| |
To You I Speak
by Dimitris P. Kraniotis
To you I speak,
do not show indifference.
This moment
to me
is mighty.
I am happy.
These words I uttered
and all were sad.
They left,
heads down.
Mushroom Birds From China
By Lynn Souiedan
I don't have real birds,
only mushroom birds that sit on my window ledge
with their pale, painted feathers of
mauve, blue, brown, orange,
and red.
But they sing to me from the crafted hand
of someone
who simply makes mushroom birds
that sing to me.
A hand with a touch that sings through
mushrooms and paints from far away.
Perhaps if I kiss my mushroom birds,
they will fly back to the hand
that touched me
through pale, painted mushroom birds,
and kiss that hand for me.
Firefly Love
by Arlene L. Mandell
Spectacular displays
of bioluminescence
draw us into the night
where male fireflies pulsate
with synchronized passion,
flashing their deepest desire
while we mere mortals
peck out messages, seeking
that elusive someone on line.
Read/Delete
by Arlene L. Mandell
Love poem written decades ago
by a man not her husband, hidden
beneath her flannel nightgown.
Handwritten letter from
a childhood friend now
living in Nairobi.
Mother's 1929 autograph book,
filled with poems in faded ink,
brittle rose petals.
Today no graceful turns of phrase,
slow thoughts, gold-nibbed pen
moving across pale linen paper.
Instead in milliseconds she
SCANS
CUTS
PASTES
READS
DELETES.
|
|
I've Got this to Offer
by J. Jackson Warfield
Attitude, mediocre at best
Driving record, reckless
Bad back and worse neck
(from all my wrestling bouts)
Criminal record
Failure at the drug screening
Not much experience
Need to receive more than
Competitive wages and benefits
To even make it worth it
Overtime might be OK, depends
Nights are better than mornings
And weekdays and weekends
Don't make any damn difference
To me. Can I have the job?
There Are No Phone Calls At The Black-Tie Ball
by Stephanie Burton
Hello darling.
I wasn't screening your calls.
I was having sex.
There is something deliberate about a man who can fuck you with one
eye.
Not one ounce wavered as he ignored me.
Shifted, hid the stiff crease of an erection.
He told me his wife was at home.
His girlfriend was bent over a bathroom counter.
I held his gaze
Let the air fill with lust and frost.
That night I had breasts and shoulders
A black plaything of a dress
We moved in rhythmic circles
I brushed the hair from my eyes, turned out my wrist.
What is it about this ballroom?
A moment that's created by something bold?
A moment to crave and fear, a challenge he can't resist?
Hold that moment on the tip of your tongue.
Let the flavor lull in your mouth
I can taste the tremble of wet skin as it slides to the back of my throat.
In The Garage
by Daniel Harrison
Microscopic screw
Skipping across dusty floor
Now gone forever
Ten-year-old paint can
Quarter full, lumpy and skinned
Silent, hopeless thing
Futile spider's web
Can an insect make mistakes?
Quite often, I'd guess
Middle-aged white man
Closes the door of his shed
Who will get his tools?
Childless
by Jen Nips
It's just a thought.
Insubstantial,
floating
on a whisper of wind.
Mine would have hair that blonde.
|
|