Alan Britt - 1 Poem

DEAF WIND

Den of inequity rocking waves
of absolute resolution.

A ceramic gull cries,
dirty as a handkerchief
stuffed in the breast pocket
of the deaf wind.

Cries laundered in a gyroscope
of filthy socks and hospital gowns.

Gull, perhaps, or filthy tomcat
scaling the palace walls
via Elizabeth’s placenta-stained nightgown.

Out, out, damned angel of retribution!

The only salvation is the salvation
of nightmares!

Care for a gentle sip?

BIOGRAPHY: Alan Britt read poems at the World Trade Center/Tribute WTC Visitor Center in Manhattan/NYC, April 2012, at the We Are You Project (WeAreYouProject.Org) Wilmer Jennings Gallery, East Village/NYC, April 2012, and at New Jersey City University's Ten Year 9/11 Commemoration in Jersey City, NJ, September 2011. His poem, "September 11, 2001," appeared in International Gallerie: Poetry in Art/Art in Poetry Issue, v13 No.2 (India): 2011. His recent book is Alone with the Terrible Universe (CypressBooks 2011).

 

John Swain - 1 Poem

Red Calligraphy

The door to the sea

opens under the moon

like the ghost of words

I wrote to reveal

your understanding

of death’s impasse.

There is a distance

of ships like widows

veiled and unveiled

in the process

of a summer woman.

Between our hands

twists a red calligraphy

of apple branches

for each year

we served eternal

to love the way

we were made to rise

from wheat and fire.

I will always live

in your life

looking through

this arterial night.

BIOGRAPHY: John Swain lives in Louisville, Kentucky. Crisis Chronicles Press published his most recent chapbook, White Vases.

Diane Webster - 1 Poem

AROUND THE CORNER

Some mankind built this wall

stone upon stone higher

and farther around the corner

now draped in vines

seeking root between cracks

widening by winter freeze

spring thaw every-expanding

sycamore roots pushing

this wall into forest assimilation

forgotten by some mankind

around the corner gone.

BIOGRAPHY: Diane Webster's challenge as a poet is to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday opportunities as well as those moments of epiphany. Then to allow her imagination to evolve that idea into a poem. Diane's work has appeared in “Philadelphia Poets,” “The Hurricane Review,” “Illya's Honey” and other literary magazines.

Stephen Jarrell Williams - 1 Poem

Soon

Soon
to come,
a beginning new,
this world
gone
with its endless
pain and tears.

Forgiveness singing
in the wind,
a breath of everyone
together
under stars and sun.

A dream
that has always been,
soon
to come.

BIOGRAPHY: Stephen Jarrell Williams loves to stay up all night and write with lightning bolts until they fizzle down behind the dark horizon.  He is the editor of Dead Snakes at http://deadsnakes.blogspot.com/ 

Emily Ramser - 1 Poem

Newborn Canary

sunshine sprinkled on feathers

mother said; "you're my sun

light my life. Fly high,

give birth to a

new world."

Biography: Emily Ramser is a high school author liv­ing part-time between North Carolina and California. She writes not to gain fame nor fortune, but rather to tell stories and have her voice, as well as all those around her, heard. She has been published in a few online journals such as BoySlut, The Crocodile Journal and Vox Poetica. She works with Impact magazine as well as her own school's newspaper.

Dane Karnick - 1 Poem

Audible

When your lips
perforate
these lines
a piece of you
plummets in
my pocket
enough for me
to look down
at something
squirming
in my shirt
like a web
I feel you
trembling
on words spun
between us
prompting me
to listen for
muttering
in the air
touch the realm
of earshot
which eludes
my fingers
when I try
to deflect
the whisper
cresting
your teeth.

BIOGRAPHY: Dane Karnick grew up by the Colorado “Rockies” and lives in Seattle.  His poetry has recently appeared in Subliminal Interiors, Carcinogenic Poetry, Orion headless and Curbside Quotidian.  Visit him at www.danekarnick.com.

