If Not for You by Yongbo Ma

Emma Li

If Not for You  

If not for you, I would wake upon a reef,  

not knowing how I had come to sea,  

I would look around at the vast expanse,  

at the first elements of the universe,  

not knowing what they were, nor what I was.  

If not for you, I would sit atop a solitary suitcase,  

its supple wicker exuding ancestral fragrance,  

inside it, my manuscripts that no one has ever seen,  

Siberian snow scrawled on the back sides of diagnoses,  

arguing in ciphers against the Latin certainties

on the front sides. I will always be waiting

for a black train in a big windy square 

to take me to the far side of the moon—  

a train with no conductor.  

If not for you, I would not be this shape,  

a net cast wide, now reduced to a single knot,  

I would keep changing—face, age, flag, even gender,

the tears of the innocent would sharpen scythes,  

a mother who feeds her offspring with rust

would give birth to more reefs like round skulls,

and step upon them, come towards me

with a vague smile. 

© Yongbo Ma

Yongbo Ma

Ma Yongbo was born in 1964, holds a Ph.D., is a representative of Chinese avant-garde poetry, and is a leading scholar in Anglo-American poetry. He is the founder of polyphonic writing and objectified poetics. He is also the first translator to introduce British and American postmodern poetry into Chinese.

He has published over eighty original works and translations since 1986, including 9 poetry collections. He focused on translating and teaching Anglo-American poetry and prose, including the work of Dickinson, Whitman, Stevens, Pound, Amy Lowell, Williams, and Ashbery. He published a complete translation of Moby Dick, which has sold over 600,000 copies. The Collected Poems of Ma Yongbo (four volumes, Eastern Publishing Centre, 2024), comprising 1178 poems, celebrates 40 years of writing poetry.

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peeling wave by Amrita Skye Blaine

Ron Lach

peeling wave

the board 

a planing blade,

I ride  

the barrel

deep and long

prefer a left-hand

break    turning 

toward my heart

every wave

stripping all

but wide attention

© Amrita Skye Blaine

Amrita Skye Blaine

Amrita Skye Blaine develops themes of aging, disability, and awakening. She received a PocketMFA in poetry in 2024. She has published a memoir and a three-novel trilogy, and her work has appeared in fourteen poetry anthologies and numerous literary magazines. Two poetry collections, every riven thing and strange grace, were released in Spring 2025.  

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Insomniac in the Arms of Morpheus by Selma Martin

 

“In the arms of Morpheus”

by Sir William Ernest Reynolds Stephens

Insomniac in the Arms of Morpheus

Tuned in to poetry, I fall asleep in the

dullest room no one ever slept in. 
Separated from the other rooms of
the lively house by a walkway,

overlooking the stairway and front door,
my husband's calm room blooms
with fishing rods and storage crates 
holding important hobby gear.

Years ago, an old table was brought in to 

"complete" the room; I needed a place to
store a few books and sundries that
hadn't earned a proper place to exist.

But the room has morphed; cleared to make
it cozy for a semi-double bed for the growing
family. The dullest room with north-facing
ventilation, perfect light, and sound screens 

has new potential, I conked out there last night—
windows open. I never knew about the calm, never
knew about the doves, or about the crow perched

on the neighbor’s roof that has conversations with them.

Their sophisticated interaction— yes, imagine! 
I cannot believe I didn't know that two doves
and a crow can be sophisticated. Did you? Well,
I arose feeling refreshed even before the alarm

sounded. And until this morning, who was to imagine
one such morning was possible under my roof,
in a room that is what this insomniac needed?
A triumphant tryout, a practical test passed...
Now, where will my growing family sleep?

©️ Selma Martin

Selma Martin

Selma Martin is a retired English teacher with 20 years of experience teaching ESL to children. She believes in people’s goodness and in finding balance in simple living. She lives in Japan with her husband of 35 years. In 2018, Selma participated in a networking course that culminated in a final lesson to publish a story on Amazon. She completed the course and self-published her short story, "Wanted: Husband/Handyman," in 2019. Later, collaborating with peers from that course, she published "Wanted: Husband/Handyman" in "Once Upon A Story: A Short Fiction Anthology." Selma has published stories on Medium for many years, in MasticadoresUSA, The Poetorium at Starlight, Short Fiction Break, Lit eZine, and Spillwords. In July 2023, she published her debut poetry collection, In the Shadow of Rainbows (Experiments in Fiction). You can find Selma as selmawrites on Instagram and Twitter, and on her website, selmamartin.com.

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So We Don’t Sleep by Souad Zakaran

Gabriel González Encarnación

So We Don’t Sleep

I’m afraid to close my eyes, 
O mother,

your eyelashes raise one question after another. 
There is a story in your eyes—speak it. 
Words yawn on my tongue; 
they’ve lived there long enough. 
Arise, O rubble, 
Come out of me!

Perhaps I could breathe,

with a body freed from shrouds.

