THE IN BETWEEN by Ann Favreau

 

Karolina Grabowska www.kaboompics.com

THE IN BETWEEN

Can I find joy in the in between

The time each day that's seen

As being aware of the world?

Does the sunrise stir my soul

As I pour milk into the bowl

Of a day's inauguration?

Do I start the many chores 

Leaving little time to pore

Or use my imagination?

Before I know,  it's afternoon.

Tasks undone abound and soon 

I've run out of ambition.

Time to pause and read a book.

Story language, that's the hook

To lift my sagging spirits.

Sunset heralds in the night.

Has joy become an oversight

Slipping into oblivion?

No, it's been present all along

In floral scent and a bird's sweet song

Despite his lack of conversation.

A quiet prayer and lively tune

Intercepted afternoon 

Without my realization.

The in between's been filled with joy.

Happiness's uplifting buoy

Has brought me satisfaction. 

Published in Life Under Construction, A Caregiver’s Journey Through Dementia (2025)     

© Ann Favreau

Ann Favreau

Ann Favreau is a retired educator who lives in Venice, FL.  She is President of the Suncoast Writer Guild, Inc. She has self-published eight books, gives presentations to local women’s groups and loves sharing her work with others.

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Circling by Rose Anna Higashi

 

42 North

Circling

The birds build their nests in circles

Because theirs is the same religion as ours.

Black Elk

I am blessed with a round window in my kitchen.

I can wash my hands at the sink

And look, as through a telescope,

At the shifting leaves of the oak,

The bright oleanders, turning in the summer wind,

The long feather-fingers of the eucalyptus.

The red-headed woodpeckers, 

Strong searchers, find their food in the dark branches,

Feed their children high in the deep green,

And the circle of sky holds us all.

from Searching in Circles (Kelsay Books, 2025)

© Rose Anna Higashi

Rose Anna Higashi

Rose Anna Higashi is a retired professor of English Literature, Japanese Literature, and Poetry who lives in Honolulu with her husband, Wayne. She writes a haiku every day and publishes a monthly blog, “Tea and Travels” on her website, myteaplanner.com. Her poems appear in a variety of online and print media, including Poets Online, whose editors nominated her for the Pushcart Prize. Kelsay Books is scheduled to publish her third volume of poetry, Searching in Circles, in 2025.

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Happiness is a New Mother by Selma Martin

 

The Swing, Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1767)

Happiness is A New Mother

I never felt as full
as when my baby 
was latched on to 
my breast, nursing, 
looking up at me 
with those big bright
eyes that blinked 
with every other 
swallow. And sighing
those tasty sighs of
satisfaction. Never  
for an instant, in any 
hour of day or night
did nursing her tire 
or make me cranky. 
That my body, that now
took pleasure on second 
helpings and creamy 
desserts more than my 
regimented permission 
barometer permitted before 
would hide this from view 
was a weird feeling. I was 
Fragonard's Lady; I finally 
felt like the queen of my own 
body, allowing myself to the 
delicacies of my castle—
that my body functioned so 
well, and knew what it craved 
so well, who was I not to
satiate its cravings? The way 
the baby latched on, stared 
into my eyes, stretching her 
fingers to my face until I folded
over to allow her to 
feather-finger my face until 
limp her fingers fell, and droopy 
grew her eyes, showing me only 
the whites as she got her good 
fill from my body. The happiness 
I felt. With my body. With my 
baby. With my gender. I think
it's safe to say we both found 
heaven then. Guiltless. And I’ve 
never felt so full since.

©️ 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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The Shape of Things by Amrita Skye Blaine

 

Pixabay

The Shape of Things

Winter reveals structure. —Madeleine L’Engle

Stripped in autumn,

willows’ arc the profile

of their weeping

Gravity at play

X-rays expose

underlying armature

how we’ve been shattered

or not

Each reflects life’s battering

yet cannot reveal

the ways 

we keep finding joy

© 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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Gravy Boats by Carol Barrett

 

Arturo Añez

Gravy Boats

My sister collects fine china gravy boats,

especially if they still have their matching ladles.

