Living Again by Bamidele Bamgbopa

Marcos Felipe

Living Again

Holding that sharp object frantically 

about 6 inches away from her arm, 

she wanted to end it all. End the pain, 

agony, bitterness, and heartache.

But no, she couldn’t do it. Life in a gentle 

whisper kept pulling at her heartstrings,
Reminding her of the many reasons 

she could live for.

Suddenly but reluctantly, she opened 

her eyes. With a loud thud, the sharp object 

fell from her hands to the floor. She sank 

into her couch with the little strength 

of a very weary soul. Empty bottles littered 

all over the floor waiting to be picked up,
Her cat looking at her like a creature 

longing for a caring touch.

Deep in thought, staring into space, 

she wandered away. Questioning why 

her existence was mangled by 

many negativities. Wearing the same wig 

for months, being jobless for endless years,
Too ashamed to show up at social gatherings 

she once loved attending. Reminiscing about the love 

she once enjoyed. The future seemed very bleak,

but she knew that she mustn’t give up.
Because her mother had always told her, 

“Quitters never win, and winners never quit.”
Suddenly, there was a loud knock 

on the door, which jolted her back to reality.

Slowly, she took a good look at herself and then
she decided it was time to live again: 

“Life is worth living, if you do not give up on it.”

© Bamidele Bamgbopa

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Bamidele Bamgbopa

Bamidele Bamgbopa is a Nigerian-born single mother, author, and unpaid carer based in Scotland who advocates for caregiver rights and support systems. She is the author of the book Lessons I Learnt from My Mother, which honors her mother's life and highlights the profound impact mothers have on their children and communities.

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The Last Sentinel by Casey Quinn

 

Chris F

The Last Sentinel

There is one leaf left

on the bare-limbed tree,

coppered, thin,

refusing the fall.

The others let go,

to wind,

to the easy descent.

This one stays

through the empty months,

holding fast

until spring arrives

just to be sure

new life

still knows

the way back.

© Casey Quinn

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Casey Quinn is the author of two chapbooks, Snapshots of Life and Prepare to Crash. He writes and publishes work at https://cqwriting.com

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To Live Through by Jade Kleiner

 

Lisa from Pexels

To Live Through

Ruminating on forgotten lines

and joys never lost,

I straighten my spine

to hear the god-wind

and the crickets that persist in the treeline

as the leaves don’t.

Winter is more straightforward to live through.

What remains is worth remaining.

What breathes deserves to be known.

At this vertebra of my life,

the possibility of locusts worming into my ears,

I let the future of my skin go.

Letting my eyes devour the dusk coating the field,

I smile at the blazing silence of mind.

© Jade Kleiner

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Jade Kleiner

Jade Kleiner is a writer from New England. Among other places, her poetry can be found in Trampoline and manywor(I)ds, her haiku in Haikuniverse and Cold Moon Journal, and her fiction in Bright Flash Literary Review. She is transgender and has practiced in the Plum Village tradition since 2020. 

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Life Goes On by William Ogden Haynes

Kelly

Life Goes On

In the foothills of the Adirondacks, there is a lush 

glade embraced by the arms of surrounding mountains. 

And in that glade is an abandoned house, the front door 

hanging by a single rusty hinge, its remaining shards 

of window glass aflame with the burgeoning sunrise, 

where a lone spider casts her threads into the light. 

The house sits alone as it has for decades, listening 

to the music of wind and leaves, watching the seasons 

come and go. Some might think that because man has 

left, this place has lost its wonder, but they would be 

wrong. Today, morning fog will rise up from the bed 

of rich soil like smoke from a campfire. The stars will 

still be visible, showing hints of heaven in the partially 

dark sky. Later, the mist will spread aloft, as the sunrise 

burns it away, and dim rays will illuminate gray rocks 

bearded with moss. The stream, gently tousled by a 

breeze, will launch ripples across the surface, leaving 

a snoring silver carp undisturbed at the river bottom. 

And nearby, there is a crack in the sidewalk, uplifted 

by the spreading root of a river oak. Gradually, the 

heavy cement will yield to other roots, producing more 

cracks and opportunities for growth. And then, fragile 

tendrils will unfurl one lime-green leaf at a time, 

painting new life over the gray canvas of old concrete. 

© William Ogden Haynes

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William Ogden Haynes

William Ogden Haynes is a poet and author of short fiction from Alabama, born in Michigan. He has published several collections of poetry, and many of his poems and short stories have appeared in literary journals and anthologies. http://www.williamogdenhaynes.com

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I’ll Climb Alone by Lynn White

 

Charles Parker

I’ll Climb Alone

 

I’m strong enough now

to climb alone.

I won’t allow

the creepers

and crawlers

and climbers

to hold me back,

to inch into me

like ivy covering a wall.

I’ll climb alone.

