August 18, 2019

The Resilience of Life – Captivating Poetry by Marianne Brems

The Resilience of Life – Captivating Poetry by Marianne Brems

Flower Stems If heaven were a place  to walk without fear before an audience  jaded in judgement,  a place to love without concern  about running alone on earth’s curve, a place to rise in the morning  without tripping on stones by evening, a place to play in dangerous rivers without swallowing water, a place to carry wood to a fire  that never burns out, a place to throw out regrets  with the dust swirls of empty rooms  A place where traffic lights are all green, the sun sets peacefully after dinner,  and sleeves are never too short.  Then resilience would wither, muscles atrophy, bones relinquish their density  without resistance to strengthen them in a field where flowers fill every space and their stems, though succulent, are the sturdiest pillars.   Night Siren  The too near wail of an ambulance  assaults the quiet core of night, its rising then falling crescendo repeating repeating  unsettling all that’s settled as it announces  an unidentified human incident rife with pain or loss or both.  Yet this ambulance,  defying disruption and speed limits,  delivers with singular purpose  a medical team  eager to serve, to make whole, to mend the punctures of sharp protrusions or the malfunction of a dusty heart  and to begin a restitution  that even in darkness has…

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August 15, 2019

Linnea Skoglöv: Portraits of Love

Linnea Skoglöv: Portraits of Love

Cigarette  Waking up slowly to a room set in darkness, eyes searching for light but finding nothing buta silhouette.  You on one side of the bed and I on the other, not touching but I still feel you on my skinlike my mouth senses the aftertaste of a cigarette.  A cigarette you smoked even though I begged you not to, I turned and said I won’t kiss youever again but you hugged me from behind and what was I supposed to do.  So I kissed you.  And you tasted worse than when you apologise for your breath in the morning, but the secondyour lips touched mine I had already forgiven you.  Because when you look at me my heart suddenly belongs to a hummingbird, beating right out of my chest. And I need to feel your fingers…

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August 8, 2019

Dayna Lellis: Telling Timeless Truths

Dayna Lellis: Telling Timeless Truths

Your Value   Instagram followers Twitter retweets Facebook likes Snapchat views Numbers we use To quantify #Popularity #Beauty #Wittiness #Worth These numbers mean #Nothing Compared to the people In your life Yearning for quality time With you They don’t need numbers To see your value    Emotional   We develop strong arms, carrying around emotional baggage for months, even years.  We mistake this for strength.   We weaken our grip on our baggage,  opening it to reveal  its untidy contents to others. We mistake this for weakness.   May Day  Unnecessary clicks, swipes, and likes are taking away  precious seconds,  minutes, hours, days of our lives,  of our budding dreams. “Just a little longer, okay?” “I’ll do it tomorrow,” you say.  Tomorrow is growing impatient. Tomorrow is ready to bloom today.   Two Vows  I’ve walked this path for eternity. Its minutiae are etched into my mind.  One random day, to my surprise, I notice stairs that reach the sky.   As I ascend, I glance below.  I see paths that swerve, with shadows galore.  Others appear straight with a sunlit glow, but on closer inspection  they have bumps as well.   I search for mine.  It takes some time. Its gentle curves are…

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August 5, 2019

“Life” – Burbuqe Raufi’s Epic Novella – Part II

“Life” – Burbuqe Raufi’s Epic Novella – Part II

“Life” Part II Angela Miller/the one who served justice for women. The storm was coming sooner than anyone expected. Garbage bins, branches, and road signs flew through the air as she drove her rented white Ford Cabriolet. She ducked her head in fear of getting hit by the flying objects. “Why did I come? Damn it. I knew this was coming,” Angela whined to herself while trying to keep the car on the road. She could hear the cyclone coming closer and closer. Her heart beat fast. Fear had conquered her whole body, and she couldn’t focus. She hit a tree, and the car stopped. She looked around. The air was thick with dust. She coughed; her lungs were full of filth. Her right leg was stuck underneath the steering wheel. She tried to free…

