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Mannequins in a shop window, mid 1940's~ Lisa Alexander Baron

3/22/2018

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Three mute figures ready  
to listen to the silent losses
of the women and men
on the other side of the glass.
 
Everyone mesmerized
by some kind of hope
pressed within
their fingers and lips
too close to the glass;
or within the riots
of bold-hued flowers
on the mannequins’ flared skirts.
 
As if the petals could caress
the lookers' faces or hands
through the glass,
as if the intensity of a prayer
makes it a surer thing.
   

Author Bio:
Lisa Alexander Baron is the author of 3 collections of poetry including, Reading the Alphabet of Trees and Sting and Tell. Her ekphrastic poems have recently appeared in Chautauqua, Confrontation, U.S. 1 Worksheets, the Maier Museum of Art website, and will appear in Theodate of the Hill-Stead Museum. She holds an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts and is an adjunct professor of speech and English in the Philadelphia area. 
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Mael Duin~ By Maureen Scanlon

3/21/2018

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That humble hill fort 
That many guised shaman half-said… 
His overburdened lowing of the poem 
not snout to endless hog teats 
relived succulents, 
but – broken over us 
that brain, that weary cabbage 
whose shepherd’s sling 
swings this buzzards circle, 
improvised weapon held finger to thumb 
river chosen, smoothed thought 
engraved with “Take That!” 
or on his humorous side: “Catch!” 
From double hearted 
Irish-Indian cords 
let loosened 
hit like returning swells 
off unseen islands 
push back
felt under lost boat’s cradled bottom, 
killed this one hour old poem dead already
perhaps ‘twer dreamend? 
Perhaps LaGrange pouched spun
where, bunting opposite, I Mysterium, 
under piano, listen as you play! 


Author Bio:
Maureen Scanlon grew up in New Jersey, whose influence can be seen and felt in many of her poems. Life has taken her to times in Connecticut, Florida, and Massachusetts; she now calls home the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania. Maureen‘s work has been published in a number of New England journals, and she was a featured reader at the venerable Stone Soup Poetry Readings. She has also hosted Amergin, a poetry reading series. 

Her interests, bolstered by travels to Ireland and China, include Celtic and Oriental culture, particularly Chinese art and history, as well as music, and all things of beauty. 

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Recognising a Sadist~ By Rachel Timmins

3/20/2018

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At first, I thought you showed kindness
asking questions that cared

At first, I thought you didn’t know what to say

The first sign to the contrary was your smirking 
as I shared my thoughts

Your body language repertoire held hands with
your insensitive wit

As my suffering intensified, I withdrew from your
probing questions

since your needle and scalpel had been deftly
applied to my wounds

So I see that mind games and psychology are
the tools of your trade

So that a woman you knew left this world
bearing your fingerprints

Would I be the next on a slab, by my own hand?
But instead, you’re gone for good - I hope


Author Bio:
Rachel Timmins is a freelance copywriter and photojournalist based in Toowoomba. She has had poetry, blogs, devotionals and articles published in: Weekend Notes, Penned from the Heart, Poetica Christi, Footprints, The Mozzie, Studio - a Journal of Christians Writing, Valley Micropress, Christian Writers Downunder and theSunday Mail. 

Her poetry has generally been cathartic which she hopes will be helpful for others. As a Christian, she believes there is help, healing and deliverance for every trial. She is also working on children’s fiction and a poetry magazine.
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A Passing~ By Lawrence Harris

3/20/2018

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No longer the child he was
I saw that happen as he grew and I along with him
but this war will make him no longer the boy he was
into a man he needn’t be.
Now, no longer the man he became.
None of it captured by his name
and span of years
on a stone
in the grass.


Author Bio:
Lawrence Harris was a reader from an early age, even before he could read. Pictures told stories on which his imagination could build. He learned to write by writing the first two letters of his first and last name and scribbling the rest. He thought it looked convincing and felt it passed the test. Anyway, that’s what he made of his father’s signature.

Books were always the door to other times and worlds. He could detach himself from himself and be all there was. The past was always more enticing than the present. An early poem from grammar school called "Miniver Cheevy" spoke to him like nothing else. He was convinced he was born in the wrong time and would’ve given anything to live among the Celts. The passing of things evoked in him an early poignancy.

