by Patricia Russo

The old man is weaving a net out of ashes
in which to catch a name.
She can tell his eyes are burning
but he won’t stop to wipe them.
She’d like to stroke his head 
as she passes behind him
but he’d only shrug her off.
She has names in every pocket
tucked inside twists of pretty paper
but he wouldn’t thank her
for any of them
so she keeps them for the children
who visit her shyly
on certain afternoons
when a quarter moon
is visible in the sky.

* * *

PATRICIA RUSSO's work has appeared in One Art, The Sunlight Press, Vagabond City, A Sufferer's Digest, Hex Literary, Eulogy Press, Revolution John, and Crow and Cross Keys.

by Andrea Tillmanns

Don’t worry, my dear:
The herbs in my garden
are harmless, old and tame
is the raven on my shoulder,
the words in my books
sing of no evil.
And when we go dancing
in the evening,
we park our brooms
neatly in a row.

* * *

ANDREA TILLMANNS lives in Germany and works full-time as a university lecturer. She has been writing poetry, short stories and novels in various genres for many years. Her poems and stories have been published in diverse journals and anthologies.

by Angela Zimmerling

that was us

          spiked hair and black eye-liner
          plaid and chains
          our faces
          made pale with talc 

          no nukes
                     in acid rain                 
                     we raised the black flag 

         no future
         in the shadow
         of the bomb

         david bowie was our god

         we posed like dolls
         on street corners and on benches 

         searched
         for holes in the layers 
         of our sky
         while the rain-forests burned 

         wore our rage
         like broken hearts
         and cut ourselves
         on the shards
         of the earth
                             
​                      we lived
                      for the drums’ beat
                      a moment’s breath in the light
                     
         we lived to dance

* * *

ANGELA ZIMMERLING is a former journalist who works in poetry, fiction and illustration as well as in non-fiction.  She lives on a small subsistence farm with her husband and their beloved animals.

by Sara Etgen-Baker

* * *

​SARA ETGEN-BAKER has written a collection of memoir vignettes and narrative essays (Shoebox Stories), collection of poems (Kaleidoscopic Verses), and a novel (Secrets at Dillehay Crossing).  Her work has been published in numerous anthologies and magazines including Guideposts and Chicken Soup for the Soul. 

by Steven Bruce

We’ve learnt to carry it
like a sack of half-rotten potatoes,
the skin split,
the smell lingering behind us.

The days drag on,
each one more worn,
duller than the last.

There’s no choice
but to keep walking,
heavy footed,
eyes on the clouds.

With hope,
that somewhere ahead
we’ll find a place
to set it down.

* * * 

STEVEN BRUCE is a multiple award-winning author. His poetry and short stories have appeared in numerous international anthologies and magazines. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master of Arts in Creative Writing. Born in England, Steven now resides in Poland.

by Mary Kipps

This is how it will always be:
that last light of a saffron sun
slipping down the medina wall;
the muezzin’s prayer running the maze
of cobblestone alleyways;
our blue-eyed cat stolidly watching
the rush of doves taking wing.
There’s a lot to be said
for leaving while still in love.

* * *

MARY KIPPS enjoys composing in traditional forms as well as in free verse. A former Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared regularly in journals and anthologies across the U.S. and abroad since 2005. 

by Bernard Pearson

In the  cradle
Of our last night,
When all things hang
In the balance of time
Will we see, really see?
The world that dies with us,
or the one that has waited
So patiently, for our return.

* * *

BERNARD PEARSON: His work appears in over one hundred and thirty publications worldwide, including; Aesthetica Magazine, The Edinburgh Review, and Crossways. In 2017 a selection of his poetry, In Free Fall, was published by Leaf by Leaf Press.

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​

by Scott Ortolano

I remember
the first time we slept together,
slumbering in a room covered with poetry and song.
 
We held one another desperately
in a world that refused to stand still.

* * *

SCOTT ORTOLANO is an English Professor at Florida SouthWestern State College. You can usually find him reading, running, hiking, or frantically grading. More of his work is available at www.SOrtolano.com

by David Thompson

No news for several days:
I went to the florist anyway.
An armful of flowers
means love in any language:
new buds, odours, colours,
fresh beauty shared.

But if today was different?
Outside the shop, sun hit the blooms.
As I paused, a butterfly
slipped through a gap in time,
danced a last poem,
and settled softly
on a white cyclamen
to tell me I was too late.

When I got home,
a message said
you'd left my world that morning.

* * *

DAVID THOMPSON was a translator, interpreter, editor and publisher with the UN and WHO in New York, Bangkok and Geneva. He has since published two poetry collections: Days of Dark and Light (2021) and Where The Love Is (2023).

by Morgan Chalfant

It hurts to see you still have no ability.
You can’t make decisions for yourself.
Individuality was torn out of reach,
hidden on someone else’s shelf.
 
You’re a doll, a marionette on strings,
a mannequin posed in place.
If you had the choice of what to look like,
you’d let someone else choose your face.
 
What do you call your personality,
when the ‘person’ you are isn’t you?
If I asked you what to bury you in,
you’d answer, “He told me I want blue.”

* * *

​MORGAN CHALFANT is a novelist, poet, and an instructor of writing at Fort Hays State University. He is a native of Hill City, Kansas. He received his bachelor's degree in writing and his master's degree in literature from Fort Hays State University. He is the author of the horror/thriller novella, Focused Insanity, and the urban fantasy novel, Ghosts of Glory.

by Lynn White

Do you scream in tune
in muted monochromes
flat and featureless,
or are your screams
discordant

stark

black and white.
No grey.
No doubt.

A kaleidoscope
of keys and tones
of terrifying sounds

which scream out to me.

* * *

LYNN WHITE lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality.
Facebook: Lynn White Poetry

by Bonnie Demerjian

His glinty eye,
alert for the shiny,
avid for the curious.
He’s a connoisseur of beauty
and feels no guilt.

I too am a collector— 
subjects for poems,
bright objects of delight
brought home to my nest, my desk
to sort and muse upon.

* * *

BONNIE DEMERJIAN writes from her home in the Tongass National Forest, a place that continually nourishes her writing. Her poetry has appeared in Tidal Echoes, Alaska Women Speak, Blue Heron Review and October Hill Magazine, among others.

by Morgan Chalfant

Everyone has baggage
Mine’s a backpack
Nothing snooty
Two straps and heavy
Nothing fancy
Filled with the norm:
A disappointed old man
Lost keys to the past
Friends I wish still were
And a little secret pocket of aspirations

* * *

MORGAN CHALFANT is a novelist, poet, and an instructor of writing at Fort Hays State University. He is a native of Hill City, Kansas. He received his bachelor's degree in writing and his master's degree in literature from Fort Hays State University. He is the author of the horror/thriller novella, Focused Insanity, and the urban fantasy novel, Ghosts of Glory.

by Corey Mesler

On this day
when I need
to unlock
something
beautiful
the sky roars
like the
final horn
and here I am
alone again
with only these
careless keys.

* * *

COREY MESLER has been published in numerous anthologies and journals including Poetry, Gargoyle, Lunch Ticket, Five Points, New Stories from the South. He has published over 45 books.  With his wife he owns Burke’s Book Store (est. 1875) in Memphis.