Driving by LeeAnn Pickrell

Alexander Mass

Driving

Acacia frames both sides 

of the road into Santa Cruz

Head back, I let myself drift

a leaf to the ground

in this sacrament of the 

present moment his hand

finds mine

© 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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the words are hidden by Melissa Lemay

 

Mirac Sendil

the words are hidden

in the remnants of grease on

the frying pan hands toil to scrub

clean ; through the sunless day

those masterpieces: clouds

cognizant of their thick splotches

of paste , or it cognizant of them

beseeched by the pouring out

of a heart run through with the

bone brittleness of black love

sung onto concrete dried after

it is drenched with rain that has

become soundless in its own

sanctuary

© 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. 

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Fears and Feelings by Edilson A. Ferreira

Matthias Zomer

Fears and Feelings

There are certain weekends and holidays 

when I feel somewhat insecure. 

I worry if walking ghosts have occupied  

the void of empty streets and closed doors,   

looking at me as an intruder or suspicious 

on their walks. 

I miss hearing the sound of hammers and

hoes, the strident come and go of saw blades,  

the brushing of pens on paper or keyboards  

being typed throwing feelings to the world.   

I love the imprecations of painters and artists

when they can’t find the pure art they look for. 

I love children screaming through the sidewalk,

running endless races only they are capable of. 

I love the noise of people in the streets and alleys,

corners and places, 

as they move to destinies only they are aware of, 

struggling hard to make their lives a story. 

I love hearing someone making something, 

even if it is the buzzing of bees.

First published in the March/April 2018 issue of Indiana Voice Journal. 

© 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.

With Achievement by Dr. Priyanka Neogi

 

Arina Krasnikova

With Achievement

Everyone's eyes are on the light.

The light is attracted to the brilliant.

Improve life by staying in the light.

Everyone wants to live with respect.

Many do not practice respect; respect is not cheap.

Gaining respect is the work of achievement,

To everyone, it is valuable work.

Life is on the way to Tatini.

Achievement is in one's own hands.

If you work hard,

Your own life will improve

In the hope of the dream. In the hope.

Only in the equation of reality will the light of hope shine.

In the eastern sky, the clouds are frozen; 

The clouds are erased over time.

Life is shaking in the light of hope.

You have to move on with it.

© Dr. Priyanka Neogi

Dr. Priyanka Neogi

Dr. Priyanka Neogi is from Pundibari, Coochbehar, India. She is an international poet, story writer, editor, motivational speaker, dancer, singer, and artist. She's a member of literacy organizations at the national and international levels. She is also the National Joint Secretary of the Rocket Ball Federation of India; UAP Miss India 2nd Runner-up 2022; Miss Pundibari 2025; Miss West Bengal 2025; a social worker; an International Representative of the Mother Teresa Foundation of India; and the National Director of Miss and Mister Peace India.

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To Live Through by Jade Kleiner

 

Lisa from Pexels

To Live Through

Ruminating on forgotten lines

and joys never lost,

I straighten my spine

to hear the god-wind

and the crickets that persist in the treeline

as the leaves don’t.

Winter is more straightforward to live through.

What remains is worth remaining.

What breathes deserves to be known.

At this vertebrae of my life,

the possibility of locusts worming into my ears,

I let the future of my skin go.

Letting my eyes devour the dusk coating the field,

I smile at the blazing silence of mind.

© Jade Kleiner

Jade Kleiner

Jade Kleiner is a writer from New England. Among other places, her poetry can be found in Trampoline and manywor(I)ds, her haiku in Haikuniverse and Cold Moon Journal, and her fiction in Bright Flash Literary Review. She is transgender and has practiced in the Plum Village tradition since 2020. 

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testing my worth weekly by Casey Quinn

 

Thom Gonzalez

testing my worth weekly

wednesday

mornings 

i bring the garbage 

around 

from the back 

of the house

to the front

i sit myself down 

next to two 

trash-filled cans

and a blue 

container 

of recyclables

to see if

they would

take me

along

with the rest of it

© Casey Quinn

Casey Quinn is the author of two chapbooks, Snapshots of Life and Prepare to Crash. He writes and publishes work at https://cqwriting.com

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The Wolf I Feed at Dusk by David Anson Lee

 

L'oeil à deux Vanessa et cédric

The Wolf I Feed at Dusk

At dusk the day gathers its arguments:
sirens, headlines,
a neighbor’s anger
seeping through thin walls.

Inside me, the wolves circle.
One sharp-toothed, bright with outrage,
keeps a ledger of wrongs.
The other moves slowly,
ribs showing,
eyes worn smooth as river stone.

I carry food
without knowing it.
Every word chosen,
every silence kept,
every thought rehearsed
after dark
tilts the bowl.

Tonight, I feed the quieter one.
I give it wind in the trees,
my breath returning to itself,
the memory of a friend’s laugh
breaking a hard hour open.

The fierce wolf watches, offended,
but does not leave.
It never does.
Grief wants a mouth.

Still,
the gentler wolf lifts its head,
not victorious,
only alive,
and for a moment
the world feels less like a wound
and more like a place
I might still learn
to tend.

© David Anson Lee

David Anson Lee

David Anson Lee is a poet, philosopher, and physician living in Texas. Born on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation, he explores themes of healing, grief, resilience, and the sacred dimensions of ordinary life. His work has appeared in Ink Sweat & Tears, Braided Way, Silver Birch Press, and numerous other journals.

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Among the Columbines by Krystal Gauley

 

Veronika Andrews

Among the Columbines 

As I emerge

from the last veil of trees, 

I pause. 

My gaze ascends, 

my spine uncoils like a bear

waking from winter’s dream,

to greet the newborn Spring,

her fur silvered

with beads of dawn.

Standing on her hind haunches, 

muzzle tuned to the shifting air,

my body follows her call. 

My belly bellows,

lungs drawing in a breath

of stone, thaw, and pine, 

and the world lifts its face

to meet mine. 

Here, I unclasp my hold

on the small, guarded body I cradle. 

I unfurl my wings,

vast as a soul remembering,

release them from painful concealment, 

shake them wide into the light. 

I meet the faces of the remembering ones, 

those who know my name. 

I give my gratitude, 

scatter my sorrows like seeds, 

lift my dreams into their keeping. 

I pour myself outward

until I am only resonance,

sound and stillness entwined. 

The wind stirs my breath, 

the sun pours gold like honey into my skin,

the earth steadies my bones,

Spring waters glimmer through my hair. 

The world’s weight

loosens its hold upon me. 

I am nourished by this holy moment, 

by the hummingbird moth

dancing among columbine flowers. 

Step by step, nearing the heavens, 

I rise, I reach toward realms long forgotten. 

Here, perched in peace and sanctuary, 

I watch the turning world.

I am home. 

© Krystal Gauley

Krystal Gauley

Krystal Gauley is a poet and creative nonfiction writer completing an MA in English and Creative Writing. Her work is rooted in landscape, memory, and embodied encounters with nature, exploring emergence, stillness, and personal transformation through breath, presence, and relationships with the natural world.

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