Christopher Fried - 1 Poem

Under the Watchful Eye

A firefly burns below the stars.
Its wings embrace the glossy sky
And slice the air it leads. The small
Light formed in nature is released
And amplifies the sky’s moonshine.
On this star-sprinkled night, this fly
That mocks the moon in its own way
And rivals the distant burning sun,
Stalks the calm, ensconcing air,
To make its passage through muted sounds.

BIOGRAPHY: Christopher Fried is a graduate of the College of William and Mary.  He currently resides in Williamsburg, VA.  His poetry has been published in journals such as The Chaffin Journal, The Eclectic Muse, and Blue Unicorn.  He writes primarily formalist, but is interested in all poetic forms.  Besides reading in nearly all genres of books, he enjoys listening to music and watching movies.  He is currently working on a novel.

Anu Fulena - 1 Poem

Greedy Horizon

You who always deceive dreamy eyes
Blurring edges
Smoothing rough planes
Convincing one that the lines are smudged
Today I saw you engulfing an inflamed fiery red ball
And I was wondering what taste it would have
In no time you sucked in the light
You voracious line
You who made men believe that the earth was flat
You who give hope to optimists that there’s always a place to go
You who make pessimists pine for the unreachable
I have witnessed your gluttony
And will not succumb to your seduction
That if I stretch out my arm
My fingers will reach the place
That place where I’ll be happy
That place where I’ll never be
Or be, but temporarily
Your avarice matches my insatiability
I live in the hope to eat a setting sun too
Just like you
And pray to labour
To give birth to a bright new sun
Meanwhile I’m keeping my eyes on you.

BIOGRAPHY: Anu Fulena is from Curepipe and is 23 years old, studying BA English at the University of Mauritius. She likes to walk, and it is usually then that she writes.

Douglas Polk - 1 Post

Small Town Summer Afternoon

The sun froze in the sky,
the day eternal,
with no end in sight,
the swimming hole north of town,
filled with young bodies,
boys bare-chested in jeans,
marking territory,
while girls attired to highlight nature’s curves,
sunbath on the hood of the cars,
a car radio blasting one summer anthem after another,
as Fall plans are discussed and some times dreaded,
both sexes mapping strategies,
anxiously awaiting the far away night.

Biography: Douglas Polk is a poet living in the wilds of central Nebraska with his wife and two boys. He has had numerous poems, three poetry books, and two children's books published. Poetry books are: In My Defense, The Defense Rests and On Appeal. The children's books are: The Legend of Garle Pond and Marie's Home. 

Amit Parmessur - 1 Poem

Unique Umbrella

Listen to me.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

You are the pronouns, prepositions and

verbs that govern the sentence of someone’s life.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

Your exotic beauty, brimming with

religious bells is the only

labyrinth any mad poet would venture into.

Your anger is the only adorable thorn

he would like to be stabbed with.

Listen to me!

Please hide from the rainbow.

Let that smile of yours bloom and

let the world relish its simplicity, its bliss.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

The sight of you holding

that giant mushroom is an antidote

to the fears raining like bent coins

upon the land of someone’s heart.

Please, hide from the rainbow.

She’ll be jealous.

Please, don’t venture into flowers.

They’ll hate themselves.

Yea, please, don’t sing with the pink doves.

I wish your umbrella would grow unique,

magical Wings and carry you where

the winds of Sorrow don’t breathe.

O my sweet, unique Umbrella friend!

Someone will write your Hebrew name all

over his clock, to make your beauty his the

whole day, till his last, slow, incomplete gasp.

BIOGRAPHY: Born in 1983, Amit Parmessur lives with his black cat nowadays. Since 2010, his poems have appeared in more than 100 literary magazines. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. He is nominated for the Pushcart Award and lives in Quatre-Bornes, Mauritius. As long as he gets published, he knows he is on the right track.

