Alone at the end of the day,
souls depart from barren room,
lonely breath, slow decay; blue
city groans, like a wilderness child.
Swirling lights dance, intermingling
with ocean waves and incense.
I could just lose myself in those golden
eyes for an eternity.
A sheltered tapestry of phosphorus
stars and dandelion dreams, drifting
down into my realm; this is the complexity,
of new emotion, a resurrection kiss.
For the first time in years, I’m alive again!
Never happier than now, sleep brings me
visions of her, for once I know peace, dreams
I am the dead inside out, more alone than you
could possibly imagine.
Underneath kaleidoscope skies, trees sway in
the sorrowful breeze, loneliness has a hold on
the stranglehold cool of day.
I lit a match and the world imploded, sat outside
and watched people passing by in subtle sway.
She and me equaled = ‘ed she and he, and now
my universal meanderings have taken a dark turn.
Nosedive, like a suicide mission, Icarus winged god?
Lights out splash!
Dead goldfish in a bowl full of bleeding hearts, a
downward spiral, snap fell the trap on my hat.
I gave up the booze and the smokes oh great, now
I’ll have to stick around a while longer.
More alone than you could possibly imagine, but
I truly know that no one cares, as I do not care.
Loneliness Makes For a Long Long Day
Sitting here talking to myself
sometimes I answer back, sun
sinking low, another day gone.
Without you or anyone else,
so lonely, doesn’t have to be
this way, why did it have to
Alone again, an inhabitable fate
that transpired from out of the
shadows, will of design, leave me.
Papers scattered around this
room, poems, songs, thoughts,
echoing in the corrosive breeze,
window’s open and it’s freezing.
Nothing makes sense in this space
and time, the rain’s back again and
so are these tears of solitude.
Wayne Russell is, or has been, many things in his 48 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. Just recently, the kind editors at Ariel Chart nominated Wayne for his first Pushcart Prize for the poem Stranger in a Strange Town. Where Angels Fear is his debut e-book.
Single life is Tequila with a slice of lime,
Shots offered my traveling strangers.
Play them all deal them jacks, some diamonds
then spades, hold back aces play hardball,
mock the jokers.
Paraplegic aging tumblers toss rocks,
Their dice go for the one-night stand.
Poltergeist fluid define another frame.
Female dancers in the corner
Crooked smiles in shadows.
Single ladies don’t eat that tequila worm
dangle down the real story beneath their belts.
Men bashful, yet loud on sounds, but right times soft spoken.
Ladies men lack caring verbs, traitors to your skin.
Ladies if you really want the worm, Mescal,
don’t be confused after midnight.
Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more than 1072 new publications, his poems have appeared in 38 countries, he edits, publishes 10 poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson, has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018. 204 poetry videos are now on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos.
Editor-in-chief: Poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses and Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry.
Two trumpets fell in love
and their music showed it.
Not a wasted note.
They joined a big band
and were proud to be
such beautiful instruments.
Playing or waiting their turn,
they were never out of reach.
And together they made
the heavens dance.
Paula Hackett’s poetry is influenced by her life experiences growing up in Berkeley during the vibrant and explosive 60’s. The daughter of novelist Paul Hackett, she studied under John Beecher, Angela Davis and Grover Sales. She has written lyrics in collaboration with her brother John Hackett, for many great jazz composers including Teddy Edwards, John Handy, Ivan Lins, Joe Sample, Eddie ‘Cleanhead’ Vinson, and Cedar Walton. Her life long love of jazz is reflected in her many poems about musicians and in her CDs with pianists Rudi Wongozi and Connie Crothers. Her discography is represented in the images and links below.
It’s out there, somewhere,
freewheeling and coy,
tugging on the beard of gravity,
on the path of least resistance.
You can’t see it, but listen –
the sound of a bottle
rolling across a table.
The tattle of mice scurrying.
Sounds of light rain
making its way in the dark.
