It’s the time to close
the book of negativity
Stop flipping over the
pages of wasted years
and stand in front of
-waves of confidence
It’s the time to close
the book of remorse
Start creating a place
for satisfaction above
-some dark thoughts
of attempting suicides
It’s the time to close
the book of long isolation
I want to feel like I am loved
to my country, back to my life
Smile again without wearing an
emotional smile that lasts forever
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.
I renewed my license last week,
and checked yes to donate my organs.
Then I thought about the person
who might get my heart…
It might whisper secrets
to its new owner, about
the times it had galloped in
a strange woman’s bed,
or limped along after a breakup,
or fluttered on a blind date,
or stumbled and fell,
when I saw an old girlfriend
with someone new.
And what of the times
it had stomped in rage,
tiptoed in contentment,
palpitated with fear,
or thrummed with hope?
Maybe it should be burned
with the rest of my flesh, rise
to become ash, vapor, and cloud,
falling again as white snow
on lonely mountains
I used to climb, and it pumping
faster with each breath
as I reached the summit, gasping.
But no, take it, it’s yours.
It beats raw and red in me,
but with a will of its own.
A stranger, never mine
from the beginning…
Brian Rihlmann was born in NJ, and currently lives in Reno, NV. He writes mostly semi autobiographical, confessional free verse. Folk poetry…for folks. He has been published in The Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press, Alien Buddha Zine, Synchronized Chaos, Madness Muse Press and The American Journal Of Poetry.
There will no longer be home,
smoke from the chimney.
There will be no tomorrow.
cannot withstand the pressure of time.
In the crooked house
a hunched woman
It’s like it used to be,
out there behind the house flows a river.
the children do not have time to look at old age.
Time took away youth
– like the night takes away the evening.
There is no longer smoke from the chimney,
and there behind the house
still flows a river.
Eliza Segiet is Jagiellonian University graduate with a Master’s Degree in Philosophy. She completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Penal Fiscal and Economic Law, and Creative Writing at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Łódź. She has published three poetry collections and two monodramas.
a white wisped triangular
juxtaposed ‘neath the
bough of the sycamore
bound to its hostess of green
for seventeen seasons, I’d
walked mid your dynasty
yet, you remain in remiss
of a proper name protocol
When not writing poetry, Emalisa Rose enjoys crafting and birding. She volunteers in animal rescue. Living by a beach town, provides much of the inspiration for her art. Her latest collection is “On the whims of the crosscurrents,” published by Red Wolf Editions.
A prison of strange walls rose around me it seemed
I continued to speak, no one appeared to hear
losing a sense of others who was I becoming?
I believe I may have been singing an ancient tune
perhaps it was only known to my memories
an image of the outside so clear.
Turning into a strange alien I felt invisible
focused on a vision I still had of my hand
in the distance she stood placid
so recently still a sister, a friend, a lover.
Words uttered near my old self louder yet
delirious as they took a step back
immobile my bones remained strapped
I smiled inside for I alone knew all was well.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.
From the rising sea strolled the fiend,
A male serpent of solemn might.
A manifestation of night,
Scales, remnants of wings convened.
Children were no longer portals,
The feast must be a regions fate.
Time for a purge of God’s mortals,
Swollen, their desires, innate.
The boiling war of forlorn horns,
Linger on the vengeful brows.
Realm’s will all fall, when mankind mourns,
Peace comes with a million bows.
Ferris E Jones is an award-winning, internationally published poet and screenwriter living 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 Poets 2009. 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 month he features the work of other poets. The goal of this site is to spread the word of poetry throughout the world.
They dance and drum to their songs.
Boogaloo Boys, Beach Boys, still band members die.
Revolts and rebellion always end in peace, left for the living.
Even the smoking voice of Carl Wilson dies
with a canary inside his cancerous throat called “Darlin.”
Dennis Wilson, hitchhiking, panhandling with the devil Charles Manson,
toying with heroin, he’s just too much trouble to live.
Check their history of the living and the dead;
you will find them there, minor parts and pieces
musical notes stuck in stone wall cracks,
imbibe alcohol, cocaine.
Names fade, urns toss to sea
dump all lives brief memories,
bingo, no jackpot.
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 39 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. 210 poetry videos are now on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos. Editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762; editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089. Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry, http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717.
In the hushed forest where deer often flock,
I listen to birds warbling like in a dream,
Away from city people that only sit and gawk:
Images from my childish hours do teem,
Into my searching mind like a flowing stream:
Over the dull yellow and arid lea so dry,
The moisture-laden clouds vividly gleam,
And my thoughts idly flutter far up into sky.
As I sit near a pond’s verdant and soft loam,
Like a butterfly’s quest for a sugary thought,
Serene feelings into my lonely soul do roam.
As the day is filled with feelings I sought,
I ponder on the wood’s ancient lore,
As I calmly rest on the forest’s soft floor.
James G. Piatt is a Best of Web nominee and three time Pushcart nominee, has had four collections of poetry; “Solace Between the Lines,” “Light,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “The Silent Pond,” as well as over 1480 poems, five novels and 35 short stories, published worldwide. He is now looking for a publisher for his fifth collection of poems which he has just completed. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and his doctorate from BYU
If the universe were as vast
As the glad imagination of
A five year old boy drawing
Dinosaurs at his kitchen table
In a second floor apartment
In the winter of nineteen and
Then maybe we will just find
Some intelligent life out there
John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.
At the land spit at the end of the state,
grace no longer in the keel,
a wave crashes hard
against the jetty,
tide rushing the sail boat
as it drifts further out to sea,
a riptide keeping it from the granite
that in another storm was hurled
against houses with widows’ walks,
flattening a path inland.
This, the great upheaving
of what lies flat with ripples of white
before the horizon,
the leveler every sailor learns
balanced by knees from bow to stern.
This is why the drink’s in hand on shore,
to feel the surge underfoot
as you walk any hall
as if when you open a door
there’s a bunk with your duffel against the wall.
Kyle Laws is based out of the Arts Alliance Studios Community in Pueblo, CO where she directs Line/Circle: Women Poets in Performance. Her collections include Faces of Fishing Creek (Middle Creek Publishing), So Bright to Blind (Five Oaks Press), and Wildwood (Lummox Press). Ride the Pink Horse is forthcoming from Spartan Press. With six nominations for a Pushcart Prize, her poems and essays have appeared in magazines and anthologies in the U.S., U.K., and Canada. She is the editor and publisher of Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press.
I study the trees
and the leaves.
I take a picture
with my eyes and I
know that I will have
a good day. I will
not let the bad news
take away my joy.
I am alive and
the trees are too. I
admire the leaves and
its green colors. I
touch the tree for luck.
The shade it provides
trumpets a solace
from the burning light
that falls upon us.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Crossroads Magazine, Kendra Steiner Editions, and Setu Magazine.