Poetry: Issue 2

The Day's End

by Anna Forbes

Stubborn eyelids drop

The rumpled quilt, my magic rug,

Flies me to my dreams.

Shadows

by Allegra Weaver

Regrets, like a flock

Of errant, tawdry blackbirds

Hang over my head.

Letting Go

by Cheryl Hutchison

Tight is my fist

These knuckles are white

Clinging to the dearest things of all

Why must it be so hard

to believe you?

Is it difficult?

I mean your love,

It wraps around me

in a sheet of silk.

Your joy is a

bike ride down hill

in summer dusk with a hint of rain

Surrender is complete

One finger uncurls

Like a rose in the sun

My hand opens to you

A white dove then flies

Away free forever in your sky

Cynicism

by Jared Thornton

The meek and the weak; the big and the strong

Good and Evil; Right and Wrong

Have been debated for so long

The reason why many have gone

Out of control and out of line,

Act just like they've lost their minds

Irrational actions all the time

Never using thoughts divine

Trusting in the heat they pack

And the dividends they stack

The weight of the world is on their back

And true hope is what they lack…

Poetry: Issue 1

Well-Read
by Debbie Stampfli

Behind your cover
You’ve been read more than once
With fingerprints and signatures
Of those who once knew your plot,
And memorized lines
Of meaning(At the time).
And bent down corners
To save their places.
With highlights and coffee stains,
And pencil shavings,
And cigarette burns
That fade the pages.
While the outside
Looks as though it’s been dropped
Into a puddle,
Or even a river.
But he paid anyway,
And gave his money at the register,
And counted his change,
Carefully;
So he wouldn’t be taken.
But when he carries you home
In the plastic white sack,
And reads the beginning,
And finishes a chapter,
He’ll realize:
It was never that interesting,
Not even worth it.
And will proceed
To throw you out.

Escaped
by Allegra Weaver

It looked impossible to them,
The fire blazed and licked the hem
Of woolen cloak and gown worn thin,
And then its whiplash reached the skin
Of praying mother, father grim
With one accord they sang a hymn,
While tongues of fire leapt and flared,
Amidst the wild crowd’s hungered stares.
The flames engulfed the hands, the face,
As Death came on at quickened pace
To seize his prey, secure his store
Of souls to feast on evermore.
But while at last their bodies burned,
To dust and ashes, roundly spurned
By those who gazed in open mirth,
Their souls enjoyed a living birth.