Blog Archives

Fabula: What the stars told~ By TAK Erzinger

8/27/2020

Comet without direction
the universe is boundless
and you’re part of it.

You search for a home
racing by it
thinking you’re an orphan.

Your wish is to settle
but like any runaway
you’re restless.

Cosmic tadpole
sluiced in stars
feeling aimless.

Sun will lead you where
life prospers. Constellations
will map your path.

Remember when the milky way
took you in its fold? The smooth
nebula soft against your skin?

We witness you
locked in a galaxy
of regret.

Embrace the liminal space
between the light and dark
surrender.

Discover the key beneath your skin
it opens onto a meadow of cosmos
there, you’re housed in heaven.

Author Bio:
TAK Erzinger is an American/Swiss poet and artist with a Latino background. She originates from Florida however spent a great deal of her childhood in Kentucky. She is also an English teacher who earned a BA in English from Boston University and her teaching certification from the University of Cambridge (England). She is currently studying creative writing at The Writer’s Bureau.

Her poetry has been published by The Curlew, The Cirrus Poetry Review, The Beautiful Space Journal, The Mojave He[art] Review, Bien Acompañada and The Rising Phoenix Review and many more. TAK is also an avid walker and has walked a pilgrimage on the St. Jacob’s Way through Switzerland. Most recently her second un-published poetry manuscript was short listed for The Eyelands Book Awards.

She lives in a Swiss valley with her husband and two cats.
Found: Between the Trees (Grey Borders Books, 2019) is a chronicle about a life interrupted by mental illness. Its poems are a reflection of how love, nature and hiking nurtured and fostered an injured soul suffering from acute-childhood trauma and PTSD, leading to a path of redemption. This collection takes the reader on a journey of love, loss, forgiveness and healing.

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Something Comfortable~ By Rosanne Ehrlich

8/26/2020

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A lovely indulgence, this Art
And
so pleasurable.
“Slip into something comfortable”
and glance at where you’ll be
when the buttons are done and
the silky robe is tied.

You walk along the wall,
You are strolling on a
Baroque veranda,
nodding under a parasol
held between you and the sun,
Listening to the fine and fabulous tales
that interpose themselves,
as they dance in light before me and

I rush to write them down.
Words singing,
sliding down
the rabbit warren of my brain
Rabbit white, the coils on which they travel
Around and around as if
in some slowly rocking chair
That repeats itself ‘over and over

They escape,
several more slip through the opening
down the pathway through my neck and down
the arm to the finger that
holds the pen, a whip so useless to control them.
No Matter.
Later to be read alone (in the dark,
underneath the covers with a flashlight)
until someone calls me daughter.

Author Bio:
Rosanne Ehrlich been writing, not writing and thinking about writing, on and off, all her life. Years ago her novel, Attack, was published by Ballentine Books under the name of Collis Ehrlich. As a writer/producer in the entertainment industry and a victim of extreme sea-sickness she has written documentaries on Viking Long Shops, Whalers, Clippers, Ironclads and Galleons for The Great Ships series on the History Channel.

When she escaped from the entertainment industry, she started teaching English as a Second Language at Bergen Community College. Recently, flash pieces have been published in Persimmon Tree and Panoply. Fredericksburg Literary and Art Review and True Grit Anthology have published her poems, a non-fiction piece has been published in Metafore Magazine and short stories in Antirrhinum Journal and Glitter Literary Journal.

Currently she is at work on an autobiographical collection of short stories and attempting to assemble a poetry Chapbook and, as a grandmother, trying to get the names of the Disney princesses straight.

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Dusk Colored Wings~ By Jennifer Cahill

8/25/2020

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Sunday evening,
the clouds different colors
against the sky, and

trees spectral borders,
and wings dusk-dyed, radial.
Laughter split a smooth

soft surface, linen
edges fingered by rippling
winds, pushing waves.

A brook is alit
by elfulgence, mini grey
mountains erupt shades

of dusty moth wings,
and cool heavens inundate
the porousness of Spring.

Sunday evening,
the clouds different colors
against the sky, and

trees spectral borders,
and wings dusk-dyed, tauten.
Fractures split a smooth

soft surface, linen
edges fingered by rippling
winds, pushing waves.

