Act of Contrition by Pamela Gemme

Breno Cardoso

Act of Contrition 

 

I pray under my breath 

Dear Holy Father, I think this is your way of ribbing me 

into understanding our commonality. 

 

Lord, my community is solitary, 

my friends don’t know I am in a family way.

I loiter before school among the alms of elms, 

 

lean on the stone wall in that baby doll top that hides the ball 

of my popped-out middle, my shirt more see-through 

than I realize, my belly is judicious, I can’t stand 

school, I’ve failed my pledge of allegiance. 

Lord, I haven’t learned and it’s hotter than ten hells

In June heat, my breasts feel like banging gavels. 

Dear God, at this point, I court my roundness

I feel a little fist and foot that hits and kicks me, 

God, not to belabor the point, I digress, 

I confess. Bless and defend me, please 

I’ll stay in check, just keep my secret.

© Pamela Gemme

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Pamela Gemme

Pamela Gemme is a poet and artist. Recent or forthcoming publications: The American Journal of Poetry, Haiku Journal, The Chicago Quarterly Review, Naugatuck River Review, J Journal, SoFloPoJo, and others. Pamela works privately with poets to write about their trauma, and she runs local workshops. Pamela co-leads a reading series in Needham, Massachusetts, with the poet Mani Iyer. Most recently, her manuscript Making My Madonna received Honorable Mention in the 2025 Slate Roof Press Contest. Pamela co-edited Essential Voices: A Covid-19 Anthology from WVU Press, released May 22, 2023. Pamela is on the editorial board at the Worcester Review. Pamela is an Ambassador at the National Baseball Poetry Festival. Pamela’s chapbook, Making My Madonna, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

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Homage to My Feet by Peter A. Witt

 

Eric McLean

Homage to My Feet

You've served me well

these 82 years, feeling the ground,
barefoot in my younger days,
holding me upright in my latter days;
you've never swelled, except
the time I stepped into a fire
ant nest, you've never broken,
which is miraculous given
my missteps and falls, but
most of all I'm pleased you've
retained your shape, no toes
pointing this way and that,
no protruding bunions or knobs,
and no pain when wearing
"regular" shoes, and
considering the smell
of my best friend's feet,
I'm blessed by your

lack of odor; so thanks
for keeping me steady
and accept my apologies
for not praising you more.

© Peter A. Witt

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Peter A. Witt

Peter A. Witt is a Texas poet and a recovering academic who lost his adjectives in the doldrums of academic writing. Poetry has helped him recover his ability to see and describe the inner and outer world he inhabits. His work has been twice nominated for Best of the Net. He also writes family history, and is an avid bird and wildlife photographer.

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A story box for my daughter by Dr. Alok Kumar Ray

Rachel Claire

A story box for my daughter

All afternoon, the whole evening 

Used to open on every holiday 

The story box. 

From the small to the big, too many stories, 

Jumping like fish from an overcrowded pond.

Taking refuge in my mouth, depending on my attitude,

Only for you, my daughter, 

With the intention of drawing a rainbow

In your mind's sky.

Too many profound but imaginary stories. 

Again, from the epics to the autobiographies

Of great men, 

The endless stream of simple words, 

Dazzling with traditions 

Which are steeped in one after another, 

Holding hands, to depict in your mind 

A dotted palace of dreams.

As time passes, it overturns. 

But we used to walk in another world, 

One is the orator, and the other is the listener. 

In this short period of emotional exchange, 

One person's words pouring from the mouth 

Make another happy

And you test the limits of my concentration.

Sometimes, the child of my boredom holds 

A plate of my sorrow 

And begs for a temporary break. 

In the midst of my begging, you used to smile a little 

Or cry incessantly.

Again, a story emerges to console you.

Silence is driven away, 

Capturing the scene in another tearful period of stories.

Now in quite solitude, sometimes reminiscing. 

In the body of the story,

Ignition of fire 

May not be like before. 

The circle of smoke may not paint 

Terrified eyes of ghosts. 

You, me, and our story box of those days

Are now imprisoned 

Inside a cozy chamber made up of gold, 

Placed inside a silver chest under the deep water. 

No one has the guts to speak in favor of 

Those days of ours.