Planet X, feeling the cold.
Feeling its age.
The sun’s secret servant,
wise men sieving night from day,
like bettors chasing fortune.
They realize, once a thing is
hidden it has to be found.
It has to be hard to find.
It’s next to impossible.
Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with over 1,400 poems published internationally in magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are ‘The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press), ‘An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy’ (Cawing Crow Press) and ‘Like As If” (Pski’s Porch), Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).
Free as a bird. Going to fly now.
Birdsconnotate as winged freedom, as nice, as chirping happiness.
But birds in the sky are at work. They hunt for creatures to kill with their beaks and claws.
They defend territory, whacking into pelicans which fall in the sea broken.
Brown birds peck at black birds to defend a lawn of food;
black birds swarm over the bald eagle to drive it away.
Try holding a falcon, try kissing a falcon, try looking a falcon in its sharp eye,
and telling it you love it.
A bloody mess is what you’ll be.
I mentioned God.
We connotate God.
We connotate sin.
We connotate grace.
David Flynn was born in the textile mill company town of Bemis, TN. His jobs have included newspaper reporter, magazine editor and university teacher. He has five degrees and is both a Fulbright Senior Scholar and a Fulbright Senior Specialist with a recent grant in Indonesia. His literary publications total more than 230. Among the eight writing residencies he has been awarded are five at the Wurlitzer Foundation in Taos, NM, and stays in Ireland and Israel. He spent a year in Japan as a member of the Japan Exchange and Teaching program. He currently lives in Nashville, TN.
Your beauty shattered
the air in my lungs,
leaving me speechless,
forced to communicate
with my fingers
on your pale skin;
you answered me,
your breath drawing deeply,
repeatedly, with a song silently,
Edward Lee’s poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll. His debut poetry collection “Playing PoohsticksOnHa’Penny Bridge” was published in 2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.
He also makes musical noise under the names Ayahuasca Collective, Lewis Milne, Orson Carroll, Blinded Architect, Lego Figures Fighting, and Pale Blond Boy.
His blog/website can be found at https://edwardmlee.wordpress.com
Oceans of lessons
Mountains to climb
Oh, my dear heart
Now is the time…
I knew my path
Seen so clearly
I needed no map
A foolish quest
Oh so clever
Took my hand,
I follow a path
seen less clear
As I listen to
of my heart
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.
A breezy walk to the train station and I’m thinking
Of a live chicken store that was once on Richmond Hill
I sit in a seat facing a passenger taking up
Two seats with the help of an NPR donor tote
A retro man wears cuff links and a monogrammed shirt
An Asian woman, long hair, green coat, black Wellingtons,
Lime turtleneck, has her ear glued to a pink
Cased phone the entire trip
Conductor warns once this is a quiet car
(Tell it to the wheels and tracks)
She whispers, listening not talking
Does he move on because she is so attractive?
Is a man she ditched pleading for another chance?
A hefty man corrects student papers, makes many comments
Does he grade tough?
Reads a poetry magazine after finishing
Is he a poet himself?
A young fellow sits on the floor near a door, types on a computer
His Boston College ball cap is faded
He sneaks peeks at the good listener
The lights blink on and off
The Woman exiting the train in front of me
Pulls a side-wheeled rolling suitcase
Is she thinking of motherhood
Powering a red wagon full of child?
A sign in the Grand Central Men’s Room reads:
No Smoking – No Bathing or Laundering –
No Drinking of Alcoholic Beverages
How many are plotting?
In the Concourse, some travelers look
At the blue-green Ceiling
For their Zodiac sign or firmament inaccuracies
If this were China, might have featured a rooster
I play back to Richmond Hill, and youth and forty years ago anyway
A beggar on Lexington chants, “Today is my Birthday”
He’s a one-buck richer Scorpio
Thomas M. McDade is a 73 year-old resident of Fredericksburg, VA. He is a graduate of Fairfield University, Fairfield, CT. McDade is twice a U.S. Navy Veteran.
