1. the caesura of a breath

when the soul in her eyes sparks and flickers into ash,
it leaves a dark, sudden and immediate, that only exists after a complete brightness.

2. dad in hospital

you're crumpled 
like a hastily scrawled message tossed feet from a trash can,
unneeded after the event has passed.
I hold you in my hand, touch fingers to palm and squeeze, 
gut-sure, now you're only something that happened to me

3. felo-de-se

I still say you left a note
because you hated to be misunderstood
and the next family that moves in 
will find it under the mattress or behind the dresser
and wonder who is apologizing and for what


Author Bio:
Kate LaDew is a graduate from the University of North Carolina at Greensboro with a BA in Studio Art. She resides in Graham, North Carolina with her two cats, Janis Joplin and Charlie Chaplin.

Pt. I 
Wicked woman. Enchanting in tongue,
ancient in brain, carried in a body
mauled from a past lovers lies.
She wears a carved cunning smile 
out of desperate pleasure, 
smiting me drunk, in a lonely demise. 
Wicked woman. I am half full without, 
cures me with electric waters
dripping onto my lips.
The taste of demons roar
fume flames in my mouth 
from her sweet Captain kiss. 
Queen of the rum Nile;
opens my chest eating me alive, 
tasting the sorrow that once tore me apart. 
Queen of the rum Nile; 
She will conjure up a spell so fierce 
till my blood boils ecstasy
setting fire to my wasted heart. 

Pt. II
In a time of silence and fear
monsters and men roamed around here.
Slither, from an unnatural space they enter,
spreading wild seeds in a mind no longer belonging to me.
I recall foggy days when I pretended to pray,
And black eyes were toxic in one stare.
Tattoos drew deep torturous cries
while my stomach suffocated radiant butterflies.
What are mothers and fathers without milk and money?
What are eyes in distortion and greed, but hunger to be freed?
Queen of the rum Nile;
Her possession has begun
a twisting tale of Armageddon.

Pt. III 
For leisure, for therapy, 
I descend into adolescent fury
soothing damages too strong to hide. 
Pitiful pale faces, faded in tight spaces,
I hold their gazes into the depression I find.
Words are not confirmed, just swallowed in fright.
Rather slurred, heavy, and up seen.
Disgusted faces hold no new changes,
still hallow gray and unclean.
Silence carries air smashing the core.
There is tomorrow, where tomorrow holds revival.
and in these pale faces takes deformed phases 
departed, 
with no hope for survival.


Author Bio:
Patience Hopkins is a recent graduate from the University of South Florida. Fond of poetry and spoken word artistry, she does readings of her work at open mic and slam events in Tampa/St. Petersburg, Florida. Never having the courage to speak her emotions or mind, Patience is able to grasp it in her writing.

Father
Lord 
Jehovah
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I do not go to church on Sundays
Except on functions.
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I attend a lonely prayer on Mondays
To steal the portion of my entitlement 
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I fast everyday including Christmas
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I have been an usher for 20 years
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I do not pay tithe with our pastors
But they build mansions every day. 
Forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me I curse them by heart
Because of their odium without tithe. 
Lord!
Forgive me, Lord!
I know I have sins against your temple
Forgive me, Lord!
I have sin all the sins of this sphere
Just forgive me, Lord!
Forgive me, Lord!


Author Bio:
Nureni Ibrahim is an award-winning poet based in Lagos, Nigeria. He is a poet, editor, analyst, activist and essayist. He renders poetry both in verse and in performance. His poem, Half of a Human Species has been published in African Best Poets Anthology 2016. 

I knew a young man
who wore a hat that said "ugly" on it.

It struck me odd as
his hat did not agree with what I saw:
a tall, chocolate skinned brother who was 
smart, well mannered and dressed in his own style.
My mind couldn't comprehend where the ugliness fell on him.

But, as time passed, I noticed, or yet it was made plain to me,
that what he was referring to was on the inside and not out. 
But even after the revelation, I still saw no ugliness.

It was a cry for help from a sickness
that he'd been fighting for too long by himself.

Depression had distorted his view, made his reflection seem as if the Maker had made a mistake and still put him in the world only as a case study;
to be poked and prodded by life's happenings; trampled upon and discarded.

Causing him to forget, his thoughts weak, toward the idea that he was so loved by the ones who were closest to him.

He's getting better now, his cry for help heard with open ears ready to spring into action. Ears listening for a clue as to why one as handsome and beautiful on the inside and out would refer to himself as ugly.

Soon, he'll be released to come home with a new outlook, a fresh perspective and better coping strategies.

Because he wants to live and thrive.

Because he has a future to look forward to and new dreams to discover.

And prayerfully, this time around he won't see himself as ugly. 


Author Bio:
Alita Baggett is a proud mother of two and a military spouse. She enjoys reading and most of all writing when she is inspired by life's happenings. In 2016 she took a leap of faith in starting her own blog and Facebook page "Finding God in the Everyday," where she shares insight on what she encounters on a daily bases from a biblical perspective. Alita's long-term goals include writing and publishing a book.