Poetry

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

The Moon Glows by Karen Estevez

For many, many monthsI watched the full moon as it rose. Counting the moons of your passingand its’ soft glowis now a metaphor for the lightyou possessed now sharing in repose Dear Moon everlasting,GLOW Karen Esteves is an artist, designer and educator.

What Makes Us All Connected by Maid Corbic

Faith has become synonymous with everything today.That I must simply saythat it somehow changed meAbsolutely for the better, as I am a Christian. People are bothered by any change today.but I find it’s for my eyes only.and that I feel so fulfilledWhen I light a candle every Sundayand I enjoyed that exciting moment. I believe…

Eyes With Fear by Ramzi Rihani

Drumrolls are heard from behind the mountainsPeople prepare for the festivities to startLittle do they know that the end is nearAs the rage of war fills the eyes with fear Lovers pick up daffodils in the prairiesOblivious to the sound of rocketsWarmongers pledge an encounter with GodNegotiating contracts broad and flawed At the edge of…

togetherness by Holli Terrell-Cavalluzzi

insidethe wax widensdrips around the candleilluminates your face in a soft light. i trust you. there is a clock.the small handstops telling time. outsideis a bare piece of paperwaiting… Holli Terrell-Cavalluzzi lives in Wilmington North Carolina where she has made a home by the coast. She spends her days writing poetry and prose which started…

My Heart’s Unthwarted Sentiment by Bob McNeil

Captcha,Here is my answer:I am,Quite regrettably,Human.Although I wishI wereA combinationOf wiresAnd programsLike you.This way,I could uninstallAll memoriesOf mankind’sUnkindness. Bob McNeil wrote Verses of Realness (https://tinylink.net/muF6C). Hal Sirowitz, a former Queens, NY Poet Laureate, called the book “a fantastic trip through the mind of a poet who doesn’t flinch at the truth.”

Six Ways of Looking at Love When the World is Ending by Ilika Tripathi

I. If the world is ending, don’t come to see meBecause that would mean that you took a busAnd you hate taking buses – the wait, the journey, the destinationAnd that’s when I’d realize yet again, how much I love you. II. What if when the apocalypse hits, there are showers of flowers?I think I’d…

summer storms and fireflies by Holli Terrell-Cavalluzzi

fireflies are contagious creaturesi caught one out of the corner of my eyebut when i blur my eyesthe shape exchangesinto a summer mist. underneath my clothessometimes it is the wild ways that find me—fireflies, long summer daysthunderstorms shaking blades of dune grassin the middle of an ocean swim.we get outwhile the sunshine shapes the rest…

Natural Summer Love Lost by Shiela Denise Scott

As I push the lawn mower,Past brush and broken dreams,Of flowers growing in fields,That will never cultivate reality,Acres of promise,Buried purpose by law,Suffocated seeds awaiting,To expose the future cause,Only heat, air and summer rain,Can change amid the times,Love lost its circumstance,Bonds dropped its cost,Leaving all plans,Lost,Dare I use the summer,To find them. Shiela Denise Scott,…

Open Call for Submissions!

F lora Fiction is looking for artists, writers, poets, photographers, illustrators, and others to be featured for Volume 3 Issue 4 online literary magazine set to release on December 21, 2022. We’re inspired by you and would love to see what you have to offer. Please check out our previous issues for reference of work we’ve published. If…

Treading the Waters of Time by Todd Sullivan

So here I am treading the waters of time,Day currents have fanned and wander so slow,At my desk I stay until well after nine. Sunk deep into work, this long shift that is mine,The hours so heavy that they barely flow,Clocked in not clocked out until well after nine, This work-river I find is all…

Foreign Land by Erin Eby

The hull nestles into the sandy bosom of the shoreWith a lulling shush.Syncopated song of life surrounding–Lapping tide, cicadas in the underbrush.This kingdom stirs me with its rhythmLike a cradle in the waves.I am Annabel unsepulcheredResurrected from the grave.Tiny island engulfed by vast space,Warm and deep.Space enough to wander, wonder,Dream, sleep. Sleep.This journey leaves a…

A Farming Family in Winter by John Grey

Inside this small cold house,all belief is doubtinghymns the choir sang,all our breaths in harnessto our clouded lips,all mouths downtrodden,and atmosphere defiling,fear, despair,at this terrible unknowing,clouds rolling in,faceless faces,nowhere to hide,a forever chillin fogs that sink low,muffle our voices,compress our brainsuntil we know nothing clear,cracked hands,bleeding cheeks,human masks breaking offin large chunks,every momenta parched sacrifice…

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