Tayve Neese: I believe in chakras
tankas and sonnets
are a species of orchid
Robert Gibb: Angels in Homestead
Pale, sentinel, their stone wings
Open behind them, they stood about
As though the afterlife meant
To impress itself upon us
Rosaly DeMaios Roffman: Writing Prompt #2 | An Imaginary Phone Call
Make an imaginary phone call to some person or thing to tell them something you never told them.
Christina Rossetti: One Sea-Side Grave
Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn
John Samuel Tieman: Lauds
the Templar strolled the cloister
after the dawn office
the sky was a sort of orange
like he had seen in the East
John Lawson: Climax of a Story Never Told
It’s true: he and his blanket have grown old together here in the corner of the Episcopal church parking lot.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar: The empty room I loved
I was free, I was twenty. I fell wholly &
forever in love every week. I was hungry for life
Aidan Rooney: Human
I knocked at your door,
I knocked at your heart,
looking for a good bed,
looking for a good fire.
Janette Schafer: Two Poems
There is a Pemón legend
that birthmarks indicate
how a past version of
yourself has died, a scar from
an ancient mortal wound.
Michael Simms: Blue Notes
I think of Fats Waller whose left hand leaped down the keys, showing the path for every jazz pianist who followed, including the great Art Tatum and the minor Billy Joel.
Emily Dickinson: They shut me up in Prose
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason — in the Pound —
Video: Rising Appalachia | Resilient
These times are poignant
The winds have shifted
It’s all we can do
To stay uplifted
BJ Ward: First Thanksgiving
A chair was never emptier
than on the first Thanksgiving
after my father died.
Judith Alexander Brice: Fledgling Times
The leaves are burnished still,
yet many
bear shades of fall— hints of
ocher, carmine, umber-wheat.
