Thursday, April 30, 2026

A year ago today by John Doriot

April Yang


A year ago today

As I walk down my street

on a sunless day, the sky

full of silver gray, I can

see the trees in the woods

leaning on earth’s shoulders.

Their distant cousin Helene

was in an angry mood 

when she last visited them

in September, a year ago today.

Some of their brothers and

sisters were swept away

by Helene’s terrifying shrieks.

There are those who survived

who lay crippled but grip

the ground and remain alive. 

Now, as the season changes, 

the bent backs, the twisted

limbs are more noticeable, 

as their green foliage begins

to turn brown, falling down

to a ground, dry from drought. 

Their Mother never told them

life would be easy, but 

many still stand defiant, 

and beauty still abounds. 

There are gold hints within 

the woods, apricot hues, 

orange, amber, and red

shades begin to emerge. 

These colors, still vibrant, will

provide me encouragement, 

hope, and pleasure, even

though I now fear the 

wrath of their mother 

each time she displays anger. 


© John Doriot



John Doriot 

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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Wednesday, April 29, 2026

Jumping Off an Out-of-Control Train by Nancy Machlis Rechtman

 

Bingqian Li 


Jumping Off an Out-of-Control Train

Even long before they talked about honeymoons

Where she dreamed of Barbados

With horseback rides on the beach

And driving through citrus-splashed sunsets that were like paintings

She knew he couldn’t be moved from his desire

To hike the snow-covered trails out West

In the depths of the icy winter, which he assured her

Would be just as romantic as lying in the warm sand

With waves lapping at their feet

And they searched for a middle ground

Hoping like magic it would suddenly appear.


She should have stopped then

But she continued to make plans

Because she had boarded an out-of-control train

That was about to jump the tracks

As she held on tight.


But then the letter came and although she already knew

She pushed on and read the words 

That had always been hanging in the air

And now finally crashed on top of her

Like an avalanche.

She stood rock still for a moment 

Then with a deep inhalation of breath

As if she had just awoken from a dream

Or a nightmare

She grabbed the car keys

And raced outside

And drove past the strip malls

With their neon signs beckoning like Sirens

And the dilapidated hot-dog stand at the edge of town

Finally winding through the gnarled trees

Where hers was the only car on the hidden road that led down to the lake.


The warm air caressed her cheek as she sat 

Gazing at the sun-dappled horizon

Its reflection playing on the still waters

While the crickets chattered noisily to her

And she dreamed, hoping to find answers

As the darkness encircled her.


Soon she roused herself 

Realizing that the questions were gone

So she slowly bumped back down the road to town

And then farther, picking up speed

As she headed for the twinkling lights of the airport 

Wishing upon a star

That when she got there

She would find there was a night flight to Barbados

© Nancy Machlis Rechtman


Nancy Machlis Rechtman

Nancy Machlis Rechtman has poetry and stories published in Writing in a Woman’s VoiceminiMAGDiscretionary LoveYoung Ravens, and other publications. Nancy has had poetry, essays, and plays published in various anthologies. She wrote lifestyle stories for a local newspaper and served as the copy editor for another paper.

Tuesday, April 28, 2026

Cologne by Chris Biscuiti

Darina Belonogova


Cologne


I thought I’d teach you how to shave

as you ask me about cologne
you’d say it’s only men’s perfume
we’d laugh, I’d hold that sound like stone

I know I’d miss you as you grew
you’d go to Binghamton like me
we’d talk briefly between classes
I’d stare at the empty driveway

You’d come back around in due time
filled with mid-20’s hopes and fears
you’d swear you think you found the one
we’d talk about it over beers

We’d never forget your big day
your mom would cry during the vows
we’d pop champagne, I’d close my eyes —
I wake up now to laughing sounds

You’re happy and clapping in bed
and today you reach for my hand
I transfer you to your wheelchair
you smile as if to thank me

I thought I’d teach you how to shave
and you’d ask me about cologne
we won’t laugh over men’s perfume
I hold your bravery like stone

© Chris Biscuiti



Chris Biscuiti

Chris Biscuiti is a poet, caregiver, and Dad to his son Bray Bray. Chris' poem The Believer won the 2025 BREW Poetry Project Community Poem of the Year, and his poem The Hours was published in FLARE Magazine, Issue 4. Connect with Chris on Substack https://chrisbwrites.substack.com 







Monday, April 27, 2026

Light: A cento by Melissa Lemay

 

cottonbro studio

Light

A cento.

