Sunday, August 9, 2026

SONGFEST by John Grey

Jesús Esteban San José


SONGFEST

The morning songfest is underway.

First up is the cardinal,

high in the lilac branch

with his “purdy purdy purdy.”

I offer up a

“whoit whoit whoit” 

in response.

Then the sparrows

overfill the brush

with trill.

My whistle adds 

to the clamor.

The Carolina wren, 

the titmouse,

the chickadee –

my imitation

is heartfelt,

even if not taken seriously.

Yet if birds ever need

a man to stand in for them,

I’m ready.

Only the flying escapes me.

© John Grey

Enjoy more posts by John Grey HERE.

John Grey


John Grey is an Australian poet, a US resident, and has recently been published in Midnight Mind, Novus, and Abbey. His latest books, “Bittersweet," “Subject Matters,” and “Between Two Fires,” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Alchemy, Touchstone, and Willow Review.


Saturday, August 8, 2026

THIS WORLD by Lorraine Caputo

skigh_tv

THIS WORLD

I meditate in the blood light

of that eclipsing moon

When I return

to this world

my unsteady self

captures its image

I delve again

into that other world

deeply immersed in dreams

I do not remember

& awaken to a heavy rain

cleansing this world

© Lorraine Caputo

Enjoy more posts by Lorraine Caputo HERE.


Lorraine Caputo

Poet-translator Lorraine Caputo’s 
works appear internationally in over 500 journals and 23 collections of poetry – including In the Jaguar Valley (Dancing Girl Press, 2023). She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee. She journeys through Latin America, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth.