Ali Znaidi - 3 Poems

The Pen Becomes a Ladder

My fingers, red from taking the pen for hours

turn black against the piles of white papers.

Heavy with nonsense,

the way a camel bears a burden on its hump.

This is not the Truth,

but a version of it falling into

the tips of your fingers

kneeling to the papers and liberating the mind.

As paper comes and paper goes,

my mind learns how to climb the walls of the Truth,

despite chasms and forgetfulness.

And the pen becomes a ladder

for my mind to climb the stairs of the paper—

I mean versions of the Truth.

 

Poetry/Sin

Poetry is that original sin.

In the beginning was the fig leaf.

The snake’s tongue was the pen.

Ink was tamed

to write the first sin.

What is a poem,

but a sweet sin

written on the fig leaf

that covers the private parts

of everything?

Collage

I brought scissors, so sharp.

I cut images from papers.

I cut especially catchy headlines.

I also brought

a bottle of glue, so sticky.

I brought black ink,

various water colours,

and some virgin white papers.

I wanted to make the nicest collage poem ever.

When I started conquering

the seductive white papers,

I spilled the ink and water colours

over them

because I was so eager and impatient to finish

the conquest.

I just remained agape,

looking jubilantly at the mess I had done,

like a little child

who had just torn that doll.

Biography: Ali Znaidi lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002.  He teaches English at Tunisian public secondary schools. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translation. Some of his poems appeared in The Bamboo Forest.

Lakesha Wickner - 1 Poem

Here We Meet

I put your picture

Up on my wall

To remind me

That it's not so bad.

Close your eyes

And feel my lips.

Because when it's night

Here we meet.

The tricky thing

Is just yesterday

We were children.

Brushing your hair

Out of your eyes

Reminding you

To keep your eyes

Wide open.

People waiting around

To see you break down.

Don't worry about

The world hoping

To see you fail.

Because I'm right 

Here beside you.

Stars shining upon

Our faces,

Upon our world.

You're the one for me

Let me hold you tight 

As I kiss your gentle lips.

Let me say I love you

Before you say goodbye.

Give me a chance

Before you change your mind.

Because when it's night

Here we meet.

Here is where I take

My one last chance

And kiss you goodnight.

BIOGRAPHY: Lakesha Wickner currently resides in the USA. Besides writing poetry, she also draws and sometimes models. She has been writing poetry since being 12 years old. She is currently working on a novel.

Kathie Turner - 1 Poem

Saturday Night Bingo


It’s Saturday Night Bingo
Mama’s going psycho
Gotta go, gotta run
Goin’a see some action

I wanna go solo
Mama says, “Oh-no”
“Go ahead, get my purse”
Else I’m gonna start to curse

We’re ride’in in our Pinto
Going through Monroe
Hit the brakes, push ‘em tight
We’re gonna have a good night

The hall-way’s narrow
The caller shouts, “Hello,
Grab some cards, sit right down
You’re gonna get a brakedown”

Here’s the games’ logo
There’s the numbers ya follow
Grab the blotter, make a dot
Put it in the right spot

Go for the gusto
Get’in five in a row
Then ya shout, shout out loud
“I’ve gotta BINGO.”


Biography: Kathie Turner is a part-time student at Rowan-Cabarrus Community College in Concord, North Carolina.  Her major is nursing, although she has found a love for poetry and fiction. 

April Salzano - 1 Poem

Where We Dream Our Dead Alive
 
We have slid into bed again, too tired for sex,
talked out. We collapse from the million mundane activities
that make up a day. It is in dreams we unearth our respective dead,
carry them up and back
to life: your one-legged father, and mine,
yellow and shriveled, sometimes swollen and dialyzed.
We ask rhetorical questions among the wreckage.
We say, You shouldn’t be here. They buried you,
to which they raise an eyebrow or admit to fault they never would
have in life. There is so much more to say, but we are too tired.
We suspend them here for seconds that will follow us
into the bright eye of morning.

