Issue 8 <b>( Current Issue )</b>
Issue 8 ( Current Issue )




Nells Wasilewski

my midnight caller
I see you through the peephole
after our quarrel
I swear not to let you in
as my hand turns the doorknob


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Nells Wasilewski

cafe on the square
quite alone at our table
I reach for your hand
then reality—my love
I’ll be along soon enough


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Melissa Robinson

birch stands autumn raw
cracked ivory skin naked
now trepidation
words etched in India ink
world seen through a poet's eyes


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Michele Baron

my eyes still sought sleep
dreams of too-quick velvet nights
time is relative
if the sun ever does sleep
are its dreams mirrored in dawn?


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Tim Dadswell

a litter-strewn ditch
could not choke this hardy plant;
the fen ragwort blooms
to outlive we polluters;
a golden emblem of hope


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Michael Flanagan

in complete trust
the boy’s prize hog almost smiles
as he walks to doom
and the farmer rolls his price
deeper into his pocket


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Michael Flanagan

always be happy…
a thought scrawled in a yearbook
by a boy long dead
who will be forever smiling
searching for his future


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