A brook is alit
by elfulgence, mini grey
mountains erupt shadss

of dusty moth wings,
and cool heavens inundate
the porousness of Spring.

Author Bio:
Jennifer Cahill acquired a master's degree in Administrative Studies from Boston College. She has taken several writing classes at The Writers Studio and Gotham Writers Workshop. She has published a Chapbook, "Sojourner" (2010) and "October Sunlight, in the Evening" (2011) in Dark Matter, an online literary journal. She enjoys reading and music.

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What Can't Be Researched~ By Brianna Bruce

8/20/2020

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I wanted to research your diagnosis,
decipher signs and symptoms in the DSM-5,
the potential medications, the pills
abandoned in the back of your bedroom dresser,
fluorescent orange capsules covered in dust.

I wanted to study the restless amoebas
of radiant color reflected on charts
of illustrated brains, the neon rainbow womb of
what they say went wrong, warped somewhere
in the shades and shapes of lava lamps.

I needed the sterile assurance of concrete descriptions,
WebMD headers and worn medical dictionaries
that could tell me why you died for seven years,
revived in cycles of love and hesitation,
ignoring poisons locked beneath your skin.

I needed to know why
the embers behind your eyes ignited
into ragged flame as feral as a sob
when the fate that you waited for
fell in a white flag at your feet.

I wanted to know until I understood
that you may know even less;
if, maybe, all that you know--
all that you may ever know--
is pain.

Author Bio:
Brianna Bruce currently majors in both English and Creative Writing at Cumberland University. Although born in California, she has spent most of her life in Tennessee. She serves as one of the assistant managing editors for the NOVUS Literary and Arts Journal and works as a specialist at her university's writing center. Her awards from Cumberland University include the Richard and Virginia Lawlor Creative Non-Fiction Award and the Freshman Award in English, among others. In her free time, she enjoys reading books in various genres, writing stories about her eccentric family, and watching horror movies.

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Evening Sentinel~ By Gabrielle Balot

8/19/2020

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We watch them through
Years of striving
To reach us, touch us
But gravity wins
Imprisoned beings
Try to name us
Sirius, Polaris, Aquila, Orion
Attempt to mold us
Into chants and lullabies
Unsatisfied with our original version
Though sometimes calling us
Beautiful, brilliant
We love anyway
Between sunsets and sunrises
Tucking exhausted minds
In the blanket of the midnight sky
We shine on humanity as if
Strung together tightly by
An invisible thread
Distracted bodies trapped in
Those bustling cities
Between the poles
In the absence of nature as
Tired eyes pursue birds that too
Crave for our freedom

Author Bio:
Gabrielle Balot is a 17-year-old writer and visual artist from New Orleans, Louisiana. She is a 12th-grade Creative Writing student at New Orleans Center for Creative Arts. She enjoys writing poetry and short stories to make sense of her place in the world. Her writing gives an essential voice to topics that are hard for her to explain in any other way. She likes to explore issues of emotions and relationships - especially anxiety, rejection, and identity - which are issues that most teenagers deal with.

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Kill the Roses~ By Emma Deimling

8/17/2020

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Today I killed the roses, thirsting them
Dry until they fell one by one and caved.
Bruised wilting, shearing myself at the stem,
Isn’t it so easy for me to fade
Even on the inside. Roses of flesh,
Of blood, of iron rusted steel pricked, so
Made to cut through skinned innocence too fresh:
Exquisiteness peeled commonness to sew.
Too pure, red scent severed opaque. How long
Until the edges curled inwards droop down.
Cracked dreams spoken through stitched up lips all wrong,
All my petals plucked drift onto the ground.
A secret beauty buried inside me,
I love me, I love me not. I love me--

Author Bio:
Emma Deimling is currently studying English and Creative Writing at the Ohio State University. Her work has been published in The Ekphrastic Review and Teen Ink Magazine.