She loves the fluted edges, gold-tipped handles,

the distinctive slipper shape, no ordinary bowl.

She searches for those made in England,

Germany or Switzerland. Some boast roses,

some a spray of buds and petals hard to identify.

She’s running out of room for them, so tries 

other uses. A bit too shallow for planters, though

trailing ivy works. One Christmas we all got one.

That made room for five more. I suggested

she keep her button collection there – clusters

of red and pink, yellow and gold, green and blue.

Mother of pearl in their own prize gravy boat.

The textures would go well with her doily collection,

smooth discs, tiny spheres, contrasting with delicate 

embroidery, a little knubby with knots. But she’s a purist.

A gravy boat is a gravy boat and not a junk drawer.

I haven’t dared ask when she last made gravy. 

Suspect she wouldn’t want to soil one of the aprons

in her apron collection. Besides, gravy can make you fat.

© Carol Barrett

 

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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Spring by Mary Kipps

 

Anthony

Spring

They bound from the woods,

two, three, four Virginia doe,

their signature white tails

at full flag as they run,

one after the other, 

across the meadow.

The last deer in line

suddenly kicks out her hooves 

and leaps into the air,

her ebullience on this first

clement Sunday morning 

mirroring mine.

© Mary Kipps

Mary Kipps

Mary Kipps enjoys composing in traditional forms as well as in free verse. A former Pushcart Prize nominee, her poems have appeared regularly in journals and anthologies across the U.S. and abroad since 2005.

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Heart by Toyer Fahie

 

Lucas Pezeta

Heart 

What is the size 

Of my heart

It’s about a fist

The experts say

How can it still be

When I gave pieces 

Of it away

What is the colour of my

Heart

Is it black or is it blue

All I really know 

It’s filled with a kaleidoscope 

Of love

For you

What is the shape

Of my heart

Is it like the ones we see

Perfectly shaped

As if on TV

If the shape is perfect

And intact 

Does it mean I didn’t

Give any love back

Who truly knows the

Powers of the heart

Who knows what really makes it 

Spark

Who really knows how to make it 

Happy

Who really knows 

What causes the heart agony 

How will I know

If it’s been stolen

How will I know if my heart is

Truly Golden

How will I know if it’s broken

Or is it whole

Is my heart really connected to my soul

I guess there is more than a few things

That pull on my heart strings

I may never know

© Toyer Fahie

Toyer Fahie

Toyer Fahie was born and raised in the Virgin Islands. Toyer began writing poems in her mid-teen years. Her favourite type of poem to write is free verse —she writes directly from her heart. Toyer has entered local poetry competitions, which yielded winnings. She currently writes for several online journals.

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The Bridge by Laura Rodley

 

Clément Proust

The Bridge

Mike’s long fingers moved fast as fingerlings

zooming through tidal waters

just a little up and back

as though caught in waves,

landing on notes from his bagpipe

that zoomed into highland heather,

his long Talmudic beard

not catching on the bagpipes

bladder nor on the keys

his hair shorn as would be

the sheep that nibble the fields.

It was his 21st anniversary

but his wife Fiona must wait,

he’s playing with his band

adoring crowds his date

band members tapping boots,

then tall whimsical guitarist sings

the song “Leaving Indiana,”

laying down more steps

on the curved bridge

covering the Atlantic

about a couple returning to Scotland

as were so many others in that room

going back to their homeland

to thatch-covered houses,

burning peat, air difficult to breathe in,

so cold, only the tempo,

the lament of the bagpipe,

keeps you going, nourishment

for the blood just as much as supper.

© Laura Rodley

Laura Rodley

Pushcart Prize winner Laura Rodley's latest books are Turn Left at Normal by Big Table Press, Counter Point by Prolific Press, and Ribbons and Moths Poems for Children, winner of the Children's Nonfiction International Book Award and medalist for the Moonbeam Book Award for Children's Poetry. 

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