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August 3, 2019

“Life,” A Novella by Burbuqe Raufi

“Life,” A Novella by Burbuqe Raufi

Editor’s Note: “How could you live and have no story to tell?” wrote Dostoevsky in his short story, “White Nights.” Life is about the stories we live and tell, and the three interrelated stories in this intriguing novella by Albanian writer Burbuqe Raufi, are no exception. We present these three stories of “Life” – Sergey Volgov, Angela Miller and Samuel Blanc – beginning tonight and concluding next week. ** “Life” Part I Sergey Volgov—the man who fought poverty. Freckled and ashy pale, Sergey Volgov, a very old man, sat in the wheelchair by the window, watching the mesmerizing motion of the late autumn leaves falling from the trees and landing on the muddy ground, waiting to experience his last breath, but his beaten body resisted freeing his moaning soul. A harsh torture, as was his thin…

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July 31, 2019

Paths of Existence: Poetry by Yong C. Takahashi

Paths of Existence: Poetry by Yong C. Takahashi

Journey  I emerge from the mud Caked in past indiscretions Mistakes weighing me down I attempt to shake it off And decide I’d never be able to Reduce the heavy load I decide to cry until I’m whole Hoping not to drown in tears Unable to cleanse my past I praise the rain that comes but  It’s cold, dark, and unrelenting Not the salvation I prayed for When I think I may drown The sun comes and warms me I look back at the faded footprints And marvel how far I’ve traveled The old path is almost gone The rotted breadcrumbs I left To find my way back home Are washed away and I must Forge a new path to happiness  The Collector  We can collect treasures Even coveting wounds That aren’t even ours Treasures proudly displayed Spotlight shining on them Repurposed into excuses You can use not to succeed After years, they collect dust Graying, covered with cobwebs Too tired to clean the artifacts  Scrambling to recoup…

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July 17, 2019

Shawn Anto: The Tests of Life

Shawn Anto:  The Tests of Life

Moka Pot I used to play these games lungs became a trap for darkness.                                                                                         I used to hold my breath waiting for the moka pot spurting alive.   Suffocate negative lines over a world day by day hoping pot by pot.   These simple and harmless tendencies start off as one motion an egg uncracked, porcelain.   One must suspect harmless become harmful in throat breathe one-two, one-two.   A moka pot bubbling over it is the inside that matters hi-jack cells, vibrating.   Endless dream, endless violent end not so, not-so I promise I hold my breath, welcome it, attachment. Sculpture of Incision       stare red eyes down, under a shattered crown, we collapse     everything around golden & memory particles dispersing like tired eyes of their fear.   a choice of no in…

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July 10, 2019

John McKernan: A Deeper Look

John McKernan: A Deeper Look

MIDNIGHT PHONE CALLS FROM MY ALIAS  Quit pretending you are still a teenager   That girl at Wal-Mart keeps asking about you  Have you written your obituary yet?   Which of President Kennedy’s sluts did you like best?  I’m not frightened    Are you?   Where have you been hiding?  Making any money selling cheap fireworks?   Why don’t you visit me anymore?  Sure   Go ahead    Enlist in the Marine Corps   Here are some verbs to help you out    Crawl       Slither   Sneak   Snivel   Grovel  Let me tell you something you need to know   You want a crate of chocolate chip cookies?  Buddha walked through the door showing us the new    tattoos   His entire body a geranium covered        in blue and green and black and yellow and red  What would it take to make you speechless?   A maniac’s kitchen knife to cut out your tongue DIAMONDS OF SWEAT  Drop to the dry ground  Tiny explosions of dust  A large serving of memory please  In a chilled wine glass  With slivers of yesterday   I always…

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June 17, 2019

Kyla Houbolt: A Natural Poetic Eye

Kyla Houbolt: A Natural Poetic Eye

What the Bears Do  If this is a dream I will open the eyes of my eyes before life kills us all.  I want to see what the bears do. I open the ears of my ears when there is a dear hum  or sound of grinding  that burns. The bears  hear it too. The bears   are not dancing. They may surround us with their large smell  of hot fur or drop to the ground, lope off into woods we did not know were there until  the bears claimed them.  We have received from the bears something of fur of the woods of knowing in our blood but what about  when blood is gone?  What then?  Then I will wait for the tiger  sure to come. I am not prey. I will follow  and not be mazed by that hungry  chthonic gaze.  It may be that any death should feed somebody, but in my family we burn our dead.  Journey For a Monday  Monday and suddenly I feel an intense longing for the desert….

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