By Stacie Seidl My heart still beats My will is not broken I will never be defeated by words left unspoken Lessons were learned Growth was achieved Self resurrected I always believed
Featured Posts
The Ghost within my Mind
By Laura LaJoie What an eerie feeling!Meeting the intruderWho’s seeking shelterWithin my mind. Exposing the horrors I’ve been numb to, Using me as its puppet! The gruesome fact is, We are one in the same, Aren’t we? A mirror image Stitched entirely of Flaws, bound tightly By self-preservation.
Numbers Woman
By John Grey Can you keep the 7to yourselfhere in this raging sea-storm,or on the mountain side,above the tree-line,when your fingers are impatientto be counting offyour sudden rise in heartbeats. Can you adds 6 to your don’t call list, and throw 5overboard at the first opportunity. Where vines creep and…
The 8:40
By Michael Silverman The morning train was relatively empty. In my car, the only passengers were a dozen black women and me. The train was heading north, and we were going to work. It was our common denominator. In the mid-1970s, I was a reverse commuter. I lived in New…
The Walk
By Gil Hoy I remember summer mornings before anyone else was awake Opening the silver side screen door dark grass, soft carpet under bare feet the already sultry sun and moist salty air Walking out onto a wooden dock with rusty nails, old varnish and a weathered bait bucket attached by a coiled brown rope that was fraying like a…
Burning The Cane-Fields
By John Grey The job’s not done yet.The fields must be burnt clear. No patting sweaty backsas the last truck rolls down the roadway.Harvest is not the end. So, in the last of sun,the wicks are lit.The sky glows sparkling grayas flame moves inon slithering snakes, scurrying rats,crackling stalks and…
To Cross A Raging River
By Jim De Marse I walked in the back door and smelled pot roast in the oven with gravy, peas, butter, and rolls on the side. Mom was making the gravy in a saucepan. I said hi, took off my jacket, and hung it on one of the hooks above…
Privilege
By David James Driving through North Hollywood, a few months shy of a legal beer, a glance in the rearview mirror suggested a mop of hair more ragged than normal. As thoughts of a haircut began to register, a storefront advertising unisex hairstyling appeared, and right in front of its…
Grandfather
By Gwendolyn Jensen Some say that fall is death or death imagined.And it is true that color announces both,Whether painted on the leaf or skin,Whether red or gold or pale clay. Grandfather’s picture was painted in his autumnGarden, in his dark green garden chair,The leg rest up, his legs stretched out to whereThe rotogravure is spread all around…
Nostalgia
By Caitlin Eha I drove to the park todayThe old one just down the roadFrom the house where I’ve always livedOne step out of my car becameA step back through time. I wandered the old pathsWhile children raced past meScrambling up the slides in wild abandonSearching for the monkey bars…