Poet of the Month: James G Piatt
Windows of Dreams by Mary Bone
Crème Brûlée by Jack M. Freedman
Healing by Eduard Schmidt-Zorner
Fits in Nicely by Patricia Walsh
I’m Just Trying To Be Comfortable by Eric Golden
Poet of the Month: James G Piatt
Time & Memories
Time is fading away inside clocks, which
Count the passing of countless hours in
Rusting minutes. The enigmatic
Shadows of the vanishing past intrude
Into memories as time hidden inside
Obscurity continually ticks away into
Infinity.
The conscious journey of life ends in the
Scarlet seconds of wordless flight, but
Time continues forever. When the
Ocean’s waves of ephemeral moments
Pass over our graves of earth and
Wood, and our lifeless flesh remembers
Not, time still exists for those with future
Dreams and golden memories,
As countless seasons come and go, and
Precious hours have long departed this
Life of mine, and as luminescent clouds
Wander freely over my marble
Tombstone, someone may still have
Memories of me, and will visit my
Tombstone in the early hours of a foggy
Morn.
Yearning for Summer
As clouds gather, I find
There is little to remember
As rain washes away
Memories, and builds
Upon darkness. I move
About the grayness
Without exactness, frozen
Thoughts bend images in
My mind. Puddles in the
Muddy rutted country road
Reflect things to be
Learned about winter
Winds, and moisture.
Barren trees with boughs
Searching for sky watch
For a sense of sun in the
Quivering silence of the
Day’s frozen hours, and I
Yearn for summer’s heat
To warm my weary bones.
The Lost
Scattered among the corroded
Debris of ruins and
Lost dreams
Are shattered
Hopes of a
Thousand traumatized souls.
Helplessness,
Caused by the spewing of hate filled
Bullets and bombs
Onto burning sand,
Covered the last hopes
Of those who have, nothing left
Except, their souls:
Men/women/children
Trudge helplessly
On jagged blood laced paths
And, crimson tinted sand,
Away from devastated homes
To anywhere,
Even death’s door:
The weary refugees continue
Running, running, running
To escape the tyranny of a
Despot, and
The blades of extreme
Insane Ideologists
Dr. Piatt’s poetry collections include “The Silent Pond,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “Light.” His poem “Teach Me,” was the poem of the year at Long Story Short, and many of his poems have been featured as ‘poems of the month’ in numerous magazines, including Poetry Poetics Pleasure. Several of his poems were nominated for both Pushcart, and Best of Web awards. He has published over 1130 poems. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU.
Windows of Dreams by Mary Bone
A beautiful mind meditates,
Waterfalls are cascading
In a myriad of colors.
Watercolors fragment
Into exploded color.
Brushstrokes splash paint
With scenic views that my mind sees-
Illuminating brightness,
With thought and memory.
There is gold horizons and misty mountains.
Such truth of beauty,
I can’t put on paper.
Mary Bone has been writing poetry since the age of twelve. Her poems have been published at Kritya, Poetry Pacific, The Oklahoma Today Magazine, Spillwords and forthcoming poetry from Digging Through The Fat/Digging, January 25th online issue. Some recent published poetry can be found at, ”The Song Is,” Blogspot online.
Pyre by David Estringel
Let hungry flames lick.
Devour this flesh that binds
and let me be free.
David Estringel is an avid reader, poet, and writer of fiction, creative non-fiction, & essays. His work has been accepted and/or published by Specter Magazine, Literary Juice, Foliate Oak Magazine, Indiana Review, Terror House Magazine, Expat Press, 50 Haikus, littledeathlit, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Route 7, Setu Bilingual Journal, Paper Trains, The Elixir Magazine, Soft Cartel, and The Good Men Project. He is currently a Contributing Editor (fiction) at Red Fez, editor/columnist at The Good Men Project, and an editor/writer at The Elixir Magazine. David Estringel can be found on Twitter (@The_Booky_Man) and his blog “The Booky Man” at thebookyman.wordpress.com.
Crème Brûlée by Jack M. Freedman
Thin veil of sugar covering the gold within
this soul.
Crystals solidified and etched with fire
upon the surface of this heart
Dare to crack the surface of this top layer
of treasure?
Find the wealth within and know this
facade is temporary.
Chances are there are one or more
tongues left to arouse.
Embodiment of mirth realized through
long lingual spasms
Birth of dessert which always wants to
touch a lover’s lips.
Wholeness of dairy and the code
embedded within a tongue.
Abundance in a shallow dish holding the
depths of kindness and sincerity. .
Jack M. Freedman is a poet of heart and of the modern cities.
Healing by Eduard Schmidt-Zorner
I grew up amidst ruins,
remember a dead cat, exposed
on the debris pouring out of a
lonely porch of a destroyed house.
Destruction everywhere, also in my heart
I had no toys, no space to play,
refugees we were, displaced people.
In a box, I found two tiny wooden blocks,
unfinished.
And I found a thimble.
And a wooden mushroom,
which my mother used to darn the socks.
I placed the blocks on top of one another,
and added the thimble as turret,
gave the mushroom next to it
the order to stand straight
to serve as umbrella to keep me safe
in the house, which I constructed..
Eduard Schmidt-Zorner is an artist and a translator and writer of poetry and short stories. He is writing haibun and poetry in four languages: English, French, Spanish and German and holds workshops on Japanese and Chinese style poetry. He is a member of four writer groups in Ireland. He lives in County Kerry, Ireland, since more than 25 years and is a proud Irish citizen, born in Germany. He was published in 29 anthologies, literary journals and broadsheets in UK, Ireland and USA. Writes also under his pen name: Eadbhard McGowan.
