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| Connor Scott McManus |
Clear Lake Haiku
ducks tarry I take
their clue dunk my head in calm
shake it paddle on
beneath the dark earth
bulbs bide their time
dreams sprout like crocus
Clear Lake calls deep
bell tolls in coming quiet
poems surface
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| Carol Barrett |
Carol Barrett began writing poetry to support the widowed women she was counseling. Her most recent book is READING WIND. Currently living in Oregon, Carol supervises creative dissertations for students at two universities.
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| Photo Art © Carl Scharwath |
Neon Prism Gaze
In neon-lit streets, where shadows play,
A prism's gaze refracts the city's sway,
Vibrant hues ignite, like sparks fly,
Unleashing energy, a futuristic delight.
Yellow-orange whispers, a joyful shout,
Optimism bursts, as creativity sprouts,
Bold and bright, like a sunrise high,
Illuminating paths, where dreams take flight.
Pink pulses beat, like a techno heart,
Retro-futurism, a modern work of art,
Green lasers cut, through the urban haze,
A neon dreamworld, where individuality's praised.
In this kaleidoscope, we find our stage,
A world of self-expression, where we engage,
Unconventional, playful, and boldly lit,
The neon prism's gaze invites us to emit.
A burst of energy, a creative spark,
In this vibrant dawn, we leave our mark.
© Danica Cvieta Milić
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| Danica Cvieta Milić |
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| Carl Scharwath |
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| with cloudd |
BLUE AS …
… the sea gently washing to this shore
… the clear sky arched above our earth
… fresh calafate berries calling me to Patagonia
… the glacial river rushing through sharp canyons
… the nardo flower’s sweet scent thick
… those eyes I will never see again
… the sadness taking wing, fleeing my soul
~~~~~
IN THE SUNSET SEA
Bands of rose ripple
across the deep blue water
As I lift my arms above
the golden sun reflects off
the droplets
The gentle waves bathe my Spirit
soothing her
carrying away all the fatigue
all the sorrows
I sink into the sea’s warmth
floating on its salty breadth
watching the now-orange sun
sink deeper behind the hills
Its colors spread wide
across the broken clouds
like an opal
I turn over & over in this iridescent water
just to feel my muscles move
to feel their pull with each stroke
just to know that
I’m still, I am still
alive
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| Lorraine Caputo |
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| Brett Sayles |
Two Different Versions
Why is it always so beautiful,
the day after?
Soft, dreamy blue skies,
wispy clouds that linger,
but do not cover the sun,
long grass greener than something
perfected in the Emerald City?
Why is it always so ugly,
the day after?
Harsh azure overhead
that burns the eyes,
grass that feels like sharp glass on bare feet,
clouds that look like they
could choke you with their coils.
People passing by with happy demeanors
that give you hope that one day you will again
be one of them,
if just given time.
People passing by with smiles and laughter
that seems arrogant and mocking.
Do they not know
what has happened to you?
AC-DC, high and low,
I’m okay, I’m not okay,
I’m okay, I’m not okay,
I’m okay,
I’m not okay.
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| Linda Imbler |
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| B Pexels |
Expressing
I want to spill,
To kiss,
To rejoice
Under the blanket of peace.
To keep up
With my spirit
Of adventure.
To read you
And not just write.
To see closely
What I cannot hide.
This agony
To bear happiness
At any cost.
This being human
Among digital lives.
I want to earn
To keep
And express.
To not be weak.
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| Sushant Thapa |
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| Mikhail Nilov |
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| Kushal Poddar |
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| Mike Art 🎥 Visual Creator | Photography and Video 📸 |
Ars Poetica
The heron hides its sleek shadow within the river’s shadow. The grandfather tells his grandchildren to let the river find them. The current hurries over the falls. Swamp sunflowers blossom on the far bank. The poet once wrote about the last burst of sunlight along the river. In the evening, raccoons visit their infinite industry along these banks. Their agile hands washing a late August pear. Or dexterously cleaning the river’s harvest. “Half again,” the father advised the apprentice poet. And half again once more.
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| 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.
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| Neilstha Firman |
THOROUGHFARES CADRALOR
1. Freddy Cannon’s Organ
Come gather at nightfall at New Jersey’s Palisades Park;
just follow the sounds of shrill brass whistles, cow bells,
and off-pitch fanfare from steam-powered calliopes.
2. Goodyear Theatre
Crawling through holes in cyclone fences
Ted scurried inside the abandoned tire factory
reciting Macbeth to a critical mass of machines.
3. Sidewalk Inequity
Bloated bellies rumble, parched lips remain silent
and empty eyes fixate on graffiti like holy scriptures
seek a balance between the marginalized and entitled.
4. Evading Harmony House
Leaves fall through rafters, dust silver goblets, and rest on Dossets
scattered across kitchen counters like pharmacy grail: the familiar
abandoned, my Aunt fled her home to live life in obscurity.
5. Orpheus’ Lyre
Autumn maple leaves drop and float on angry gusts
Sasquatch windchimes clang; I want angelic choirs
to mourn Carole’s death and chant solemn elegies.
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| Sterling Warner |
Washington-based author, poet, and educator Sterling Warner’s works have appeared in such magazines, journals, and anthologies as Verse-Virtual and 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.
Connor Scott McManus Clear Lake Haiku ducks tarry I take their clue dunk my head in calm shake it paddle on beneath the dark earth bulbs b...
