by Aviendha Francisco “You cannot have something for nothing.” It grinned at me, a smile devoid of emotion and full of teeth. It scratched its mangy fur and stared at me with eyes white as milk, wide as saucers. The green velvet divan underneath its cracked hooves provided an interesting…
by Leslie Chehade Rise misty dawning A full raspberry bush drops green cereal bowl. And noontime combusts Dampened petals, sprinkler prayssodden bandana Evenfall gloaming Awhile tomato pie bakes Gone the garden spade
by Becky Earle I wanted to carry him everywhere, but His words wore a hole in my pocket,And before I knew it, the scrap of A notecard, rumpled and worn from Fondling, fell to the street at the Corner of Clark and Pine. The shadow that saw it fall Tapped…
by Amy Covel It’s always just been meMyselfAnd INever youOr someone else I’ve lived life on my ownOn the edgeAll by myself‘Cause no oneCould ever keep upOr copeWith who I am I’ve started runningAnd I won’t stopUntil I dieBut no one can understandThis is my futureMy five-step plan But youdaredTo challenge…
by Khristy L. Knudtson I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful since I was a child and since I was your “Muffin.”I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful since it was illuminated in the middle of these crosshairs.The smooth, crescent moon of the trigger carressed…
By: Julie Worsham If I’m being honest I wake up each day filled with apprehension Am I the right one to do this job Am I capable of delivering this lesson? If I’m being honest I wonder if a day will ever come when I actually reach youYou staring back…
By: Kristal Peace More and more Often now, The oak tree in the center of Our yard inexplicably Begins to weep. Every day, for two weeks, Its branches sag, and its leaves cascade To the ground, like the stream Of a waterfall, drenching the entire lawn. But It is Summer,…
by Kristal Peace Poetry is the sound of the soul Crying. It is the way the heart speaks when there is no one Who will listen. It is the voice of those who have been compelled to be Silent For so long. Poetry is Pain: Distilled.
by The Poet Darkling I gaze upon the poet;her words – ponderless, profound;deep and dark and blue –and think,what such have I to offerfrom my humble beginningsor my sordid pastto justify the title of poet? To answer the unanswerable? To defend my consumptionof fish, of fowl, of air, of love?…
by Chantae Eaton “Beep beep, beep beep.” His alarm sounded promptly at six a.m., the same as it had every Monday since his eighteenth birthday. Today it did not fulfill its duty in rousing him. Rufus was already awake and had been for some time. He’d spent the last three…