Beautiful. Read more Mayowa Isiaq
Author Archives: Jeanne
Interlude Man —Jay Bleu
I love smelling clean out of the shower and tossing on my comfy, blue sweater. Then, I feel cradled by the familiar. Combining with my fresh and soapy skin, I’m consumed by a scent that “takes me back.” It stays on me like golden amber sap. Shutting my eyes, aroma takes me there: To aContinue reading “Interlude Man —Jay Bleu”
My Fantastic Car —Intellectual Shaman
If people could look under the hood of my car they would be shocked to find what makes it go without an engine or oil it’s traveled far taken by a magical momentum There are no mechanisms or directions and still it moves to far away beaches where the wind grass blows its rusty bodyContinue reading “My Fantastic Car —Intellectual Shaman”
Little Vines —Claudia McGill
a. hold a cool thin hand in your own without needing to know whose it is b. even fists even fingernails that scratch express grief c. it was no place for a caterpillar everyone said but one was there anyway determined to thrive d. she wants the door knob to turn she wants to beContinue reading “Little Vines —Claudia McGill”
Asemic Poem Self Image Checklist —Elmediat (Implied Spaces)
Elmediat (Implied Spaces)
Ode to Music —Cheemnonso
I’ve seen the colour of music; yellow like a budding sunflower, with blotted petals clothed in tumeric; I’ve treaded her country, so idyllic; where love and lust tastes sweet and sour, and the dreams bequeathed inspire moments of magic; I’ve heard her melody, so angelic; easing my nightmares in the darkest hour as the cricketsContinue reading “Ode to Music —Cheemnonso”
5-29 —Claudia Messelodi
Summer thunderstorm – from the glittering tarmac a spectrum of blue. © Claudia Messelodi 2020 Waiting for rain, carrying buckets, enjoying refreshing words… Pure Haiku
Relief —Kritika
Us mortals have endless things to say, and, few sometimes wish to have an ear, to hear the conundrum of thoughts, to air out the storm brewing inside; just to bring some relief to this tormented mind. Read more Kritika
Table —Elizabeth Moura
“No initials.” In the café of dreams the shutters are blue, A crackled blue; I often sipped next to them, When the sky was calm, the clouds like milk. Memorabilia clung to the walls, Thrift store antiques, strangers’ follies. The bare tables were carved up By knives of anxiety. Cuts. No initials. Subtle. —Elizabeth Moura
The Artist in Love —David J Hopcroft
The Artist in Love The pen moves gently along the lines Sometimes pausing with the artist’s thought Then rushing forward like a dam that has burst Creativity that quenches the artist’s thirst Scenes feelings and emotions all brought together Words then are tokens of so many different signs The pen now sketches out a pictureContinue reading “The Artist in Love —David J Hopcroft”