BIOGRAPHY - April Salzano earned her Masters Degree from University of London and teaches Writing at Westminster College in Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in several print and online journals and she is currently working on her first collection of poetry and an autobiographical novel examining the moments of pain and beauty involved in raising a son with Autism.

Sanju Unjore - 1 Poem

Stealing a flower

Amidst the rising agitation
And lengthening edginess
Brew a magical cure
To ease the thickening air
Offer her a special flower
With petals delicately shaped
In perfectly symmetrical curves
Brightly coloured
To lighten the darkening mood
A wishful thinking of the heart
That strained the brain to unimaginable lengths
Where to find a flower
In the middle of the drying concrete desert
With no flower merchants around
Let's steal a flower from a yard
Eyes seeking for the precious
Myriad of boring and common flowers
Yet there was no spark
That could seduce my heart
Then my heart stood still at the sight
Of a bush of wild white roses
On the sly
In all the secrecy
Of the act
Nearing the bush
Under the showering rain
And in the veiling mist
I chose the most
Visually appealing white rose
That I delicately stole for her.....

BIOGRAPHY: Sanju Unjore, from Mauritius is a researcher and English language teacher. He writes occasionally depending on his mood, inspired and influenced by his entourage and his teasing Muse.

Vernicia Rogers - 1 Poem

Distant Love

Have you ever loved someone
Hoping one day they’ll love you back?
Craving the mere essence of their touch
Knowing you’ll never be more than just friends.

Maybe you shared a moment with them…
A kiss or something more.
Yet all that was—a moment’s magic,
Never meant to grow.

Have you ever loved someone
Praying one day they’ll love you back?
Needing the very soul of their breath
Upon your very lips!

Maybe they once thought they loved you
Then moved on to someone else
And now you stand by restless on the sidelines
As you watch them share their love with someone else.

And you wonder... Why… no How?
How could something so real,
So magical, so intimate be so close yet so very distant?
How could a true journey become a dream… a fantasy?

How could they hang you out to dry in the cold as it rains
By sharing your desired love with someone else.
How dare they not feel the same for you…
How dare they flaunt their joy and put you through pain

How dare they force you to experience such a distant love?

BIOGRAPHY: Vernicia Rogers is an English Creative Writing Major at Seton Hill University. She is originally from the Virgin Islands and has published a poetry chapbook titled Poetically Musical. She also was part of a student publication of the Creative Non-Fiction course novel titled Revelations in Progress.

Chrissy Hessing - 1 Poem

Discontent Sunbather

Waves whisper
to her wandering mind.
Her yellow bikini rests
on a hot pink towel
caked with sunscreen.
Eyes slit to sun,
relaxed on sand,
she peacefully dreams
until pink Sharpies
iPads
In N Out milkshakes
OPI purple nail polish
Toll House cookie dough
red roses
MacBook Pro laptops
Tiffany’s diamond rings
dance across her horizon.

She must have them now!
But she’s too far away.
Tiny grains tickle her fingers,
salty breeze whooshes,
sun rays offer calm,
here’s not good enough.
There’s not either.
So she picks up her towel
and leaves.

BIOGRAPHY: Chrissy Hessing is an aspiring poet who loves spaghetti, thunderstorms, and her two crazy kittens. She wants to be a nurse after college and cannot wait to blog about her daily adventures.

Sanju Unjore - 1 Poem

A Call to My Brothers

The setting sun rising
the mood for a warm evening.
Beckoning the chilled elixir
in a discrete corner of the tavern.
Brothers scattered
in the everyday chores of livelihood.
Calling for a reunion
to recount the tales of the past and the present
while dreaming the future.
The chilled elixir regroups
the old warriors
that came through thick and cold
with an abundance
of laughter and jokes.
Boring monologues of some.
Silence of others.
Teases of mine.
Reminiscing the days
when we used to study
weird theories
and multi-veiled doppelgangers.
When we used to quarrel discussions
and planned adventurous escapades.
To the lake without ducks.
Near the old-bridge
and the remote playground
under the masking mango tree.
Treasuring these rare unforgettable moments
of brotherhood around the chilled elixir...

