You don’t have to consider yourself an “artist” to make art. Creativity is more than just storytelling, it’s a form of expression, an active release. The motion of physically creating something and seeing it before you, transforms thoughts into realization. Create from what propels you. Create for yourself before anyone else. You don’t always have to share what you make, what matters is getting it out.
Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it.
Ernest Hemingway
Latest Poetry
Abandoning by Jackson Dammann
Whoever saidsex and hungerare our most powerful urgesclearly never tried the stuff I’m on. This stuff is teeth on neck cold static through veins unpolluted stars the piece of me that was always missing. Need to cut back budget don’t need the car cable friends just need to be able to breathe.…
Late Summer Evening by Anne Mikusinski
The day’s fever breaksSubtlyAs thin white cloudsTrace eggshell cracksAgainst the fading blue.The heat leavesQuietlyIn sighing gasps ofTepid airCircling the drainLanguidlyAs night comes inSpreading outIts indigo dropclothAnd sprinkling the starsUpon itHaphazardly. Anne Mikusinski has always been in love with words. She’s been writing poems and short stories since she was seven. Her influences range from Robert…
Reflections Close to Closing Time by Anne Mikusinski
It’s three minutes pastThe last time I checkedI’m so informedAs time is marked by thin gold hands.Around me,Life happensIn couplesIn groupsEvenIn the singular purposeOf the man next to meGlaring at his phoneGoogling solutionsHave meritThe room is fullOf sound bitesMurmured conversationMusic of the earnestBand of the eveningDebates and discussions on human connectionsFor me it’s just theLanguorous…
Columbine, Will You Be Mine? by Douglass Allen
My cultivated garden grows, seeds in rows,Gently tendered, watered, sun enough and earth—Daisy, hollyhock, delphinium, andColumbine—will you be mine?Blessed flowers, blessed birth. I’ve grown discouraged, bummed out, glum.Flowers should enchant, delight, so—Tell me the flaw― my failed green thumb?Germination yes, but oh, oh no! From someone so upset, chagrin—Let me tell you what woe is—All…
Eugene From Mt. Lebanon by Bryce Johle
He butts in line at Deluca’s for breakfast in the Strip District with his white cane,doesn’t even realize what he has done when he sparks up a conversation with one familyand continues it with another, ‘til the second wife says she lives near him, in Dormont,and he says he…
Diner Love by Philip Andrew Lisi
The top of the Heinz ketchup bottle at the Neptune Diner looked secure–I am sure it was on tight. But as I stare at the tomatoey Rorschach splotch adorning the front of your date night dress, I guess I must have misjudged the synchronicity between white metal top with its spiral grooves and the striated…
The Secret Circle by Joel Bush
On bright morningsin my childhood home,I was treated to theSecret Circle.My dad dubbed therainbow spherethat would appearon the chippedwhite paint of the bathroom door.It beamed inthrough the frontpeephole at around 7, and Istopped to appreciate itlike a fine Vermeer at the Louvre.You could explainit awaywith wavelengths or refraction,but I prefer to keep ita secret. Joel…
Not a love letter by Tamar Kapanadze
I’m the songYou never wanted to sing,The page in torn up book -You always skip.My transparent bodyReflecting its own misery,Crying over the lost sparkleFeeling hot and shivery.Abandoned shimmering lightIn my watercolor eyesRemembering every smirk beforeYou fooled me with the lies. I’m the storm you’re running awayTo find a cozy shelter.You’re a dream that I inventedFor…
Midnight Menagerie by Philip Andrew Lisi
The Dutch rabbitsits on the dresser,head tilted down,admiring the fur featheringat the tips of her creme-colored toesbefore her gaze falls upon the gray fox,wiry and wild-eyed,proud of his voluminous tailand maybe just a little bit wickedas he looks across the roomto the desk where the wombat lounges,lazy and stout,eyes closed,claws resting across a broad belly,satisfied…
The Sun Awakens by Daniel Dischino
Insecure as I amI need to hold on to something So I grab on to my sense of insignificanceas a race car drivergrips the steering wheel on a hairpin turn I have seen mountainsand climbed them An insect on a seaside boulder and sunrise brings the mountains to light A star to make mountains seem…
Willow Tree by Isabel Cheeseman
ancient arms relaxed and gracefulher elegant canopy grazes the ground,her shaggy branches weep into an arch sacred and solitary giantshe bends to accommodate and withstand,a calculated composition with supple extremities appears to be sorrowful, heartsickweeping with her slender leaves butshe is calm, serene as she flows in the breeze Isabel Cheeseman is an outdoor enthusiast.…
No Place for Freya by Philip Andrew Lisi (A Prose Poem)
Nature is in crisis because of us, but we do not seem to care…there is no room for Freya in Norwegian waters.¹ Freya was named for the Norse goddess of love and beauty. Ironic for a walrus weighing over a thousand pounds, wearing a gash in her left flipper, sporting a pink clam-shaped tattoo imprinted…
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