The morning when I first notice

the farthest candle to the right.


He plants his footsteps in the sea,

Someone films something that needs this light.


And I’m afraid of what can happen

Knot in the hectic juncture of water, sky;


It was as if he dreamed some private garden.

In unsymbolic gestures of eternity;


till what seems solid floats away, dissolves,

Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.


Sources


"Light" by Alice Jones from Poetry (January 1996)

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=167&issue=4&page=22


"Light the Festive Calendar" by Aileen Lucia Fisher from Skip Around the Year (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1967) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46923/light-the-festive-candles


"Light Shining out of Darkness" by William Cowper from Poetry (April 2003) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44028/light-shining-out-of-darkness


"Light of the World" by Hugh Seidman https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=182&issue=1&page=10


"Lighting out for the Territory" by Ronald Wardall from Poetry (February 2000) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=175&issue=4&page=41


"Lighthouse, Mosquito Inlet" by Reynolds Price from Poetry (November 1985) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=147&issue=2&page=40


"Weighing Light" by Geoffrey Brock from Weighing Light by Geoffrey Brock (Ivan R. Dee, 2005) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50895/weighing-light


"Light from Above" by Richard Eberhart from Poetry (October 1959)  https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=95&issue=1&page=11


"What Light Destroys" by Andrew Hudgins from After the Lost War (Houghton Mifflin Company, 1988) https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47520/what-light-destroys


“Sudden Light” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45026/sudden-light


© Melissa Lemay


Melissa Lemay


Melissa Lemay lives in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, with her children, cats, and dog. She writes about God, addiction, trauma, healing, motherhood, and many other things. She enjoys spending time with family, drinking good coffee, and being outdoors. She loves animals. Her poem, “Ephemeral”, was chosen as Poetic Publication of the Year for 2023 at Spillwords Press; she was Author of the Month for July 2024 and Author of the Year for 2024. Find her at melissalemay.wordpress, collaborature.blogspot, and at dVerse Poets Pub




Sunday, April 26, 2026

A hummingbird pauses by the window by LeeAnn Pickrell


Frank Cone

A hummingbird pauses by the window

where I sit writing   I swear 

it’s my friend Norma flitting around 

two days after her memorial 

a reminder to step 

into the morning glory’s purple gaze

to welcome the ancient oak in the dog park

that offers me a branch 

low enough to climb and sit on

That night the full moon hanging low in the sky

over the city, over the bay, over the town,

guiding us home after the jazz show

where the singer’s voice 

tumbled and rose with the saxophone 

like the moon playing hide and seek 

with the clouds

The next day two hummingbirds 

fly figure eights near our cherry tree

—fruitless—yet this morning 

a crimson cherry hangs by its stem

(Originally published on Poem Farm, June 22, 2025)

© LeeAnn Pickrell


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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.


Saturday, April 25, 2026

Leap of Faith by Lynn White

 

Israel Delgadillo Figueroa


Leap of Faith

We make it look easy,

dancers always do. 

Even out here

on the heath

performance is all.

The rest is hidden

behind the scenes

usually in the sweaty studio.

It took a leap of faith to carry on

working alone month after month

with no prospect of performance,

of audience,

of applause

of income.

But we’re out now

out in the sun 

jumping for joy

leaping with faith

ready to go again.

First published in Visual Verse, August 2020


© 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 PushcartsBest of the Net, and a Rhysling Award. https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com  and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/


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A year ago today by John Doriot

April Yang A year ago today As I walk down my street on a sunless day, the sky full of silver gray, I can see the trees in the woods leanin...