Under the stars, Iowa poets dance
from stanza to stanza, barnyard to barnyard
all across the state
Have you not noticed them?
Let’s celebrate with the poets of Iowa
and sip herbal tea together in cornfields
as we share our secrets in verse
by the light of the harvest moon
Roberta Beach Jacobson admits to being one of these poets.
Starlight city nestling inland
Where Magic is humming
And Mystery glows
Interwoven between threaded crossed lines
At each end is a watcher
A tall figurine
Stop centrally now, take care with your step
Yes, just there, on that same pinprick where
Stand the Artists who painted
The wild silken road.
Peter Li-ping lives far from the Silk Road but it’s always with him.
The Stars fade gently into a glowing horizon as the Sun arrives in the East.
Some remain still glistening to complement the radiant canvas of colour and light.
This visual spectacular provides a challenge to every artist’s palette
as they strive to capture the new dawn before it vanishes forever
John B. Sinclair is a much-travelled Scot who has now returned to Scotland, where he enjoys freelance writing on a variety of subjects.
Create a universe. Twist a hand and just let the galaxies flow through your fingertips. Obsess over tiny details: the colour of a flower, that specific shade of orange in the evening sky. Scatter moons into orbit like grains of sand.
That is what it means to be a God.
Isla is a fourteen-year-old aspiring author doing her very best to get her ideas across. Hopefully after exams she’ll have more time to write!
A man wrote a song and died.
Trembling, the song tried to sing herself. Each day she practised, flexing melodic limbs, strengthening pale notes, until she came to understand discordant beauty.
That day, her song spilled into rivers and comet trails, spread throughout galaxies.
The universe leaned in to listen.
Lisa Alletson is an emerging writer whose work has been published in The Globe and Mail, Ginosko Literary Journal, and The Write Launch. She was born in South Africa and lives in Toronto, Canada. Follow her on Twitter at @LisaAlletson.
She reads quietly in the corner, sublimely beautiful. Serene. Her soul surrounds her, highlighting every motion, drawing me like a moth to a flame. I’m not worried that I’ll burn, only that she’ll never notice my tiny spark against her brightness.
Smiling, she looks up from her book. “Hi, there.”
Raven Corinn Carluk writes dark fantasy, paranormal romance, and anything else that catches her interest. She’s authored five novels, where she explores themes of love and acceptance. Her shorter pieces, usually from her darker side, can be found in Black Hare Press anthologies, at Detritus Online, and through Alban Lake Publishers. Keep up to date with her and enjoy many free reads on RavenCorinnCarluk.blogspot.com, or join her on Twitter at @ravencorinn for daily microfictions.
sits on a park bench.
Pigeons know her.
They cluster… fight… peck.
The children recognize her too:
the one who feeds the pigeons.
Lily giggles, opens her purse,
sets it on the ground.
“She’s crazy,” the children taunt.
Pigeons though, coo, bob…
fly into her purse
filled with sky.
Judy DeCroce is a poet / flash fiction writer and animal lover. She has been published in Pilcrow & Dagger, Amethyst Review, The Sunlight Press, Cherry House Press- Dreamscape:An Anthology, and many others. Judy is a professional storyteller and teacher and lives and works in upstate New York with her husband, writer/artist Antoni Ooto.
He had experienced moments of pure joy mixed with frustration, and he’d sung all the songs of satisfaction. He had discovered that discipline was love in its purest form. He had witnessed breathtaking sunsets and star-filled heavens on a clear night. But he would never learn to whistle a Symphony.
Jim Freeze is seventy-three years old, retired, and widowed. He was happily married for fifty-four years and has two grown sons. He began writing in early 2012 to have something to do. His short stories have been featured in many publications including Brilliant Flash Fiction, Calliope Magazine, The Original Writer, and Literally Stories.
She rests a heavy rock on her stomach and sinks into the sand.
Through the shimmery layer between lake and sky, the blue expanse above looks beautiful enough to plant a seed of doubt.
Her lungs spark and burn.
She shoves the weight off, slowly floating up to the clouds.
Lauren is an aspiring author studying Creative Writing at Emerson College.
Knotty-pine rails and shorn winter grass,
pastures wandering aimlessly,
subdued air chewed to the quick.
Puddles notch the ground
(rough-hewn mirrors of regret)
at the hushed gate where he waited.
The morning of the horse’s passing,
a rickety world presents itself,
clouds cobbled together
in a pale and unfinished sky.
C.G. Thompson was once owned by a tall pony who was kind enough to listen to her talk about poetry. Sadly, he passed away before any of her poems about him were published. She had hoped to read them to him. He continues to be an inspiration.