Arriving too late
The sun covered with a gray haze
Met the screaming hour
My glass nerves shattered
In the jangle of broken
Poems of hopelessness
And died for lack of
Sweet rhyming allegories
Buried too deeply in my soul.
The Final Curtain
When the final curtain is drawn,
And my existence unfolds into eternity,
I breathe a final breath, and
The things I savored in my life,
The multitude of happy times,
Fade into winter’s white coldness:
But as the light drips from the sun
Into the horizon’s endless fire, and
My short time on this planet is gone.
Memories continue in others even as
The reflexes known as my life, expire…
Promises, discarded, broken, lie beside
Dusty laws of the past, trampled
Under the grime of ideology: Hopes,
Shattered, lives thrown into the pit of
Indifference born of greed…ignorance,
Untried principles: Compassion wilting
In the darkness of shattered dreams,
Kindness melted into fiscal indifference
Of our time, all under the weight of
He is the non-Nietzsche man
A feeling amorphous shape in the
World of fiscal nothingness…a
Caring mind in the world of insensitivity,
Lost in un-noted worthiness…
He is the non-Nietzsche man
A gentle soul among the
Multitude of avaricious plastic people…
A man of integrity, honest and sane,
A petal to a sepal…
He is the non-Nietzsche man
A thinking mind in the
Torpid emptiness of man’s banality…
A man of truth and virtue, filled with
Intelligence without cupidity…
He is the non-Nietzsche man
And like Nietzsche’s god…
He too is dead…
James is the author of four collections of poems, “Solace Between the Lines,” (2019), “Light” (2016), “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014),” and “The Silent Pond,” (2012). He has had over 1,400 poems, four novels, seven essays, and thirty-five short stories published in over 200 different national and international, books, anthologies, and magazines, including Penwood. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU. A review of his newest collection of poems, “Solace Between the Lines,” can be found on Cyberwit.com.
Lynn Long- https://zolanymph1.blogspot.com/. Poet, writer, aspiring novelist, daydreamer and believer in the impossible. Artist @hitRECord.org and Scriggler.com. Published in the following Ezines, Publications and Online Journals:
https://academyoftheheartandmind.wordpress.com/ Antarctica Journal, Duane’s PoeTree and In Between Hangovers etc.
I am the blue flower in the garden of Eden,
Once God came and walking by.
He looked pondering in thoughts,
Suddenly He saw me, and asked,
“Oh little beauty! What’s your name?
Struck by his presence, I forgot my name.
He smiled. “Oh pretty little thing! I name you Forget-Me-Not
And you shall be now reside on Earth, as long as the creation will exsist”.
I wanted to say out loud that I don’t want to go.
What a dreadful place.
But my inner words came back as echo.
Since then I keep saying to God, forget me not
Take me back to your Eden.
There is no reply from God.
So I wait and wait.
In between, I smile at love couples passing by,
And whisper gently, Forget-Me-Not.
They give me to one another with promises to remember each other till eternity.
Some are kept, some are broken and some become bitter and sour.
And I remain as witness of the countless promises.
But, I keep my promise to myself to not to forget me not.
My true identity.
That I came from Eden.
And I keep saying, Forget-Me-Not,
Take me back to Eden.
I can’t take the more and more pretentious promises in the name of me.
I am tired of watching hypocrisy in love.
But I must not forget me not,
I came from Eden
With all that holds holy and sacred.
Oh fake lovers, don’t violate my name.
Stop your deceiving.
Forget-Me-Not, that I am from Eden.
I continue to not to forget myself.
I sing my song and wait.
Alas! I am destined to stay here,
And I fear.
I fear, with all false promises in my name,
I will forget myself.
I will loose my name,
The name given to me by God.
People will soon call me,
“Forget Me” Flower.
I see the day, It is near.
And now I sing for myself
Once I symbolized, love, loyalty and promise.
And Longing to go back to Eden.
So I keep saying Forget-Me-Not,
And I wait and wait.
And my waiting goes on.
Tabassum Tahmina Shagufta Hussein is an aesthete from Dhaka, Bangladesh & MA holder in British&American Literature.Now a Free-lance writer . She writes weekly column featuring humanitarian to diverse issues. Her poems appeared in literary magazines. She loves travelling and participates in recitals.Her hobby is making DIY jewellery for near and dear ones. She seeks beauty from the blade of grass to twinkling stars. Aestheticism and humanism are the essence of her existence. She can be reached at email@example.com
Its that hot bath sink
into brain suds.
That half past two AM
That trying on,
And in the end,
Hoping some piece of you
some part of them.
Jennifer Bradpiece was born and raised in the multifaceted muse, Los Angeles, where she still resides. She tries to remain active in the Los Angeles writing and art scene. Jennifer has interned at Beyond Baroque and often collaborates with multi-media artists on projects. Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and published in various anthologies, journals, and online zines, including Redactions, The Common Ground Review, and The Bacopa Literary Review . She has poetry forthcoming in Breath & Shadows among others. Jennifer’s manuscript, Lullabies for End Times will be available in early 2020 by Moon Tide Press.
joined by another
a noisy pair
dark and handsome.
Swinging on the cable
delighting the home-alone
their crested heads
kissed by the rough winds of summer
waiting for the rains
to arrive on the Mumbai skyline.
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/.
It is Blind, It is Deserved and It is Denied by Alexis Ogunmokun
I am the reason
Why the court system exists
Superheroes live by my code
She wears a blindfold
While holding a sword in one hand
And a balance scales in the other hand
I am the reason
Why the bad guys are
In prisons or on death row
I am the opposite of injustice
Who am I?