© Dr. Alok Kumar Ray

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Dr. Alok Kumar Ray

Dr. Alok Kumar Ray is a bilingual poet from Odisha, India. He writes both in Odia and English. His poems have been featured in a number of anthologies, newsletters, and magazines worldwide. He has authored two poetry anthologies in Odia and English. He has also edited one bilingual and one multilingual anthology of international repute.

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Rain by Pamela A. Mitchell

 

Vika Glitter

Rain

We live in the land of sorrows

I know this   I come from the land 

 

Of Lake Tear of the Clouds

These clouds inhale tears of the people

Then quietly move here

to weep

What must we do 

           with all this sorrow

Leaf trees know the answer

They know we are mourning and

Gift us as they hold tight 

         to brilliant autumn colors

We are the grateful Leaf Peepers  

Who walk beneath their flaming red, 

brilliant yellow, opulent orange

We sense the tension of their grip as they whisper

Hold on…hold on!

© Pamela A. Mitchell

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Pamela A. Mitchell

Pamela A. Mitchell completed nursing school at SUNY Upstate Medical in Syracuse, N.Y., received an M.F.A. from Goddard College, and attended seminary at St. Bernard’s Theological School in Albany, N.Y. and Church Divinity School of the Pacific in Berkeley, C.A. Pamela taught writing at SUNY Adirondack Community College, as well as journaling and poetry with psychiatric patients at Saratoga Hospital. Her poetry can be found in various literary journals, including Pulse: Voices from the heart of medicine, The Healing Muse, and the anthology Intensive Care: More Poetry and Prose by Nurses (U. of Iowa Press). She lives in Bend, Oregon, where she teaches and consults in geriatric care. 

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The Presence of Cats by Peter Mladinic

TunaS

The Presence of Cats

All is here, nothing is lost, 

my cats’ voices of silk and light

seem to say.

My 2000 moon and beyond the moon,

my 2010 and 2020’s buried moments 

cats unearth, as if to say,

Our nails on wood retrieve a lover’s  voice and a stranger’s.

© Peter Mladinic

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Peter Mladinic

Peter Mladinic's most recent book of poems, Maiden Rock, is available from Uncollected Press. An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.

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Even Paradise Has Snakes by Amrita Skye Blaine

Rifqi Ramadhan

Even Paradise Has Snakes 

Where you step 

matters

For eternity, manifesting

is a walkabout

It could be rough, steep

stark 

requiring crampons 

Whatever comes, ours

Every once in a while

a fern canyon

Paradise

© Amrita Skye Blaine

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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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Confessional by Edilson A. Ferreira

Chinmay Singh

Confessional 

No one knows, or could know, 

except me, 

of all the wrong turns that haunted the life 

that I was forced to live; 

of the lost battles which I did not dare shout to the world,  

but cried for in my corner, alone and embittered;

of the unfair attacks I was unable to defend myself, 

or of some, I do not know how I got the strength,

and had been victorious, defeating them; 

of the loyal and affectionate love I found, 

but lacked the courage to embrace;

of the faith and hope I had to invent, 

for not possessing them in the right size, 

when I got up each new day; 

of a strong and paternal God who provided me 

with an army of angels, who guided me through  

some dark and crooked paths I have traveled by. 

© Edilson A. Ferreira

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Edilson A. Ferreira

Edilson A. Ferreira, 82, is a Brazilian poet who writes in English rather than Portuguese. He has published two poetry books, Lonely Sailor and Joie de Vivre, and 400 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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Nothing by Lynn White

Eva Bronzini

Nothing

In those streets

of men and boys,

in that country 

for men and boys,

she feels like a person with no face,

her face space covered,

her identity occupied

by a swirling mist of confusion

like nothingness being born.

Sometimes 

she wishes for a blank space

that she could fill herself

with a Magritte apple

or even a woman

even herself

un-blanked

and visible.

Now, in those streets

of men and boys,

in that country 

for men and boys,

she feels like a person with no voice,

Magritte’s apple is choking her,

muting her

so even in her home she whispers

her songs and curses.

Only in her head does she shout

that something will come of nothing,

that something must come of nothing.

(First published in New Verse News, August 28 2024)

© Lynn White

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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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