1.
Here, on 125th Street
my head processed
waves counted
one, two, three times
in front of the
smoky one room mirror
at the Saint Theresa’s hotel
I met my nephews
for another time
with their momma.

2.
Me, fresh out of college,
with a bundle of clothes
and the asphalt street
of probation
stretched out
like a New York avenue
in front of me.
‘’Harish, you sure look good,’’
her eyes said.
‘’You look good as new money.’’

3.
My Vaselined face,
shining down between
sun rays playing hopscotch
with a man’s memory
‘’You look good too Alice.
Gold teeth shining
And my cheekbones, greased up
like Karo on them 
those pretty children
staring at me like I was 
the daddy they lost
[cerebral brain hemorrhage]
‘’here,’’ I said, take this,’’
giving them some crumpled up dollars
I had in my pocket
my nostrils flaring
with particular air
walking up to Convent Avenue.
all of us, a group of us,
almost felt like a family
for a second, split in time
by memories of knife edged
logic, I lived
‘’You look good…Harish…you look good…
when’s the last time you seen?
knowing I ain’t seen nobody
for a long time
her hair, spread across her face
like a prayer
we used to say
in Virginiaruralsmalltimechurch


4.
I got to go now, my mind thought
she saw me, moving toward home
or my one room
The sun angry
and stalking me.
‘’You know what, Alice, long as I’m out here,
you’re never alone,’’
I said, turning up the block
toward the wide openness
and concrete we traded
Virginia grass for. 


Author Bio:
Dennis Reed is a poet living in Bowie, Maryland. As a former member of the infamous Bud Jones poetry group, his work has appeared in Essence, Black Scholar, Style, Caution, and many other magazines and journals. Dennis taught writing courses at Morehouse College, William and Mary and Virginia Commonwealth University. He is a proud product of the New York City public schools and holds degrees are from Long Island University and Virginia Commonwealth University.

A sunny look of delight 
spread across the softness of her sun-spotted face
from jaw-to-forehead
smile-lines-to-earlobes
even out to the ends of her coarse and silvering hair

When, in the middle of almost-spring
with snow still strewn across the sidewalk
cement peeking through ice stained brown
by the exhaust of the Fords and the Chevy’s lining the short block

When, on a chilly Sunday morning 
in the light of an unwarming sun, 
with the cat—grey-striped and green-eyed--
prowling across the lawn, paws flinching away 
from the browning grass

She saw the beginnings of iris-buds
in the garden
shades of royal purple
swathed in with jewel-green 
before the rest of the world had awoken
or the birds returned from their mysterious southern homes. 


Author Bio:
Katherine DeCoste is an English student at the University of Alberta. She writes poetry, plays, and nonfiction, but poetry is her first love. Her writing is usually about small moments that stay with us and hold infinite meaning. Her work is forthcoming in In Medias Res. 

It's all just a dream...

You tell yourself, as you have a cigarette at 1 a.m.
You are awake through the night.
Avoiding reality.
Sleep through the day, sleep through your meals.
Self medicate with your caffeine, your drugs, your sex, your booze, your cigarettes.
Your anxiety should be over by now.

"It's only a dream," you say. "It's only a nightmare," the world replies.

"Why do you smoke?" She asks, she like all the others.
"Why do you kill yourself, slowly, taking the poison drip by drip."
It's chemotherapy for the cancers of my conscience.

If only she knew. She not being alone. 
To forget the one, I surround myself with many.
They all see the same thing, the shell of an old soul. Rotting away.
Haunted by a past he keeps living.

Trying to escape the only way he can, by reliving all the same mistakes.
Wishing he could be with her again.

Listen to me reader, and I ask you to listen close.

"Do the chemicals do more killing of the cancer? Or do they simply kill the host?"


Author Bio:
Andrew Cox is a young Canadian soldier who is currently deployed. He is dealing with the sons of the past and hoping for a brighter future.  

I am no longer a victim
of your abuse, lies, and insults. 
I grow stronger everyday with
love, laughter, and comfort. 
Oh God, I couldn't believe life
could be this amazing. 
All I had to do was break free. 
All I had to do was break away from you.


Author Bio:
Rachel was abused by her ex-boyfriend for a year until she got the courage to stand up to him. Ever since, her life has been so much easier and care-free. She hopes this poem might shed light on some people who are going through something similar and that someone might feel enlightened to break off their own abusive relationship.

Setting fire to memories
always leaves me with ashen
hands

And a smile on my face.
I love the way the flames
dance along the edges

Of serendipity, only to
end up in paradoxical enigmas.

When avarice becomes virtue,

I have to start a new fire within
to use as a guide for my hopes
and dreams.