There are still marks on the ground
where I kneeled and cried in despair.
The tears I poured in it have been exhaled
and are lost forever.
My screams startled the birds that took,
around the skies, news of dread and fear,
also entirely lost.
However, the laughter once I launched,
also recorded by the birds,
so gladly had been welcomed that echoes
by this very day.
There were also some triumph yells
and some love whispers, which, along
all the rest, have been made worthwhile
this life of quite unnoted a human’s soul.
Edilson Afonso Ferreira is a Brazilian poet. He is 75 year-old, writes in English rather than in Portuguese. Largely published in international journals in print and online, he began writing at age 67. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2016. His first Poetry Collection – Lonely Sailor – has been launched in London, November 2018, with one hundred poems. Read more of his work at www.edilsonmeloferreira.com.
The rose whispers
Your name to me
In the new
And beautiful colours
Of a rainbow,
Distinct in beauty
And elegance of forms!
When I see
Your sweet gentle eyes,
I see the sun shine.
Shola Balogun, poet,playwright and filmmaker has been featured as a guest writer and contributor,especially in the areas of poetry, post colonial studies and dramatic criticism to various magazines,anthologies and journals. He studied Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan. Balogun lives in Lagos,Nigeria.
I put on a really old pair of shoes,
Which lets me walk chronologically.
I passed a ten-year-old, reading
Chariots of the Gods, in bright sun,
Then put the book down, he was done.
I witnessed an enchanted young girl’s shadow
Wither in a churchyard, contemplating
When she would tell of her new love
And how purgatory would start,
Shouldering what hid in her heart.
I watched a cruel man weep as a woman
Smiling tossed his dark cloud into thin air,
Making time for her children’s tears
To be felt, to be written down,
To be hidden in a small town.
Ferris E Jones is an internationally published poet and screenwritercurrently residing in Puyallup Washington. His work has appeared in both print and online magazines including as the featured poet for Creative Talents Unleashed. Other magazines include: Glo Mag, Piker Press, Se La Vie Writers Journal, Write on Magazine, Outlaw Poetry, Degenerate Literature 17, Tuck Magazine, The Literary Hatchet, Warriors with Wings, In Between Hangovers,and many other literary publications. He is the recipient of two grants from the Nevada Arts Council and the Editor and Publisher of Nevada Poets2009. Ferris has twice received honorable mention awards from Writers Digest annual screenwriting contest. Ferris is also the Author / Editor of seven collections of poetry.You can learn more about Ferris E. Jones by visiting www.inquisitionpoetry.com where each monthhe features the work of other poets.The goal of this site is to spread the word of poetry throughout the world.
I will stop loving you
When the sun doesn’t shine
And dreams are no longer mine
When hopes run out
And volcanoes no longer shout
When all the oceans become dry
And you count all the stars in the sky
When all the trees’ leaves wither
And the earth has only one weather
When deserts blossom and flower
And waters of rivers become sour
When the colors of nature fade
And all trees lose their shade
When we have eternal day or night
And all people lose their sight
When the trees stop dancing in the wind
And the mountains collapse and bend
When rocks and stones cry
And cats and rabbits fly
When winds no longer blow
And waters in rivers and seas no longer flow
When ice and snow in the poles melt
And all living things become mud or silt
When I no longer breathe
And life has no air or breeze
I will stop loving you
When I am chosen by death
And your love gives me a new birth
Walid Abdallah is an Egyptian poet and author. He is a visiting professor of English language and literature in Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Germany and the USA, his poetry includes “Go Ye Moon”, ” Dream” and “My heart still beats” And has several translated poems which won prestigious prizes in the USA like “Cause”, “Egypt’s Grief”, and “Strangers’ Cross”, his books include Shout of Silence, Escape to the Realm of Imagination, and Man Domination and Woman Emancipation.