Go straight up

the bleached white staircase 

shining through

the undergrowth

showing me the way

up and over.

Quickly now

before it encroaches,

before it overwhelms me.

Up and over.

I know I can do it.

I’m strong enough now.

 

(First published in With Painted Words, July 2018)

© Lynn White

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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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Weedy Eschatology By Mark D. Stucky

 

Jan van Bizar

Weedy Eschatology 

The aging street mourns its faded splendor.

It remembers having red tulips and roses

in manicured, fertilized, emerald lawns

in community yards lining its borders.

But neighborhoods gradually decayed,

and nobody’s planted flowers in years.

The asphalt’s once-black fresh-tar patina

is now gray and chockfull of countless cracks.

 

In those rifts grow rows of feral weeds

that no person planted or wanted.

Rooted in forgotten fissures of the world,

weeds lift their hearts and heads toward the sky.

Survivors of severe environments,

baked by blazing sun, infrequently watered,

deprived of easy access to nourishing soil,

and squashed by droves of mutilating tires.

Yet, still the stalwart weeds survive,

paragons of beautiful resilience.

 

Glamorous, fragile flowers are transient.

Plain, ordinary weeds are forever.

For humans who feel our messy lives

are more like run-over weeds than roses,

weeds’ wild fortitude foreshadows

an unexpected, untamed eternity.

  

First published in The Way Back to Ourselves, 21 April 2024.

© Mark D. Stucky

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Mark D. Stucky

Mark D. Stucky has degrees in religious studies and communications. After being a pastor, he became a technical and freelance writer for three decades. During his day job, he documented diverse technology products. In his free time, he’s written articles, stories, and poems on many (usually spiritual) topics. For more writings, see cinemaspirit.info.

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You Know, You Should Keep This Untitled by Kushal Poddar

 

Alan Cabello

You Know, You Should Keep This Untitled 

The fallen leaves draw a conclusion 

I hesitate to reach. A growing sapling amidst 

the bricks does.

Some conclusions I cannot reach 

are in the whistling of the crazy nomad 

who has coiled his addicted sleep 

on the concrete below our building. 

Sometimes I comprehend, see the clouds 

in the mirror and the shine in my eyes once they rain.

© Kushal Poddar

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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.

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The Rose by Kelly Doheney

 

Yoheiv Kato

The Rose

In a garden, a rose begins to sprout

in the middle of thistles and thorns.

Trying to rise to beauty from ashes

when life sometimes feels so torn.

 

Its petals whisper stories untold

of secrets hidden deep under the surface.

The garden, left to die and alone,

is a picture of wounds that found no justice.

 

The rose, so fragile and frail,

blooms with vibrant colors.

It braves the storm that rages,

having strength, despite the judgment of others.

 

In the morning dew, it finds its strength.

Its roots dig deep under the foundation.

But despite its struggle to stay strong,

hope and faith become its formation.

 

Drawing from resilience within the chaos,

it's getting stronger, day after day.

Its beauty lies in imperfections seen,

but it keeps trying, despite what they say.

The garden is judged hopeless by others,

but with determination, the rose begins to thrive.

So, when the night feels long and cold,

never give up the goal to survive.

© Kelly Doheney

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Kelly Doheney

Kelly Doheney is an emerging author of poetry, flash fiction, and short stories. Her work can be seen on Spillwords, Academy of the Heart, Agape Review, and Feed the Holy.

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I am more than my trauma by Carol Anne Johnson

Andrea Piacquadio

I am more than my trauma

I am more than my trauma, a tale of strength to tell,  

Amidst the shadows that linger, I've learned to rise and fell.  

Each scar is a story, etched deep upon my skin,  

A map of the battles fought, a testament within.  

 

Once, I wore my sorrow like a cloak woven tight,  

But I shed those heavy layers and stepped into the light.  

With every tear that fell, a seed of hope took root,  

In the garden of my spirit, I nurtured love's pursuit.  

 

I am more than my trauma, a phoenix in the flame,  

Reborn from the ashes, I no longer feel shame.  

For every whispered "cannot," I echo back a "can,"  

With courage as my compass, I forget my own strong plan.  

 

The echoes of the past may try to haunt my days,  

But I choose to dance with joy in an unbroken blaze.  

I carry forth my strength, like sunbeams through the rain,  

A symphony of healing that resonates through pain.  

So let the world see clearly, my heart is fierce and true,  

In the tapestry of my being, resilience shines through.  

I am more than my trauma, a spirit wild and free,  

A story still unwritten, a vast, uncharted sea. 

© Carol Anne Johnson

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Carol Anne Johnson is in her mid-40s. She is blind and was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder and complex PTSD. She is also a survivor of child abuse. She enjoys writing poetry and reading, walking, and volunteering. You can follow her on her blog, http://therapybits.com/.

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