by Marc Isaac Potter
As you look at the contradiction
Your teenage years are a raging fire
Read More »Tag: literary magazine
2 poems
by Ollie Shane
Read More »This poem goes out to those bored in infinite zoom meetings
Putting down a half formed sonnet to fill the void where notes of summation should be
Views of an Indian Village at Dawn
by Shamik Banerjee
Far, mid the mountain slopes, rises the sun
and the Pipit, hints the day has begun.
The ocean’s face, welcomes the sky in blue
and tunes appear from the nest of Cuckoo.
In pots with readiness, the new flowers,
twirl with glee towards the gleamy showers;
Read More »I’m Secretly a Monster But Don’t Tell Anyone
by Erin Mullens
I fling back my elegant neck, sipping flowery rosé
As the jewel encrusted birds flutter about the glamour
Resting precariously on the edge of my shoulder.
Every word is a golden lie, a bit of thread I twist
Hard, to weave together a beautiful tapestry.
If I just look like a rainbow on a green hill
They won’t see the demons fighting in the palm of my hand.
Under the table, my legs shake and my ankle bounces
I am terrified that someone will see through my illusion.
April Is the Cruellest Month
(After T. S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land”)
by R. S.
April is the cruellest month,
Harbinger of hope, summer’s prelude;
Springing daisies, springing lilacs,
At best a fleeting interlude.
Mussel
by Christian Ward
Every shell is dipped in night.
Place an ear against the ceramic
to eavesdrop on fox squabbles,
crows watching rubbish bags
left split open like unfinished
operations, brambles unfurling
their fruit. Humans, extras
with no dialogue. Open every
shell to reveal day – the glazed
pottery, a perfect sky. Of course,
there’s the meat: An orange muscle
on a ready-made plate. Quiet,
contemplative. I threw up the sea
the first time I tried it. Didn’t know I was chewing its prayer.
A Day in September
by Ivona Bozik
I almost forgot the warmth of the September sun, its gentle rays that stopped burning our skin some time after the last heat wave (now, I’m sitting here, sunbathing with the usual lateness, offering up my outside to its caress).
Read More »3 poems
by PJ Carmichael
Read More »On the way home, a bite to eat and songs
to fill the air, our voices in unison
as the journey continues.
The Weather Between Us
by Christian Ward
I’ll say rain, you’ll shout hail
I’ll bellow thunder, you’ll scream lightning
I’ll sing sunshine, you’ll hum clouds
I’ll chant breeze, you’ll repeat gales
I’ll whisper snow, you’ll return blizzard.
Maps
by Erin Mullens
I draw maps on the wall. Maps to nowhere.
Little burned charcoal sticks I pick up
From the remains of the fireplace, scrawling
On the edges of the stone floor underneath
My bed. I slip my body under there, so tiny
And pretend I don’t even exist in the world.
I am not here I am not a person I am not real
And I draw a little map to find a way to another world.
I’ll open a portal under my bed. I’ll escape.
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