I found a notebook filled with fragments.fleshless bones,skeleton poems,stillborn fiction.I reread them,bleedings from a badly sutured year,throatless memoirmy own ragechoked by my own pen.my own thoughts shrouded, unallowed.no more.I tore each page from the spine and burned my words alive. Missy is a Cleveland poet, madly in love with words.
Read More
Does your soul live with you? It is dark. The night is losingits battle against the eternity,although it’s never giving in.I was trying to switch offthe moonlight, and take offtoday’s colourful skin. Because beneath there isa memory of never endingnight that started with a fool moon.Because beneath there aretricky memories ending likea good movie –…
Read More
My eyes are lilies.My skin turned toflower flesh forcingsecrets straightto my bright heart.So I become a rose,flower head with no potbut field fresh and readyfor my growth. Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California. In his spare time he writes poems, takes long walks, and looks at birds.
Read More
I am four-years-old. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain tub while my mother paints on her cat-eyes. It is not enough to watch her in the reflection of the tri-fold mirror. I want her to face me, to feel her arms around me, to squeeze me until bedtime. Instead, she sprays her sweeping up-do…
Read More
“George Murata found some pearls here in the lake,” said Otis. He burst into the bar where I was resting drinking a beer after a long day working on a gasser at Caddo Lake. “Who the hell is George Murata?” I drawled. I looked at Otis, his face was black with oil…
Read More
The Rabbi Spokeon Yom Kippur ofthe importance of Forgiveness.He acknowledged thepain of rejection, ofinsult,rebuke,abuse,and the daily burden ofcarrying unwanted memories. Let them gohe implored us.Let them go and beFree.Free of the spirits occupying too much space in your mind,leaving little room for Peace,Love andJoy that surrounds us.Letting go does not requireforgiveness.He said,Letting go offers usFreedom. The Rabbi spoke, And…
Read More
She wears a fur coat when the thermostat reads ninety, yet she can’t seem to stop herself from running through the dandelion littered grass. She runs through the field with the carefree indifference of the children who trotted here months prior, causing the white globes of seedlings to explode and scatter in the stagnant air.…
Read More
“Ortolan in Winter” is a vivid poem that sing like a bird. The poet, Mercedes Payton, is a graduate of Kansas State University and librarian.
Read More
At first, I thought my apartment was being robbed. I got home from work, rode the elevator up to the fifth floor of my apartment building, and walked down the hall. Usually, by this point, I would hear my cocker spaniel, Jerry, panting and pawing behind the door, eager to prove her love. Instead, I…
Read More