When the clock strikes 12,
the fires will consume me
in a finale of light versus Dark.


Author Bio:
Adam Levon Brown is an internationally published author, poet, amateur photographer. He is Founder, Owner, and editor in chief of Madness Muse Press. He has had poetry published hundreds of times in several languages, along with 2 full collections and 3 chapbooks. He also participates as an assistant editor at Caravel Literary Arts Journal

sprinkle me
a sack of gold
and rub me down
with morning rays,
while the night sweats 
drench my 
every breath
I wonder
how blue 
this world can
make me.

the moon
is hiding 
behind
a starless valley,

I see you over there-

she never knows
how to cool
the vengeance
in my flames,
she never knows
how to awaken
the dead hours
of my night,
she never knows
how to shield 
me from 
the salted gloss
of the sea,

but she must know
I am waiting
for her
to give me some news
like the way
the skipper’s wife
watches for tidings 
on the shore.

do not shut
your eyes,
my sleeping sun.
for I have 
old stones
in my aching teeth
and 
I am waiting
for 
just 
one
answered prayer.


Author Bio:
Born in the rugged lands of west Texas, Frances Bloom fell in love at the age of twelve to the man she would eventually marry. Since dealing with his loss in September 2017, she  and has only been able to express herself through writing. Her poetry deals with grief, mental illness, addiction, desperation and making sense of some of life's challenges.

​In a drench of pollen, walking
To church—toddler in tow— 

Birds break a solacing silence: all aglitter 
With cheeriest twitters above our heads.

Good morning greetings, smiles,
Songs, prayer, scripture: into the light.

Cheerios on cathedral kneeler:
Time to go home.


Author Bio:
Wendy Gist’s poetry, fiction and essays have been featured or are forthcoming in Amsterdam Quarterly, Empty Mirror Arts and Literary Magazine, Foliate Oak, Fourth River, Grey Sparrow Journal, New Plains Review, Rio Grande Review, RipRap, Soundings Review, St. Austin Review, The Lake (UK), and many other fine journals. Gist co-edits Red Savina Review. She’s the author of the chapbook “Moods of the Dream Fog” from Finishing Line Press. Gist is a Pushcart Prize nominee and semifinalist for Best Small Fictions 2017.

(In protest of the incident of a five-year-old girl on September 12th, 2015 in the Kotadeniyawa area of Sri Lanka)
 
She was just five
Now reclining mutely inside
the wooden box
lost in a deep siesta
 
All day long she would
sprint here and there
in the compound
Stalking with her hands clasped together
to catch the butterflies 
that were buzzing around
the flowery bushes
Or she would cook some sand rice
using a coconut shelf as a mould
and urge her mother to eat them
 
While jumping from square to square
sketched in the courtyard
she would incessantly blabber
some lines of songs
that she heard playing on the radio
Such a chatterbox
sleeping long in the daytime
without muttering a word
No, no way,
She must be masquerading as asleep
just to act fool with her mother
How could her tiny childish thighs bear it?
Perhaps she screamed
while cold tears poured down
her fresh rosy cheeks
And then, there was this noose
made out of a strip of cloth
that tightened around her slender neck
 
Oh, little girl,
You can’t vanish into the soil like that
Wake up from sleep,
march along the streets
and shout out
for the sake of your sisters!
 

Author Bio:
Indunil Madhusankha is a budding young poet from Sri Lanka. He is currently an undergraduate reading for a BSc Special Degree in Mathematics in the Faculty of Science of the University of Colombo and he takes a great interest in the subjects of Mathematics, Statistics, and Computer Science. In addition to Indunil’s involvement in the field of Physical Sciences, he also pursues a notable literary career. He achieved three gold medals and a silver medal from four All Island English Essay Competitions. Further, he presented several papers on English language studies at some national and international level conferences and he contributed a few review articles to a couple of peer-reviewed international journals. He has undertaken several research projects pertaining to the areas of ELT, CLIL, and English Literature. Also, he completed the TKT examination and the three specialist modules YL, KAL, and CLIL. Indunil compiled his first collection of poetry entitled, Oasis when he was sixteen and the present book, Reflections of Life is his second collection. Further, he is currently working on a book titled, A Rare Kind of beauty, Yet Unexplored:  A Selection of Modern Sri Lankan Sinhala Poetry featuring a translation of a set of select Sinhala poems written by some famous Sri Lankan poets. He also enjoys interviewing fellow poets and practicing the art of performance poetry. Moreover, his creative and academic works have been featured in many international journals, magazines, websites and anthologies in the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Africa, Nigeria, India, Sri Lanka and some other countries.