Monday, August 17, 2026

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

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.

Sunday, August 16, 2026

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

Enjoy more posts by Pamela A. Mitchell HERE.

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. 

Saturday, August 15, 2026

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.



Read more posts by Peter Mladinic HERE.


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 S
tates.


Friday, August 14, 2026

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

Enjoy more posts by Amrita Skye Blaine HERE.

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.  

Thursday, August 13, 2026

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

Enjoy more posts by Edilson A Ferreira HERE.

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.


Wednesday, August 12, 2026

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


Enjoy other posts by Lynn White HERE.



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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Tuesday, August 11, 2026

Feathers and Ferns by Myrtle Thomas

eduardo199o9

Feathers and Ferns
spring with its blooms and quick rain
bluebirds like blue bells in the sky
feathers and song
red birds like drops of blood
hummingbirds silent on the flower
wings like a rustling wind
dawn sits on their backs like emerald stones
hints of fire – eyes like ebony
drunken with the nectar of roses
sprinkled with fire.
now the red bud tree is littered
with blood rubies and robins
the forest deep and yawning
life leaps upon its branches
green leaves peek from the crown
a blue-eyed child
in the middle red balloons
the sun with its bursting yellow blooms
flowers and white clouds
time holds between shadows and light.

for most there’s no need for a history of fern-
or feather – no desire to find the roots of a seed
but those who feel the sun’s warm fingers stretching
mending the broken hearts that grieve
casting clouds of butterflies
bees buzzing on the flower – covered with pollen
my lips ready for my lover’s kiss
ready for the fire that burns my breast
the laughter we find in the sweet grass
the moonlight that burns with its flame.
© Myrtle Thomas

Enjoy more posts by Myrtle Thomas HERE.


Myrtle Thomas


Myrtle Thomas lives in America and is retired from a large manufacturing company. She has been published in several poetry journals and magazines, and is a member of ALLpoetry.com, writing under the pen name Bluebird74. Myrtle self-published four poetry books and also has a new chapbook on Amazon (In My Land of Dreams). She uses poetry as a form of medicine to heal past wounds; poetry has been a companion to her for over thirty years.


Monday, August 10, 2026

Poetry by Steven Bruce

Auguries of Despair
(Casper David Friedrich - Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog)


On the Edge of Nothing

AFTER JOHN KEATS

I fear I’ll drop dead

before the pen dries to wheat,

before the books stack high

enough to leave a mark,

before the night spits out

its secrets in phlegmy stars,

before I have the strength

to face more dumb, dangerous love,

before I can stand where I am,

hands empty, with a smile carved

into my face.



Auguries of Despair

AFTER WILLIAM BLAKE

To see a life in a glint of grit,

and beauty in a trampled flower.

To crush despair in your tired fist, and snatch joy from a rotten hour.


© Steven Bruce Enjoy more posts by Steven Bruce HERE.


Steven Bruce


Steven Bruce is a writer and a multiple-award-winning author. His poems and short stories have appeared in numerous international anthologies and magazines. In 2018, he graduated from Teesside University with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing. You can follow Steven on his website: www.stevenbrucewriter.co.uk.


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.


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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...