Can we tidy the house one last time 
before we’re displaced? 
Can we photograph it for memory— 
Store our laughter, our tears, and our screams— 
then leave? 
O sea stacked before us 
like a shy embrace 
in a world not ours, 
Can you send our echo to nearby oceans

so a giant whale strikes the occupier’s base? 
Can we invent a new alphabet 
for fear, for pain, for home, 
So the world hears 
That gray, continuous sound above us— 
Buzzing planes, 
Roaring rockets 
Above green, above ruin, 
Above a gravestone 
Scrawled in charcoal on a burnt house, 
The trace of a Firebolt?

A thousand times, the eyes sip from the sky 
while we search for warmth 
to gently carry us to sleep 
under our balcony,
a seamless sleep that tickles the stars.

I want… to sleep. 
I dreamed of some leader speaking— 
do you hear, mother? 
I see you laughing, feeding the birds. 
I see you playing on the swing of paradise, 
Iridescent colors glowing in a rainbow slumber, 
Like a bottle shaken—dreams all mixed inside. 
O mother, I swear I saw it: 
One shroud in Gaza holding 
the bodies of three martyrs.

I became a worn, wounded body 
groaning with pain. 
I want to hear the heartbeat of the sun— 
or the heart itself… that sponge 
which has grown hard. 
That’s how we walk—on feathers— 
until we reach the peak of exhaustion 
In full daylight and say:

We shall live here.

© Souad Zakaran

Souad Zakaran

Souad Zakaran is a Moroccan writer, poet, and translator. She graduated with a Bachelor's in French literature and English Linguistics. She worked as a foreign language teacher at a language institute in Casablanca. She currently works as a translator for a local newspaper and has poetry, narrative, and critical contributions in various regional and international literary newspapers and magazines. Her works are featured in several anthologies worldwide, including Poems for Rich, Centenary Project, Oldham Poetry, Well Read, Hooligan Street, and others. Her poem "Weiß" was shortlisted for the Ulrich GRASNICK Lyrikpreis 2025. Her poem “Sauberer Erde” earned third place in the Friedrich Schiller International Poetry Competition 2025.

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All Roads Lead Somewhere by Michael Braswell

 

James Wheeler

All Roads Lead Somewhere

All roads lead somewhere.

Even the ones we don’t know we are on.

Even the paths we believe

will lead us to a promised land.

Especially the dead ends.

Back up.

Turn around.

Head in a different direction.

The broad avenue of our youth

becomes a narrow lane in old age,

bringing us back

to the place we started from.

Previously published in Gracious Plenty

© Michael Braswell

Michael Braswell

Michael Braswell has published books on ethics, justice issues, and the spiritual journey, as well as four short story collections. His poems and stories have appeared in several publications, including Foreshadow, Mobius, and Literary Heist. His most recent books are When Jesus Came to the Cracker Barrel (2024) and Gracious Plenty (2025).

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Beholden by Nancy K. Jentsch

Pixabay

Beholden

I am beholden to the bowl in my fridge

where subtly bubbling sourdough gently

rises, awaits baking day a week hence.

It breathes, relying on microbes thriving

in my kitchen, makes me smile, as do

the tiny thoughts that render these times

bearable—the cotton content of my socks,

fair trade beans magicked to bars of dark

heaven, rows of tariff-free salsa, crowding

vintage freezer’s cold, a mighty lungful

enlivening yoga’s child’s pose before bed.

In the vault of night—as in the fridge where

dough sleeps—there must be music beyond

our hearing that sparks what began as dust

into a crusty loaf, a poem or even more.

© Nancy K. Jentsch

Nancy K. Jentsch

Nancy K. Jentsch’s poetry has appeared recently in Amethyst Review, Braided Way, and Verse-Virtual. Her chapbook, Authorized Visitors, was published by Cherry Grove Collections, and her first collection, Between the Rows (Shanti Arts), debuted in 2022. More information is available on her website: https://jentsch8.wixsite.com/my-site. 

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Some Images and Actions are Prayers by Ajanta Paul

 

Anna Pou

Some Images and Actions are Prayers

Every time I steep tea,

measuring tea leaves 

into the kettle and the

liquor gains an orange blush

I think of Baba sipping 

his fragrant flush,

and that image is a prayer

a silent intercession 

for his wellbeing, wherever 

he is; an invisible orison,

instinctive and natural. 

When I place lit candles

on my doorstep at Diwali,

each flame, supple and ardent 

is a reminder of a dear one

lost to the shadows.

Simple superstitions, silly habits

sometimes become unuttered 

invocations to an unseen power.

Counting stars in the evening sky,

for instance, is my ritual of vespers,

and soft autumnal breezes

my evensong of hushed voices raised in tuneful supplication. 

© Ajanta Paul

Ajanta Paul, Ph.D.

 Ajanta Paul, Ph.D., is a widely published poet, short story writer, and literary critic who was a former Principal of Women's Christian College, Kolkata. A Pushcart nominee, Ajanta has been published in journals including Capella Biannual Journal, Offcourse, The Statesman, The Wild Word, Atticus Review, and Spadina Literary Review. 

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