A life of tangled legs in bed, like sleeping wrapped in spider webs.
First curled small against my mother,
Then later trapped beneath a lover.
Years of children’s legs cocooned, of cuddles, laughter, me and you.
Now as I lie in empty web, I dream of beds with spider legs.
Jo Withers wakes up in a tangle of kids and pets every morning and wouldn’t have it any other way. Once she’s freed herself she writes poetry, short stories and children’s sci-fi adventures. You can follow Jo on Twitter.
Pete woke up alone and he was not there.
He smelled the roots of trees; he heard the worms whisper; his foot walked away without him; he sank into the sky; his inside was outside; he saw the sun shine through his navel.
Pete had stars at head and foot.
Paul Negri has twice won the Gold Medal for fiction in the William Faulkner-William Wisdom Writing Competition. His work has appeared in Vestal Review, The Penn Review, Pif Magazine, Jellyfish Review and other publications. He lives and writes in Clifton, New Jersey.
They met on the sand, slow waltzing to wavesong under a rainbow of stars and deciding love should last beyond forever.
Now he whispers those memories and her smile smooths the wrinkles of their pain.
He catches her last breath with a gossamer lasso and ties it to his heartbeat.
A.J. lives in Australia and wouldn’t mind being reincarnated as a kookaburra. She’s on Twitter at @manicol1.
Knitting knitting knitting.
It grew. It grew. It shifted slightly just that way and became a caterpillar.
A fuzzy caterpillar.
It slept straight through the pain, the breaking, the making, the knitting into a new life.
It emerged, for beauty.
Quite by chance, Plum Kennard has been around quite a while and is happy to be in this world. Her work reflects her delight in the magical moments of life, but also the grief & loss a long life brings.
I pondered bony in a shroud,
And gloat and glide o’er graves on hills,
Then all at once, I saw a cloud,
The ghost of Obadiah Mills.
In centuries or maybe more,
I ne’er saw such a spirit soar.
What horrors or internal strife
Saw this man exiled after life?
Jo Withers is a cheery soul who loves writing about death, doom, and dinosaurs. She managed to combine all three topics in her middle-grade novel 5 Simple Steps to Saving Planet Earth.
When night falls there is always a light on
in the upper left apartment
across the street.
It stays on ’til dawn arrives.
I think about what demons
keep the occupant
from turning the switch
and accepting the dark.
Will they come visit me when my room has no light?
Ellen Sinclair is from Maine, USA.
Child of mine you are so fine
Now a Mother of two
I still look at you
As that little girl
Who changed my world
I thank you
Mother of mine
You are so fine
You at one hundred
I at seventy
Still share plenty
I thank you
Mary has written poetry since age ten and continues to do so. She is also writing short stories and enjoys being a member of a writing group.
Sidewalks have no desires
as do streets, no hidden agendas,
no future place they long
to go and see. Sidewalks are content
with being still and listening to the stories
that shoes and paws beat
into their skin day after day. Sidewalks
have no other place to be but here.
Arlene writes poetry, song lyrics, and flash fiction. She’s working hard on a romance poem about dead birds and their last confessions at present.
Happy New Year!
Another resolution to make; another resolution to break…
Perhaps this year will be different?
Yet, as 2017 rolls into 2018, I am mostly happy.
Never the same, one day to the next.
Everyone has bad days…
Wandering off the path, hoping it always leads back.
Michelle is a contributing author in the most recent Chicken Soup for the Soul: The Spirit of Canad
a. Her writing has won several awards, and appeared in The Globe and Mail
and a number of local magazines and newspapers in Alliston and Barrie. She has a monthly series in the Focus 50 + Newspaper based on her short story “Lightning Strikers.” You can find her online at michelledinnick.com
Our red eyes
Have a glass of wine
I love you…
words without conviction
Trace the floor
Of our room
My plea fails you
Our relationship fades
Our bond snaps
The door closes
Tossed between empty sheets
Why part 5?