A large family made him competitive. Being in the middle made him a bridge-builder. School and ideas and books were always the joy. A degree in fine art released his eye, but reading and knowledge enveloped his mind. Further degrees broadened the rational, but sublimated the transcendent. Now the ineffable needs to be approached. 
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Him~ By Skye Simick

3/20/2018

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My first
It’s been four years
Haven’t given you much thought
But today my world fell apart because of you

It took four years
Someone finally put a word to it

A casual conversation
An offhand comment
Of a fifteen-year-old girl trying to tell an 18-year-old boy no

Reliving that moment in the park
I can still hear the children laughing

The shame that started that day never left
It burned my cheeks as I walked home
Legs covered in my own blood.
It gripped my throat when I wanted to tell another no
Laughing on my shoulder as I give away my self respect

Rape

After four years there’s the word
In all its ugly glory
I said no, you said yes

I said no to the word rape
Pushed it away
If only it’d been so easy with you


Author Bio:
Skye Simick was born in Ontario and is currently attending university in Antigonish, Nova Scotia.  She writes mostly for fun but more importantly to express herself, as she finds writing is a great outlet.  
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Eye Contact~ By Elizabeth Thompson

3/20/2018

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I cannot make eye contact
with none but a few 

and there are three reasons, I’ll say,
why I hide my eyes away.

1. Fear of being looked at for too long. I place my hair in certain ways to hide the flaws on my face, but I can’t keep my eyes from scrolling through my features like a newsfeed.

2. Fear of falling in love with your eyes. You thought this was a simple conversation. I trust too easy and forgive so hard that when I simply look into someone’s eyes, I believe I love them.

3. Fear you will break the path of light that shines secretly within me. I have looked at people’s eyes and shown them the galaxies that lie within my pupils. Some have called them cheap fairy lights, perishable items. What do they know?

If you get to know real person you see in my eyes, the person who thinks karma has a gender, mythical or not, you may see a glimpse of how brightly I shine when I love myself. If I let you see me, a simple word may destroy those galaxies, and I may never journey back through the space between the stars—but it’s a risk worth taking.


Author Bio:
Elizabeth Thompson is from England and love to write. 

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Red Cough Drop~ By Gregg Dotoli

3/19/2018

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nothing means as well as
a cough drop
never displeasing
sweet thoughts
usually cherry
inanimate kindness


Author Bio:
Gregg Dotoli studied English at Seton Hall University and enjoys living in the NYC area. He is a white hat hacker, but his first love is the Arts.
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Metastasis~ By Donal Mahoney

3/14/2018

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I am sorry to hear the news. 
I lost it when I heard about hers
and now to hear about yours. 

I’m livid at times, peaceful rarely. 
If you prefer, I won't forward emails 
about her until you recover. 

I thought you should know 
how the doctors say she is doing.
Meanwhile I write about anything 

rather than yell about everything.
Some days I go to the basement
and yell when no one is home.
​


Author Bio:
Donal Mahoney has had work published in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his work can be found at
 http://eyeonlifemag.com/the-poetry-locksmith/donal-mahoney-poet.html
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Eye Contact~ By Elizabeth Thompson

3/9/2018

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I cannot make eye contact
with none but a few 

and there are three reasons, I’ll say,
why I hide my eyes away.

1. Fear of being looked at for too long. I place my hair in certain ways to hide the flaws on my face, but I can’t keep my eyes from scrolling through my features like a newsfeed.

2. Fear of falling in love with your eyes. You thought this was a simple conversation. I trust too easy and forgive so hard that when I simply look into someone’s eyes, I believe I love them.

3. Fear you will break the path of light that shines secretly within me. I have looked at people’s eyes and shown them the galaxies that lie within my pupils. Some have called them cheap fairy lights, perishable items. What do they know?

If you get to know real person you see in my eyes, the person who thinks karma has a gender, mythical or not, you may see a glimpse of how brightly I shine when I love myself. If I let you see me, a simple word may destroy those galaxies, and I may never journey back through the space between the stars—but it’s a risk worth taking.


Author Bio:
Elizabeth Thompson is a writer from England. 
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Red Cough Drop~ By Gregg Dotoli

3/9/2018

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nothing means as well as
a cough drop
never displeasing
sweet thoughts
usually cherry
inanimate kindness
​


Author Bio:
Gregg Dotoli studied English at Seton Hall University and enjoys living in the NYC area. He is a white hat hacker, but his first love is the Arts.
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