By: Brent Yergensen Young, hopeful—gun unneededPlayed the role of sheriff, newspaper and coffee for styleMost his career, empty of worryBut now burdened, chasing a killer’s hurry Aging and wondering, why men so violent?Became a voiceover, of control less certain‘Take evil’s…
By: Pramod Rastogi Echoes of Yesterday, Promises of Tomorrow As Santa glides inOn his reindeer chariot,Millions of hearts swell with joy,A collective cheer reverberatesAcross the vast expanse of the world.The year now nearing its twilight hourClings gently to its fleeting…
By: James Aitchison (a dada pantoum) tristan tzara cut words from a newspaperdid he use a compass when he explored nothingnesspoems don’t need to have meaning he saidas he shuffled words in a paper bag did he use a compass…
By: Deen Sayeedin All the birds rest on one branch,in the soft light of joy,bringing little messages of happiness. They share their glow,their songs touch other souls—in the warmth of their patron’s love,they live, together, alive. They are not fireflies,but…
By: Duane L Herrmann MY SOUL CRIES On that trueand radiant morn,that momentof inception,I sobbed –knowingseparationwas approachingand I would forgetour oneness,only a longingfor unionwould remain.Agony. Agony!How could I endureseparationuntil Eternity?I still cry. NATURE TAKES ITS OWN Silence of the season:birds…
By: Paul Dickey Greed and Hate (Apology to Robert Frost) Some say that Trump will end in greed;Some say in hate.From what we’ve tasted his ego’s needI hold with those who favor greed.But if he runs again a candidate,I think…
By Goutam Roy Cry in a Haunted House Solitude consortswith whispered shadows,reigning in the cold, stale airof the deserted house,forsaken long agoby those who fled in terror. The cry of ill-fated souls,still echoing,weaves through the cracked walls—a tapestry of raw…
By: Bruce Levine Happy ThanksgivingHere’s to turkey and good cheerJoyous days ahead
By: Sally Lee Branches and Breaths Breath, a river,unseen but constant.A tether through marrow,an ember in silence. It drifts dusk to dawn,vein to vein,horizon to horizon—an orbit of soil and pulse. Breath aches and kindles—a hush that shatters nothing.It returns…
By: Tim Law Confusion I’m so damned confusedBy this game we call lifeLost on the work frontSo quiet with my wife Budget is blownBe it for wages or a loanI’m not sure what I’m doingA mental blank while on the…