Friday, August 7, 2026

Poetry by Linda Imbler

Jordan Benton



Tribute To A Man

An orchestra of wildlife, 

paying tribute to

a bedridden man,

ready to retire from God’s payroll,

as his songs of life

are trilled through the musical sands of his hourglass.

~~~~~

Small Birds

Eaglets and other birds,

whether pheasant, cowbird, or toucan,

their peepy chants,

the only language of the little ones,

tend to ripple through the brood,

tenants riding shotgun

on their twiggy dinette.

Hens of all types,

sitting on windowsills

until shooed away.

A beakful of a dozen wiggly treats,

a boon for the babies

who will take their tenacious grip on the worms,

mouths open to take in

their sacrament in their birdey basilica,

with mother and sometimes father watching.

They mingle and they change,

but early on they simply lie back,

like they’re on vacation,

and wait for their feasts.

© Linda Imbler

Enjoy more posts by Linda Imbler HERE.

Linda Imbler

Linda Imbler is the author of eleven paperback poetry collections and four e-book collections (Soma Publishing). This writer lives in Wichita, Kansas, with her husband, Mike the Luthier, and an ever-growing family of gorgeous guitars. Learn more at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com.

Thursday, August 6, 2026

Insults by Kushal Poddar

Rafael Minguel Delgado


Insults
 

I didn't comprehend 
most of the slang, the bulk
of the insults. Soon lost
that safe bay, harbor 
of innocence. A friend 
told me, "Now you know 
that place where the tongue
of our country ends
and its brain fumbles
for the leash of the reign.
I asked him, "Am I now
included? In your clan?"
"Do you feel insecure?"
He asked. I looked around. 
It was a dry ocean.
It was a reflection of a dark stone.

© Kushal Poddar


Enjoy more posts by Kushal Poddar HERE.



Kushal Poddar


Kushal Poddar has authored ten books, the latest being
A White Can For The Blind Lane, and his works have been translated into twelve languages. He is a co-editor for Outlook Magazine and the editor of Words Surfacing. He does illustrations and sketches for various magazines.

Wednesday, August 5, 2026

Mistletoe by Michael Brockley

Karen Laårk Boshoff


Mistletoe


I come from a place where women are named Holly and Joy. From where men want to be nicknamed Melchior or Nicholas. I come from Decembers where gold stars dance at the end of invisible strings on a Yule tree. I come from “Good King Wenceslas,” “Greensleeves,” and “The Wexford Carol.” From rabbit tracks twinned in the snow. I come from a place where a fire dragon exchanges gifts with a small friar. I am the son of a mistletoe merchant. The man-child who lifts mistletoe sprigs so high that those who are meant to be kissed might be kissed gloriously. 


© Michael Brockley


Enjoy more posts by Michael Brockley HERE.



Michael Brockley


Michael Brockley is a retired school psychologist who lives in Muncie, Indiana. His prose poems have appeared in The Prose Poem, Doublespeak Mag, and Keeping the Flame Alive. In addition, Brockley's prose poems are forthcoming in Bay to Ocean Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark VI, and Stormwash: Environmental Poems, Volume II.


Tuesday, August 4, 2026

Gazing Closely by Sushant Thapa

Esteban Carriazo

Gazing Closely

Never sleep
On your dreams.

Never open a tale
And leave it
Without its ending.

The idea is to go on.
We meet and depart.

Never let the pauses
Decide how far
You can go.

Reflect if you have to,
Rejoice if you care.

There is a pain
That laughter cannot hold.

We hide in our smile
What cannot be said.

The night is just a recollection,
And survival is throughout the day.

Separation speaks volumes,
Desire is a cage,
Love is a true gaze.

© Sushant Thapa


Enjoy more posts by Sushant Thapa HERE.


Sushant Thapa

Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet who holds an M.A. in English from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India, with nine books of English poems and one short story collection to his credit. His poems are published at The Kathmandu Post, Trouvaille Review, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Outlook India, Corporeal Lit Mag, Feed the Holy, Masticadores USA,  Indian Review, etc. He is an English lecturer in Biratnagar, Nepal. 

Monday, August 3, 2026

Silence at Night Postcards by Ma Yongbo, Helen Pletts, and Nolcha Fox


Chris F


darkness and exaggerated silence wrap the house,

the still corners; the road and all her signals sleep.

Deep night is the poetic echo in a still shell


the night shore is only a foot deep

in flickering desk lamp and shadow,

even the pictures have folded up their wings,

the nightsongcontinuously resurfacing


(Helen)


Sandy Torch


Evening snow shrouds the house and the road,

a winter ghost of silence

that glows in the moonlight, casts shadows on the walls.

Pictures take wing, float in subdued breathing

of sleep and of night.


(Nolcha)


Lloyd Freeman


The silence of night is a snowfall from mountains

beyond the town,

from a man who bought wine before the tavern closed,

shoulders slanting,

walking home along the fading path.

 

It comes from the all-night lamp on the green porch

that casts a circle of light, where he paused a while,

listening to the subdued voices inside, and

the surrounding mountains.


(Yongbo)


Krivec Ales


The man from the tavern carries silence on his shoulders.

The circle of light is his halo. He unfolds his wings,

and flies toward the mountains, into the morning sun.


(Nolcha)


Yongbo’s Translation into Chinese


黑暗与夸张的寂静笼罩着屋子

