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Catching On the Wrong Times

by Sivakami Velliangiri Each time I call him on the cellular phone I am conscious of a circumstantial drone. If I miss him amidst a very busy meeting, hoping to hear a lady’s moan, it is the grocer’s shopping.

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The Bow of a Flat Bottom Boat

by Joseph Milosch bottom row boat enters the creek. Near its banks, lily pads cover a portion of the creek and create a clear water path, which meanders – approximately – through the middle of the creek. The light silver water and the emerald pads give depth to the white cup-shaped flowers. From their depth […]

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Poetry Is My Profession

by Neal Whitman I profess to come and go as I please. Come to a place where my mind and heart are open to what is true. Go somewhere before or after words take place. I profess to take the time and make the space for poetry to happen. Take the time to breathe. Make […]

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Inspiration

by Michal Mahgerefteh I wait for words to inscribe softly, to direct the days to come. In this waiting my throat is tight, unable to voice a shade of worthy memory. I reel in the house of flesh, listening to the breathing of sleeping nature, drink ’til drunk on pomegranate wine and lean against the […]

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The Impossibility of a Poem

by Alice Folkart Here is a poem, or collection of Haiku-like stanzas written during a bout of not writing: The Impossibility of a Poem Writer’s block and tackle? Hoist me up with a verse! The only meter I can find is the kind that counts kilowatt hours Even given time, no rhyme comes to mind […]

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And if the stars fail us

by Dretta Grace White And if the stars fail us What becomes us  then My darling ones What becomes us now A song A psalm The unfolding line A rhyme Tales of sorrow so swiftly said The heart beats once Twice Or none What becomes us My darling ones What keeps us here

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To print the letter A,

by Joseph Milosch one has to imagine the focal point of parallel lines. Then, one visualizes them intersected with a transverse line, which makes the figure resemble the plan view of a home built by the kind of northern man who lives deep in the woods. During the winter, snow slides off the roof and […]

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In the Old Western Town/Museum, Sundance’s Grave (Revisited)

By Joseph Milosch Above the mountain peaks, sparse clouds appeared in mid morning. As noon cut short the shadows of the rails and the posts, the town dressed in the color of dust on sky. Standing under the porch awning, I rubbed the rail and watched the cabin’s door. Softly as whispers came the sounds […]

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October

by Paul Hostovsky Everybody called him Toby, though his real name was October, though nobody knew that except the teacher who assured him his secret was safe with her that first day in September, when he came in early, before any of the other kids and introduced himself to her, and told her about his […]

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Gray Baseball Hat

by Paul Hostovsky I’m rooting for gray. Because there’s too much black or white in the world. Too much win or lose. And much too much rain or shine. Go gray! Give me a gray day with a very fine rain– more like a mist coming at the bottom of the 4th, deepening the colors, […]

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Old Western Town/Museum

by Joseph Milosch It was mid morning — sparse clouds above mountains. In the old western town, it was approaching noon. One heard whispers as they entered the cabin, used by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. One heard their voices echo. In legend the door faced the entrance to the Hole in the Wall. […]

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Alabama Sunshine

by Paul Ingrassia Grasshopper lies hidden, then suddenly takes flight; In a field of green: such a little thing – I step lightly, gazing at the sky, tiny silhouettes circling, hawks among the clouds.

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After the Rain

by Lucille Gang Shulklapper Into their thin-walled shells the snails struggle, away from juicy leaves, spray dripping with poison. Watching them inch towards death, gray in the sun, worm-like on stone pavers, the leaves forgive themselves.

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The Solitary Journey

by Chen-ou Liu ahead, two roads diverged in the dim woods the journey was long arriving at the fork once again, I chose the road less traveled déjà vu I walk it fearlessly

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Spiritual Birth

by Michal Mahgerefteh Above and around the Mercy Seat stretched wings encode His Will to the Material Universe through the ever changing horizons: the sun, the moon, the stars-at their zenith. Nevuah uses words to encompass a mark upon the forehead of men falling like rain from heaven. And I, with an array of weaving, […]

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