Biography: Sanju Unjore, from Mauritius is a researcher and English language teacher. He writes occasionally depending on his mood, inspired and influenced by his entourage and his teasing Muse.

Donal Mahoney - 1 Poem

Unintelligent Design

An hour a day, 

sometimes more,

I chipped away 

with mallet and chisel

on a block of marble 

I found in Carrara

and shipped to New York 

on the deck of a trawler.

I offered the marble 

to a famous sculptor 

who told me he works

in granite only 

so I grabbed his beret 

and one of his smocks 

and said I'd sculpt 

the block myself 

with whittling skills

picked up as a kid 

from a drunken uncle 

named Whittling Sid.

Several weeks later, 

to my surprise, 

I finished the bust 

of a chimpanzee  

simply by wielding 

mallet and chisel 

the way I wield 

pencil and eraser 

when hewing a poem.

Working with marble 

or working with words, 

a sculptor or poet

proves less is more 

by chipping away

until something emerges

upright and walking

with a soul of its own. 

BIOGRAPHY: Donal Mahoney has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, Commonweal, The Christian Science Monitor and a number of online publications.

Richard Hartwell - 1 Poem

Escape

One can seem alone in a garden, but

never lonely, for company abounds:

birds bantering, snails sauntering,

lizards lounging on the back wall.

All these keep me company and

provide ample distraction from

my own thoughts turned inward.

There are dashes of color which

dance across my field of vision

as I turn my range of focus.

Sounds, sights, smells abound.

Each of these bursts perfumes

its own sense receptors, creating

a cordant harmony during my

brief sojourn to the backyard.

BIOGRAPHY: Rick Hartwell is a retired middle school English teacher living in Southern California with his wife of thirty-five years (poor soul; her, not him), their disabled daughter, one of their sons and his ex-wife and their two children, and eleven cats.  Yes, eleven!  When not writing he wishes he were still pushing plywood in Coquille, Oregon.

A.J. Huffman - 3 poems

Stone Desire

At the liquid edge

of the dark.

I began

to understand.

That even the simplest movement

contains a world

of life.

And I was alive.

With that knowledge.

Set free.

In that instant’s discovery.

Crystal.

Shining.

I was delighted

to accept its light

on my back.

But these dream-wings

were more than I expected.

Heavy and hot.

I could not shake

their desire for the sun.

Too close.

I burned.

And they broke.

And we crashed --

heart-first --

into a wall.

Painted

in the bloody shades

of reality.

Disappointment.

And spiteful delight.

   

From Quinine Whiteness

I crawl

from underneath your shadow.

A child

reborn

to blindness.

I was meant to finish your form.

But something in our mixture got lost.

I believe it was me.

Or maybe just my mind.

Though the results are the same.

Just a different shade of chain.

For a different shape of beast.

Sane or not sane.

You will break me.

Bind me.

And bone me.

As I am owned.

By you.

My home.

Not Silent Or Silenced

And if the door opens.

Scream.

Higher.

Louder.

Harder.

Wake up the world.

To your rage.

They will see it.

Shining.

A flame.

Fit.

To fell the sky.

If you try

to focus it

on me.

It will prove

you are a fool.

For I am the only star left.

You need me.

To see.

I am your target.

Insane.

I can set your pain.

Free.

If I decide

to accept.

The kiss.

Of your shadow’s stare.

BIOGRAPHY: A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published three collections of poetry: The Difference Between Shadows and Stars, Carrying Yesterday, and Cognitive Distortion.  She has also published her work in national and international literary journals such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.  Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.