Alexis Ogunmokun resides in Bloomington-Normal, Illinois. She works at Hy-Vee. She writes poetry and short fiction. She is an introvert with a dream to publish her poems. She has one brother and one sister. She loves to live life to the fullest.
I am human
from all races
I am looking
I am human
no silky touch
but on my own
for no reason
am trying to
live like a human
My name is
My age is the
days of the
My soul is
I once met her;
she is the reason
why the night is
sad, no matter
what I do aside
from writing a
poem or a song
walk me home
I am blind to
I am a silent
to dreamers talking
to machine believers
Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally and has poems translated into several languages. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2018. He is the author of The Bleeding Heart Poet, Love On The War’s Frontline, Gas Chamber, Wounds from Iraq, Roofs of Dreams, and The Grey Revolution. He lives in Montreal, Canada.
Shimmering skull, trodden down
the impervious path, I was happy
before I met you, now damned
that we have parted company.
My life was spent in exile, you would
have gladly destroyed me, naked upon
the lovers cross, given half the chance.
The word love never existed, it was a
facade on all sides of the fence, barbed
and harsh like a nuclear funeral.
I forced all those smiles in those grainy
snapshots, those damned family functions,
your tribe of self-righteous hypocrites,
of the martyred and pure.
I had to make light of my transitions,
over the past twenty years, the prison
cell reeked of the terror of our loneliness.
Rivers of translucent tears, self-pollinated
mirrors of scorching bay wilderness, I was
always at fault and always drunk, that neurosis
almost killed me; like father like mother, dead
in their pickled coffins, brains petrified, souls
Wayne Russell is or has been many things in his 49 years on this planet, he has been a creative writer, world traveler, graphic designer, former soldier, and former sailor. Wayne has been widely published in both online and hard copy creative writing magazines. From 2016-17 he also founded and edited Degenerate Literature. In late 2018, the kind editors at Ariel Chart nominated Wayne for his first Pushcart Prize for the poem Stranger in a Strange Town. “Where Angels Fear” was his debut e-book, but due to unforeseen circumstances, it was pulled from the publishers’ list of titles recently.
You will not see me for a full trimester,
my water has broken so that I am left with
a leaky faucet for a kitchen, that slow plodding way
treachery soaks through everything, the curtains
pulled over like a failed state, summary executions
in the bedroom, a simple black blindfold over the eyes
like the power gone out, bodies limp against the wall
when all the rest has left; rumours of a coup, that’s
what I hear anyways, the nails get together and imagine
themselves hammers so that the hammer comes down
to remind them, this is wild speculation of course,
the government mouthpiece is tonguing the roof
of its own mouth and pronouncing strange brutal loves,
my bedsheets are a lake of disguises, the outside world
just someone else’s fun house; the graves so fresh
you’d think they came from a farmer’s market
and the intelligence services devoid of all intelligence
so that the baton becomes the shower water
and the whipping boy forgets to scream.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, PPP Ezine, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
The sun is a giant beach ball.
See it splashing through
waves all red violet blue.
Waters creep over my feet.
Should I stand shivering
or go swim? Lose my footprint?
Off I run, falling over myself,
a mug of salty cider. This
wave an insecure bed. Seaweed
pillow. Carried by moon to
The floor of my mansion is
not tidy. I shall have sponges
for lunch. Ride with seahorses
On the far shore, my lover
smiles, kiss of surf.
Joan McNerney’s poetry has been included in numerous literary zines such as Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Blueline, Halcyon Days and included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane Press and Poppy Road Review anthologies. She has been nominated four times for Best of the Net.
the sea plays hide n seek
where sea meets land
our bodies touch
in sweet passion
our morning escapade.
Joanne has been writing for 50 years. She is a published poet and photographer. Her works have appeared in numerous in print and onlinepublications such as The Parnassus Literary Journal, Westward Quarterly, The San Diego Arts and Poets Magazine, Nomads Choir, SP Quill, just to name a few. She was awarded a round-trip ticket to HongKong in 2007 by Cathay Pacific Airways for her winning entry in their poetry contest. Joanne is the founder and editor of StanzaicStylings Literary Ezine.
Joanne enjoys reading, writing, collecting old poetry books, live music concerts, roaming art galleries and museums, leisurely lunches withfriends in diners, getting out in nature with her camera and making toys for and playing with her feathered companion, Sammers. You can learn all there is to know about her by visiting her website/blogat http://poeticshutterbug.blogspot.com
Thank you for being you
For arriving in my life
Not a moment too soon
But right on time
For loving me right
For encouraging me always
For inspiring me each day
Thank you for paying attention
For being dependable
For always being right on time
Kelli J Gavin lives in Carver, Minnesota with Josh, her husband of an obscene amount of years and they have two crazy kids. She is a Writer, Professional Organizer and owns Home & Life Organization and a small Jewelry Company. Look for Kelli’s first book of short stories and poems in 2019. You can find her work with The Ugly Writers, Sweatpants & Coffee, Writing In a Woman’s Voice, The Writers Newsletter, Writer’s Unite!, Academy of the Heart and Mind, The Rye Whiskey Review, Spillwords, Mercurial Stories, 121 Words, Hickory Stump, Rabid Oak, HerStry, Ariel Chart, The Basil O’Flaherty, PPP Ezine, Southwest Media, Otherwise Engaged, Pleather Skin, Paper.Li, The New Ink Review, and among others. Find Kelli on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram @KelliJGavin Blog found at kellijgavin.blogspot.com