静止的角落,道路及所有讯息都已沉睡。

深夜是寂静空壳里诗的回响。


夜岸不过一尺深浅,摇曳在台灯与影子之间,

甚至那些画也收敛了翅膀,

夜曲不断地重新响起。


 (海伦)


暮雪覆盖了屋舍与长路,寂静冬日的幽魂,

沐着月色泛出微光,在墙上投下影子。

画面展开翅膀,飘游在睡眠与夜压抑的呼吸里。


(诺尔查)

 

夜晚的寂静是一场雪,来自城外的群山,

来自一个在酒馆打烊前沽酒,倾斜着肩膀

沿着逐渐消失的小路回家的男人 


来自绿色门廊上彻夜不眠的灯盏

投下的光圈,他在里边停了片刻,

倾听屋内压低的声音,以及周遭的群山


(永波)

 

从酒馆出来的男子把寂静驮在肩上。

他的光圈是圣徒的晕轮。他舒展双翼,

飞向群山,飞进早晨的太阳。 


(诺尔查)


© Ma Yongbo, Helen Pletts, and Nolcha Fox

Ma Yongbo 

Ma Yongbo is a Ph.D., representative of Chinese avant-garde poetry, and a leading scholar in Anglo-American poetry. He has published over 80 original works and translations since 1986, including 6 poetry collections. He focuses on translating and teaching Anglo-American poetry and prose, including the works of Dickinson, Whitman, Stevens, Pound, Williams, and Ashbery. He recently published a complete translation of Moby Dick, which sold over half a million copies. He teaches at Nanjing University of Science and Technology.

Helen Pletts

Helen Pletts 海伦·普莱茨 is the English co-translator of the Chinese poet Ma Yongbo 马永波, who is her official Chinese translator. She is a committee member of CB1 Poetry, the established monthly poetry reading event in central Cambridge, UK, which has organized poetry readings for many years. CB1 features up-and-coming writers and well-known poetry names. Her work has been translated into Chinese, Bangla, Greek, Vietnamese, Serbian, Korean, Arabic, Italian, Albanian, and Romanian. Website: https://www.helenpletts.com/.


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 The Pushcart Prize multiple times. Editor of Chewers by Masticadores and LatinosUSAWebsite: https://writingaddiction2.wordpress.com/.


Sunday, August 2, 2026

Clearing by Patrick Trombly


Gabriele Brancati

Clearing

(Stillness of a Stag)


I sent the others on ahead, to “steal some time.”   She looked back.  "Solitude is the price of quiet," she seemed to say, unaware that in delay I would find absolution.  She knows that snow is coming.  Her daughters also know this, although they have never seen snow.  It will cover this glade until spring, making it easier to see what needs to be seen.  

None of them looked back again.  She led, and the three of them crosswalked, one behind the other, scent-checking the wind, making their way along the edge of the glade, navigating its shallow dips and mounds.  The ground is covered in brittle yellow leaves, and the feet made a crackling sound, no matter how gently they stepped.  The sound became fainter and fainter, and then there was quiet, and their silhouettes became smaller and fused into one.

Is anyone ever truly alone?

I am always and unavoidably accompanied by consciousness.  I am aware of his presence. I am aware of his authority. I am aware of his majesty (though I cannot see it).  I had become aware that he was watching me.  There is a time for flight and there is a time for jealousy and rage and there is a time for regret.  The secret to life is knowing what time it is (it is morning).   

I pretended not to know anything.

I am aware of being consumed.  

Ahead, there is only the clearing (the others have passed through and escaped judgment).   In years past, this open space was wide.  Now it is surrounded by saplings, slippery with white frost coating the white bark.   The rows of black spruce and tamarack that once encircled the clearing still stand, but they are behind the birches, and the ground is hard and there is no footing.  There is no place to bury treasure.  There is no water here.  Amba will not stay to lick my bones.  My spirit prepares for release.

ephemeral time

old coat scavenged by eagles

rise from fallen leaves

© Patrick Trombly

Enjoy more posts by Patrick Trombly HERE.


Patrick Trombly


Patrick Trombly re-emerged as a publishing poet in 2025.  He writes in a variety of formats and narrative voices, exploring relationships among humans, nature, and the divine.  Representative publishers include: The Dewdrop, Loch Raven Review, Beyond Words, The Abstractionist, PHIL LIT Journal (shortlisted for a prize in December), The Closed Eye Open, Amethyst Review, In Parentheses, The Argyle, Resonance, and Connecticut River Review.  

Saturday, August 1, 2026

Sheltered Voyeurs by Sterling Warner

Elina Volkova

Sheltered Voyeurs

Looking out of our Marriott hotel window,

we watched a crescent roll float down

the gutter like a storm rat dreamboat

as thrill-crazed bicyclers would hydroplane

over puddles that reached the middle

of Main Street. Room service interrupted

meditating on nature’s magic, yet we

liberated our minds in a matter of minutes

allowing them to wander, merge, 

and dissipate as freely as wads of paper,

discarded food, and soggy litterbug debris 

gushing past below us like sewer surfers.



Enjoy more posts by Sterling Warner HERE.

Sterling Warner


Washington-based author, poet, and educator, Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such magazines, journals, and anthologies as Verse-Virtual, Ekphrastic Review. Warner’s poetry/fiction includes Rags and Feathers, Without Wheels, ShadowCat, Edges, Memento Mori, Serpent’s Tooth, Flytraps: Poems, Cracks of Light: Pandemic Poetry & Fiction, Halcyon Days: Collected Fibonacci, Abraxas: Poems, Gunilla’s Garden: Poems (2025), and Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories.  He currently writes, hosts “virtual” poetry/fiction readings, and enjoys fishing along the Hood Canal.


Featured Post

SONGFEST by John Grey

Jesús Esteban San José SONGFEST The morning songfest is underway. First up is the cardinal, high in the lilac branch with his “purdy purdy...