one breath for eternity by Ken Gierke

DANIEL

one breath for eternity

(for Robert Okaji)

always here

the air you breathe

may be released

but never escapes

your words

a koan on the wind

will wrap around us long after you are gone

© Ken Gierke

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Ken Gierke

Ken Gierke writes poetry primarily in free verse and haiku. Twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize, he has been featured by numerous journals and anthologies. His poetry collections from Spartan Press are Glass Awash (2022), Heron Spirit (2024), Random Riffs (2025), and The Long Haul (2026). His website: https://rivrvlogr.com/

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Who Wants Pizza? by Jon Moray

dazindu d

Who Wants Pizza?

"I am so sorry. I didn't see the stop sign. Are you okay?" Corey panted as he rushed over to check on the person he just side-swiped at a rural intersection.

"I'm okay. Did you call 9-1-1?" huffed Lenny, the victim in the crash.

"Yes. I am so sorry. I am new to the area. I don't know the roads yet," Corey offered, his quivering lips acknowledging it was a feeble excuse.

Lenny peeled off the remnants of the air bag that had deployed on him and reached for his phone. "Giuseppe, I got into a car accident. I am okay. I am going to be delayed by at least two hours because I will need to have my car towed.

Giuseppe shared his concern and ascertained where the accident happened. "For some reason, there are a lot of crashes at that intersection," the pizza owner lamented.

"Giuseppe, give the pizza to someone you think might need it," Lenny voiced and ended the call with a friendly farewell.

The two motorists toiled through the inconvenient task of exchanging information and waiting for the state trooper and tow truck to arrive.

"I moved from out west. My wife and I were looking for a change of pace from all the hustle and bustle of city life," Corey offered, in an attempt to pass the time with idle conversation.

Lenny forced a half-smile and grumbled that he had lived in the area for over twenty years.

The state trooper arrived, surveyed the scene, inked the damage to each vehicle on an accident form, and began his oral investigation by questioning Lenny first, with Corey standing a distance away. Lenny offered his version of the events in a somber tone while the road patrolman dotted it down without looking up.

Next up was Corey, and as the trooper approached, Corey blurted out his guilt that rivaled a deathbed confession. "I feel terrible for causing this," he added, which Lenny overheard, and softened his feelings toward the man.

Lenny was checking the damage on the passenger side of the vehicle when he noticed a pizza delivery vehicle pull off the road near the intersection. Lenny's eyes squinted, accompanied by a curious tilt of his head as Giuseppe exited his vehicle, opened the trunk, and balanced three pizza pies on one hand and soda bottles in a bag in the other.

"Who wants pizza!" Giuseppe bellowed theatrically as he neared the scene of the crash.

Giuseppe read the perplexed look on Lenny's face. "You said to give the pizza to someone who might need it. Well, here it is," Giuseppe exclaimed and placed the food on the hood of his patrons' car.

The state trooper finished up with Corey, and they both shuffled over to the welcoming aroma of the pies filled with delectable toppings.

"I brought your order and enough for everyone," the pizza man cheered as Lenny patted the generous proprietor on the back.

Corey took no time to dig into a slice. "Mmm, this is delicious. I was looking for a good pizza place when I relocated."

Giuseppe's eyebrows bounced toward the patrolman as a lure, but the visual and aromatic presentation of the food was enough for the trooper to relent. "What the heck, I was officially off duty and on my way home when I got the call," he reasoned, while licking his lips and basking in first, second, third, and fourth bite bliss.

Corey approached Lenny and offered a handshake. Lenny paused a moment, looked Corey in the eye, and reciprocated his request. "We all make mistakes. Every now and then, I need a reminder," Lenny expressed with a warm smile.

© Jon Moray

Jon Moray

Jon Moray has been writing short stories for over a decade, and his work has appeared in many online and print markets. When not working and devoted to his family, he enjoys sports, music, the ocean, and sci-fi/Fantasy media. Read more of his work at moraywrites.com.

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Mountain Memory by Mitchel Montagna

Julio M

Mountain Memory

 

The sun streamed like a waterfall
Ferns lit up in the glare
Needles sparked along the fields
that breathed the mountain air

​

Close upon a strand of flame
these eyes of silver blue
On a face so clear with thought
emotion simmered through

​

She spoke of the city's circumstances
Of gloomy, narrow skies
She gazed up at the mountain sun
till tears bloomed in her eyes

​

A later dive with elegance
in rivers cooled by night
A body blurred and flowing free
through starry pools of light

As laurels lined up on the shore
time floated her downstream  
In gentle fog, she drifted on
from earth into a dream 

© Mitchel Montagna

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Mitchel Montagne

Mitchel Montagna has worked as a special education teacher, radio journalist, and corporate spokesman. He is married and lives on Florida's West Coast.

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Ocean Haiku by Joshua St. Claire

 

Aysegul Aytoren

Ocean Haiku

rough seas

the sound of the Atlantic

reclaims its sand

ghost crab voice

echoing through the nightstrand

Acubens and Tegmen

wind-swept juniper the shape of a wave

the sound of the moon rising in the gale-tossed sea

gale warning

the celadon foam

on the sand

laughing gull waves the canceling out 

inner space the wavelengths of the Atlantic

low tide

sanderlings trace

the Spiral of Archimedes

a boy

into gullcolor

seafoam

the way the waves break gullcry

© Joshua St. Claire

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Joshua St. Claire

Joshua St. Claire is an accountant from a small town in Pennsylvania, working as a financial director for a nonprofit. His haiku and related poetry have been published broadly, including in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, and Mayfly.

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Tonight by Steffen Horstmann

Akbar Nemati

Tonight

The wind's voice whispers of desert springs tonight,

Where the shadows of nomads sprout wings tonight.

Djinns guard sacred tombs where a holy chalice

Emits the voices of dead kings tonight.

Jewels lace Ithaka's sands like shattered glass,

Where light streams in rays from diamond rings tonight.

The screeches of wraiths echo in gales that pass

Through wastes where whistling sand stings tonight.

Smoke smudges quicksilver clouds as ashes

Are shaken from the phoenix's wings tonight.

Glowing mist shrouds Eurydice's tomb,

From where the Inca dove sings tonight.

(previously in The Wagon Magazine, a now-defunct literary journal in India)

© Steffen Horstmann

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Steffen Horstmann

Steffen Horstmann's poems and book reviews have appeared in publications throughout the world, including Baltimore Review, Free State Review, Istanbul Literary Review, Louisiana Literature, San Antonio Review, Texas Poetry Journal, and Tiferet. He has published two books of ghazals, Jalsaghar (2016) and Ujjain (2017), and has recently completed a new book of poems, Ellora.

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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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