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”

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”

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”

My Eye’s Delight —Paul Vincent Cannon

My Eye’s Delight I saw her working, her uncertain, improvised easel holding a whitened canvas, just waiting for those seemingly random daubs of bold impressionism, free form interpretations splashed with meaning, today there was no mere Renoir or Cezanne, this delicate weave of gossamer sheer, an orb’s masterpiece for my eye’s delight. ©Paul Vincent CannonContinue reading “My Eye’s Delight —Paul Vincent Cannon”