In a tree
And scrape a knee
To find myself bleeding
All over the place
But somehow the next amazing day
It heals completely
I look back at the big deal I made
Wishing that mistakes could go away
Like the one I made
Just the other day
Lillian, an 11-year-old-kid, really wishes that life could be perfect where no one made any mistakes.
First the whispers
Then the shadows
His skin bites
He stands braced
Screams flash back
She wakes him
He leaves the sweat-soaked sheets
She makes oatmeal
He almost smiles
A goodbye kiss
She revisits her spell book
Patrick Yu says: It didn’t work out in the end.
Fifty years, my love, fifty years ago. We barely knew our outer selves, but joined at inner core.
From stolen moments in the fields, we followed separate paths.
The years grew long my love, with bodies wrinkled and grey. Now space and time have disappeared, sweet love evolved to more.
Eileen is a grandma twelve times over, who, now retired, has switched from writing as part of her employment for others to writing along her own creative path. She has a poem recently published in Mothers of Angels 2.
Stepping between moments black and sublime
He remembers the hours before the Design
How to bring this Magician back home?
How to say “Brother, your work is now done”?
Your skill unmatched we agree
But in travels so complex timeless and broad
You have never once
Been unloved or alone
Peter Li-ping sees the attraction of living outside the Law but he remembers the words of that other (somewhat romantic) master: “To live outside the law you must be honest…”
I dig up
In a cave
All I need
Is a lump of coal
A bed roll and a match
A strawberry patch
A cool breeze
Under a tree
A book in hand
I cast the spell
And flash back
We all, at one point, need a second chance.
Care to laugh? Perchance to shiver?
Maybe explore notions and foreign beliefs,
Or wander the depth of human emotion?
What if you could learn something about yourself
You’ve never imagined?
You can tell your tale.
The Muses claim monopoly on these wonders,
But I say every being is a bard.
Luke Swanson is a fledgling author from Oklahoma City. He has a novel and a handful of short stories featured in anthologies from Limitless Publishing.
In the Earth I traced your name,
silent as my prayer.
Afraid that noise would make me insane,
afraid of judgement from the air.
My fingers danced to trace the date,
strokes placed with utmost care,
thinking maybe crazy is a better fate
than drowning in despair.
“I miss you.”
Elaine Koh is an avid reader and writer with a passion for all things furry and entertainment media.
I didn’t cry
coming into this world,
in your womb!
crucible of life.
I nudged softly,
you felt me
under your bump—
Where else does plurality
dwell so harmoniously?
Like distinct chromosomes
in mothers’ wombs!
Mandira Pattnaik writes in India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Times of India, Eclectica Magazine, Lunate Fiction, Microfiction Monday, Fiftywordstories, Paragraph Planet, FewerThan500 and (Mac) ro (mic).
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.
Someone I care for passed away
But that isn’t true on social media today
Their birthday notice continues to lives on
Compelling “friends” to comment upon
So I learn the flesh may rot but we never really die
When we can still be liked in the digital by and by.
Kent Oswald writes, edits, walks the dog, and pedagogs in NYC. Additional words at kentoswald.com.