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The Stray Dogs of Santiago~ By Watt Burns

8/13/2020

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the nameless, ageless, stray dogs of Santiago
waddle from sidewalk to street,
to benches and patches of grass and concrete.

they’re silly yet serious, strange but true.
blue eyes that wait for you, walk with you,
accompany time.

some purposefully walk with a limp for attention,
who some say stole that shtick
from an old lab in Plaza de Armas,
who some say stole it
from a dead pug in Viña.

the nameless, ageless, stray dogs of Santiago
smooth over potholes and cracks with ease,
tracking taste and scent back to origin.

some fumble the delivery,
or the process –
or
whatever.

some master a craft, a skill.
some wear sweaters in winter, sweat in summer -
most howl and sing.

some ying when you yang,
some stress the technique,
some just shrug it off.

the nameless, ageless, stray dogs of Santiago
are parents, teachers, elders, and wise.
they are preachers, prophets, and poets -
historians of street beat life.

they are the nameless,
ageless,
stray dogs
of Santiago.

Author Bio:
Watt Burns is a poet and playwright from Milwaukee, WI, living in New York City. He has been published in Return to the Gathering Place of the Waters, Edify Fiction, Crux Magazine, In Layman's Terms, Cream City Review, and more. He holds a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, and he once saved a kitten from a busy highway in Atlanta.

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Trips~ By Eden Benibo

8/9/2020

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Sometimes,
I am found lost in my wild thoughts
beneath hard rocks of golden diamonds-
seated at the bottom of my being
for my inside's full of treasures,
precious gems
wrapped in poetry shapes.

Other times,
I drive down the Memory Lane
a narrow path
between express and shun.
A junction of the said and the unsaid
leading to the land-
ruled by choices made.

Most times,
under grey skies
I miss steps and stumble
falling into tunnels and dusty paths
dusty paths
a clear map-
to green pastures untapped.

Always,
once in every two hours
I visit my dreams three times,
like a mother hen-
nursing her eggs before they hatch

I climb onto the walls of my own heart
hoping for an escape in a clogging world.
I find my strength within-
just enough courage for my return,
as I go back in search of my fears
ready to fly!

Author Bio:
Eden Benibo is a young writer and poet currently transcending the phase of simply inscribing the stories she bears to voicing them. Her works revolves around finding a light through the various tunnels of life. Her works have been published on platforms such as -The Evergreen Poetry Journal, Poetry International, Kalahari Review, Praxis Magazine, Libretto Magazine and others.

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All The Way From China~ By Nancy Baker

8/9/2020

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He brought her tea and oranges that came all the way from China. And she loved the merchant sailor, and she wanted to travel with him, she wanted to go blind, she wanted to be lost in silks and golden reds and eat oranges in the morning, take him to her bed beneath the waves. She painted all her nails the color of the blood that crucified the savior, and she kissed the holy grail of this longing to be wandering beneath the heavens that come all the way from China. The ancient chimes go silent as the valley of her bed is bursting with the jasmine and she cries for the love and she cries for the moment to touch his perfect body tracing the night in every inky picture. She wants to be his lover that comes to him a dove, comes to him down foggy halls where the memory of her lingers like perfume on your pillow, perfume that comes all the way from China.
In Memory of Lenard

Author Bio:
Writing is Nancy Baker's passion. She is a photographer, published writer and artist.

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Life Interrupted~ By Susan Surette

8/7/2020

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Verdant growth pushes
through fertile soil
as many struggle to breathe
birdsong punctuates
early morning stillness
echoing through empty streets
Daily strolls leave
disquieting wake of distance
greetings hailed from afar.
Uncertainty spreads faster than
understanding
Necessities stockpile
greed and need sharply
divided
rooftops and balconies are
prime real estate as
open spaces close.
Nature’s rituals continue
uninterrupted; flickers return to
hammer on metal chimney caps
advertising for a mate.
Tulips bloom
forsythias sprout
pansies shimmy in the breeze.
Invisible enemy finds
faces peering from masks
anxious souls
resisting society
Healers are hailed
celebrated from windows
in the streets; fed, applauded, serenaded.
Families reacquaint while others mourn
separately in grief.
Life settles into the mundane
Earthworms reemerge below warming soil
as unattended loved ones
are lowered beneath.

Author Bio:
Susan Surette is an avid traveler, bibliophile, grandmother, hand drummer, yogi and poet with work published in The Avocet, Westward Quarterly, Nine Muses Poetry, Eskimo Pie and The Curlew. She discovered her interest in poetry after taking a free creative writing class and joining a women’s haiku group. Susan founded the Not Yet Dead Poets Society and leads the “Poetry for the Creative Mind” program at a local adult center, both located on Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

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