Exiled by Sunil Sharma
The old bed
frayed sheet and blanket
the frail being
sotto voce
talks
to an airy
presence.
A hand towel
vials, medicines, water
bottle,
dentures and bifocals
on the
crowded table
near the yellow pillow
an old cell-phone
the most cherished
item
in that small
Gulag
created exclusively
in an urban home
for a dying
parent in a liberal
India chasing brands.
Sunil Sharma is Mumbai-based senior academic, critic, literary editor and author with 19 published books: Six collections of poetry; two of short fiction; one novel; a critical study of the novel, and, eight joint anthologies on prose, poetry and criticism, and, one joint poetry collection. He is a recipient of the UK-based Destiny Poets’ inaugural Poet of the Year award—2012. His poems were published in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, in the year 2015. Sunil edits the English section of the monthly bilingual journal Setu published from Pittsburgh, USA: http://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.html For more details, please visit the blog: http://www.drsunilsharma.blogspot.in/.
Old by Noelle Kukenas
“I look old,” said the woman, as she glanced in the mirror, trying to cover the wrinkles with make-up.
“You’re not old, Mama,” said the younger woman, “those lines represent all the times you have laughed and smiled.”
“I feel old,” said the woman, as she struggled to lift herself out of the chair.
“You’re not old, Grandma,” said the child, “you’re just tired after playing tag with me today – and you won!”
“I sound old,” said the woman, as her voice shook when she spoke.
“You’re not old, GG,” said the young teenager, “none of my friends’ great-grandparents know the lyrics to all the latest songs like you do!”
“I AM old!” exclaimed the woman, as she gazed at the candles blazing atop the cake in front of her.
“Yes! You are 100years old! Happy Birthday to you…” sang four generations of the woman’s family.
Noelle Kukenas began writing around the age of nine and continues to this day. She enjoyed working in several career fields, many which allowed her to contribute as a technical writer in some capacity. Her published works include a short story in Scraps To Scribes and poetry in Sisterhood 4: We Are Women. Recently retired from the nonprofit sector, Noelle enjoys spending her free time traveling with her husband, creating havoc with her grandchildren, and enjoying the California sunshine!
Fits in Nicely by Patricia Walsh
Grating at extremeties, like the sheer cold
Over winter blanketed, a part to play
Traitored, or otherwise, importance to call
The basic ingredient is the willing heart.
Life-partners to the fore, smugly congregating
In enclosed spaces not for the rest of us.
Brusquely rebuffing attempts at conversation
About their situation, intrusive, thanks.
I remain a stand-alone, despite predictions
Of a collective over summer, look out or not
Several broken hearts liter the roadway
To an earlier heaven, fitting in nicely.
No problem with insanity, broadcast over coffee
Not in any company should these jokes be shared
Strictly smoking in confined spaces, to mockery
Counting in times it hits you in the face.
Concerned, perhaps? Preserving acquaintance
For merriment alone, cussing the depressed.
Parallels with Ballymun hit the wrong spot
Reading comfort but kicked in the teeth.
Relaxing at its peak, reading the irrelevant
Taking notice of sorrow for once in a life
Conspicuous by absence, still overlooked
Gambolling from drink to drink a speciality.
Patricia Walsh was born and raised in the parish of Mourneabbey, Co Cork, Ireland. To date, she has published one novel, titled The Quest for Lost Eire, in 2014, and has published one collection of poetry, titled Continuity Errors, with Lapwing Publications in 2010. She has since been published in a variety of print and online journals. These include: The Lake; Seventh Quarry Press; Marble Journal; New Binary Press; Stanzas; Crossways; Ygdrasil; Seventh Quarry; The Fractured Nuance; Revival Magazine; Ink Sweat and Tears; Drunk Monkeys; Hesterglock Press; Linnet’s Wing, Narrator International, The Galway Review; Poethead and The Evening Echo.
I’m Just Trying To Be Comfortable by Eric Golden
I’m just trying to be comfortable in my own skin
At the same time looking for that companionship
Someone that completes me & looks out for my well being
Looks for the positives & through all the tough times they’re not leaving
The one who never cheats
That one who is never full of deceit
I’m trying to cope with being single & I’m not ready for commitment
But I’m ready to open up as much as I don’t want to admit it
One night stands aren’t cutting it & I’m looking for something deeper
Something more fulfilling, emotional & sweeter
The shining jewel in my crown
& that woman who is 10 toes down
A lot of women have caused me pain & grief
Some have stole my heart like a thief
But i need that special girl
Who can rotate my lonely world
Love is something I don’t take lightly
I just want someone to hold me down daily & nightly.
Eric was born in Omaha, Nebraska. He graduated from Boys Town high school and went on to get a degree in Social Work. He married at 19 but later got divorced and has raised two children alone. His love for music and arts has led him to his writing. Much of his poetry and writings come from experiences and love of life. He often adds humor to enlighten and has been writing for over 20 years.
Poetry by Lynn Long
Floating on a nebulous
Adrift in contemplation
Teetering at the precipice
I wander the constellations
Surfing celestial infinity
Riding waves of euphoria
Swimming in sublimity
No longer lost in moria
I’m chillin with the hatter
Sipping tea with honey
Where nothing really matters-
Unless you ask the bunny
Lynn Long is a poet, writer, aspiring novelist, as well as a daydreamer and firm believer in the impossible. She has been published in the following ezines, journals and online publications: Stanzaic Stylings, PPP Ezine, Antarctica Journal, Contributing artist at HitRECord.org and Scriggler.com.
PPP Ezine 