Feelings by Ann Privateer

Peter de Vink

Feelings

Look west as they dip
Into tomorrow, so distant
And deliberate as though
Framed to not mumble
Or stumble while sunflowers
Beam, ready to be great
Providing an escape route
And lollipops are for everyone
Who has been shunned
So, have a cupcake but don’t
Bust, one’s enough, I guarantee
Because so much is unfinished
Even the Wild West Wind
Looks while it wants to be free.

© Ann Privateer

Ann Privateer

Ann Privateer is an artist, photographer, and poet. She grew up in the Midwest and now lives in California. Some of her recent work has appeared in Song of the San Joaquin and Poets’ Espresso Review.

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Left Behind by William Ogden Haynes

 

juliane Monari

Left Behind

She left me with her roses, azaleas, garden 

tools and plastic bags of plant food.

But she forgot to take our times at the lake, 

sailing through sunsets in the summer, 

trying to make it home before dark.

And she forgot to take the smell of her 

perfume on a silk scarf and the sound 

of her voice when she said my name.

She left all the stained-glass windows 

she made, her favorite books on a shelf 

and years of greeting cards from me she 

had saved in a shoebox in the closet. 

But she forgot to take her smile, the way 

she always said she loved me, and the 

color of her eyes.

She left her clothes, her garden, recipes,

and boxes of jewelry in dresser drawers.

But she forgot to take the bottle of wine 

we were saving for a special occasion. 

She forgot to take our evenings watching 

movies, the softness of her hair and our 

son whom she loved so well.

© William Ogden Haynes

William Ogden Haynes

William Ogden Haynes is a poet and author of short fiction from Alabama, born in Michigan. He has published several collections of poetry, and many of his poems and short stories have appeared in literary journals and anthologies. http://www.williamogdenhaynes.com

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A Tuesday in September by John Doriot

Los Muertos Crew

A Tuesday in September

My dog and I walked this 

morning, greeted with 

weather, requiring a sweatshirt

for me, cool relief for her fur.

The brisk changes of the season 

have the leaves fluttering, 

still green with hints of 

yellow and brown. 

Burnweed, unchecked due

to the hurricane a year ago, 

towers in the woods with 

white snowcaps. 

Birdsong is absent. All I 

hear is a caw from a distant

crow. I think many have

migrated further south, 

their seasonal instinct

better than the best 

weather forecast. 

Magenta, coral, and scarlet

azaleas, ignore the change 

in season and continue to 

provide beautiful contrasts

to green and brown.

The Althea has had 

abundant blooms since 

summer. Still full, it is a

prom full of pink carnations. 

I welcome the change in season. 

Soon, I can plant more trees,

shrubs, flowers to replace those

destroyed by angry winds a year ago.

Nature always whispers, “Rebuild,” 

and I never ignore her advice. 

© John Doriot

John Doriot and Oreo

John Doriot is an award-winning author and poet. He has written 17 books and received 7 Georgia Independent Author of the Year Awards from 2022 to 2025. Three of those awards were for collections of poetry. 

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Hope by LeeAnn Pickrell

Ray Bilcliff

Hope

is a still whisper. 

Only if you lean in, 

hush the world’s noise,

can you hear her voice

in the scratch of squirrels 

playing up and down 

redwood’s trunk.

Lying in bed awaiting 

sleep you might hear her 

in the owl’s brief call.

She floats like dust motes 

in the corner of a room, 

as the quick blaze of sunlight 

between storm clouds, 

nasturtium growing 

through impossible fence boards. 

You’ll sense her in 

the hint of jasmine 

before you cross a busy street, 

essence of a neighbor’s rose, 

tang of an orange peel.

Taste her in spring’s strawberry, 

honeyed juice of a peach,

that first sip of coffee.

She’s the down of a cat.

dew of morning grass,

solace of a foot reaching 

across to warm your own 

in the night.

© LeeAnn Pickrell

LeeAnn Pickrell

LeeAnn Pickrell’s debut collection is Gathering the Pieces of Days from Unsolicited Press. Her chapbook Punctuated was published in 2024 by Bottlecap Press, and her book Tsunami is forthcoming in 2026, also from Unsolicited Press. She lives in Richmond, California. See more at www.leeannpickrell.com.

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Memorabilia by Edilson A. Ferreira

 

Dagmara Dombrovska

Memorabilia 

Suddenly a grain of sand invades an oyster,

peacefully lying in the depths of the ocean, 

unhappy a road accident. 

Then, to protect itself from irritation,

the oyster quickly covers the uninvited visitor with layers 

and layers of nacre, a mineral from which is fashioned 

its internal shell.  

The grain of sand gains a fine coat, which produces,    

iridescent and stunning, a pearl.  

Some accidents like this permeate our lives,

in unexpected days and by unforeseen intruders.

Perhaps, similarly, we have made our pearls:

  --memorable statues, symphonies and sonnets—

First published in Indiana Voice Journal, August 2016 issue.

© Edilson A. Ferreira

Edilson A. Ferreira

Edilson A. Ferreira, 81, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese. He has launched two poetry books, Lonely Sailor and Joie de Vivre, and has published 300 works in various international literary journals. Has also been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He began writing at the age of 67 after retiring from a bank.

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Poems by Nolcha Fox

cottonbro studio

Wherever You Are

I wasn’t there when you left us, slipping into the night. You were a star in the sky that went dark. I thought the night would breathe you back, but now I know you’re gone. I’ve given up hope that I will see you in the flesh. 

The night must be so cold up there. I send you all my daughter love to make of it a parka, for your soul should never freeze. ⚘⚘⚘⚘⚘

Dear Daffodils

Daffodils hopped over the fence

from our neighbor’s yard,

anxious to escape the careful

pruning and perfection.

Word spread that we allow

our plants to grow just

as they’d like. How brave 

they were to jump with no 

idea if they would land alive 

or squashed, that other

plants would eat as fertilizer.

Two yellow heads took root

and nodded sunshine to the fall.

I hope they like us well enough

that they’ll be back again.

published in Medusa’s Kitchen

© Nolcha Fox

Nolcha Fox

Nolcha Fox’s poems have been curated in print and online journals. A best-selling author, her poetry books are available on Amazon and Dancing Girl Press. Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize multiple times. Editor of Chewers by Masticadores and Poetry Bookshelf on LatinosUSA. 

Websites: https://writingaddiction2.wordpress.com/

and https://nolchafox2.wixsite.com/nolcha-s-written-wor/blog 

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nolcha.fox/ 

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A Season For Living by Lynn White

 

Jean-Daniel Francoeur

A Season For Living

I’d always loved flowers.

You helped me

surround myself with them

to bring me joy.

I would like to lie in my garden

in the mist of the soft sweet-smelling mist

of them 

forever.

But everything has it’s time,

its time to live,

and its time to die

and only the flowers 

will bloom eternally

each in its season.

This is my season for living

and it’s now that I need them.

When I’m dead I won’t see them on my grave,

won’t know that you’ve brought them for me

won’t know if you haven’t,

or care.

The flowers you carry 

in that season should be for you,

for all of you that I left behind

and all of you still to come.

Don’t let them die

for me.

Nobody wants dead flowers,

least of all, dead people.

First published in OPA, April 2024

© Lynn White

Lynn White

Lynn White lives in North Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice, as well as events, places, and people she has known or imagined. She has been nominated for Pushcarts, Best of the Net, and a Rhysling Award. https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com  and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

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