinsey Carlson The Songbird These tears that I cry cannot be explainedLike birds singing sweetly, the music doth lieMy gilded cage tarnished by more than strainMy heart lies bleeding and time does not signifyThat which is remembered is not…
By: Jim Bates Cold weather walkingWinter birds flitting alongSinging merrily. Sleet switching to snowIcy land turns softly whitePleasantly peaceful. Hard sub-zero coldSettling in like frozen steelBone deep and chilling. Bright full moon settingShining through snow covered pinesLighting thoughts of joy.
By: J.K. Durick Seascape I In the face of this I should feelintimidated, feel isolated, orat least out of place watchingthese waves toss and tumble,pull and pitch. Now I find thatI don’t know the language ofwaves. There must be propernames…
By: Amanda Weir-Gertzog awake againcirca 4amsweat rivuletsglisten my skin slick to the touchbreathing rusheda postmenopausalpainted blush aura cherry redflashbang my headknocking sleep’s dooronto nightmares bed rest often remainsa memory, estrangedsomnambulancemy brain unchained
By: Jim Bates High on glueNo, waitNot glue but being togetherThe young boy and his dadWith that model plane they were building. Side by side“Here, son. Let me help.”He guides the boy’s handA slight adjustmentThe wing fits perfectly. Later that…
By Karen Lee Stradford I’m looking forward toa good time,seat at the stage.My friends are waitingfor me. They can see the excitementon my face.People dance and singinthe aisles. The woman next to meis rude andsnaps at otherswith a scowl. I…
By: Kyle Singh Brother You weren’t yourself or really yet slouched over,just a little lost for words, your unwashed face caughtwithin a small amount of doubt, which turned youback into a man, someone– I guess– with wisdom. I never quite…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley Rainbow lady’scyan eyes rimmedby quartz sand washeddown from the mountainsby the Apalachicola Riverwhite foam hair curling downyour rolling, emerald gown. Wash me with your jubilationimmerse me in your exuberance. Ruby sun’s toes dip intothe greeny bathtubyellow moon…
By: Leigh-Anne Burley We climb trees methodicallyimmerse ourselves in greenpick fruit and nutsuse the trunk’s shady backrestto think and dream. Trees are planners andforward thinkersinvest in roots and stalksguardians of vistas and visions Trees are settlers andsky watchersscatter seedsharvest cropsweather…
By: Thomas Sanfilip It is hard to say when the golden age of literary criticism ended and a void crept into the serious study of the humanities. We are now fully immersed in the dark side of post-modernist thinking whereby…