Come on out, Josephine, come out
of your log cottage at the edge of the long-needled pines
that drape the roof, turning the shingles green,
the trees themselves tinted blue in the light
of the Ed Sullivan Show.
 
    You, watching the mahogany console,
    put down your long-necked Schlitz,
    rise from your patchouli-warmed, cigarette-cozied spot
    under the dark cracked beams, and take me
 
up the narrow stairs to a bed nook where you
have sprinkled violet toilet water on pillow feathers
so I might sleep to the sound of semitrailers
straining gears on the hillroad.  I’m asking you,
 
    Josephine of hollyhocks and marigolds,
    set down the fishing pole and give me
    the strong brown hand that in the morning  
    trembled nervous to braid a young girl’s hair.    
 
Come, Josephine, stretch yourself on the davenport
exhausted, and read me chapters in Old Yeller
while the spaniel named for Tom Sawyer
naps on the braided oval rug.  Come here,
 
    dress me as a bride in your window curtains
    and pose me in the chestnut-secreting sedge
    where I, solemn, grip my marigold bouquet
    as you kneel behind your Brownie camera.
 
And quick now climb down the tractor
to clomp your boots through rufous fields,
your wooded creeks and cowlicks,
before they are transformed
 
   into rows of small, identical, white houses –
   almost at the very second your lids
   last lower over those blind   
   green Josephine eyes.
 
​

Author Bio:
Lillo Way's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in New Orleans Review, Poet Lore, Tampa Review, Tar River Poetry, Madison Review, The Sow’s Ear Poetry Review, Poetry East, Yemassee, Santa Fe Literary Review, among others. Seven of Way's poems are included in anthologies. Her full-length manuscript, “Wingbone,” was a finalist for the 2015 Barry Spacks Poetry Prize from Gunpowder Press.

When I could stare at a tree
and feel myself
covered with bark.
My twig arms
branches extended to the wind
my hands full of
spores.

And in that cornfield
the moon
an impossibly
bright orb
seemed to be
blessing me
at night
oh...
celestial light.

And each stalk of corn
waved
in waves
across the
long expanse
of the field.

I tried to
feel that way again
but nature...my nature
doesn't yield.


Author Bio:
Doug Holder is the founder of the Ibbetson Street Presshttp://ibbetsonpress.com His work has appeared in the Voices Project, Bagel Bard Anthology, The Endicott Review, Up the Staircase, Poesy and many others. Doug has run poetry groups for psych. patients for many years at McLean Hospital in Belmont, Mass. His latest poetry collection is " Portrait of an Artist as a Young Poseur: 1974 to 1983" ( Big Table Books. He teaches writing at Endicott College in Beverly, Mass.

Take me to a place 
Where love and creativity take place
They unfold like fate
Yet pure and filled with grace
A place where we can create a BETTER place
Together as one,
Our minds can take us much farther
Farther than we have ever believed
Like a world inside a world 
The one on your head
Does that not catch your curiosity
The things that once sparked your mind
Your thought attention and captivated your senses
They were the joy and happiness that fill our vast lonely hearts
Not the material the selfish or the plain to see
Its in the unknown hidden the endless possibilities
Some believe its insanity
And other feel the slight reason to believe
You close yourself in a world of lies and doubts
I choose to see the Real and Love in life
Money and Greed is all hollow happiness
That you will learn with experience
Life was to explore and discover
Our body and souls our ultimate tool
Radiant and Vibrant The picture so vivid
You can feel it as you skin glows
The sounds we hear surrounds and engulfs us
To the other realm
Yourself and Reality soon come clear
The way everything feels
So lively and pure 
Maybe you should leave the city
And all that toxic air you endure
#The Realms


Author Bio:
Mayra Garibo is a young, yet wise, poet. 

They searched for her
not knowing 
that she had melted
and slipped silently through
the cracks in the floorboard,
where she lay listening
to all those who called her name.
In time they went further,
demolishing walls in
a frenzied need to know
just where she had gone.
If they had looked closely
they might have noticed
the darker stained wood
and the sweet echo of herself
that lingered sorrowfully
in the hallway,
too afraid to leave
but not wanting to stay.


Author Bio:
Shelley Nutting resides in England where she is a wife mother and community nurse. She has been writing poetry all her life but has only recently begun to share it. The strength of women at the heart of family is a recurring theme in her writing.

Woods and water sheltered me as a child in my tiny corner of the world. In the woods I could hide under a fortress of vines or scale down a ravine. I could hear the crunching of leaves under my feet or smell the sweet musk of wet earth. I could find a caterpillar on the back of a green leaf.
 
I let him be.
And he became something beautiful that I never saw.
 
Across the gravel road I could step into the glossy-clear lake and press my toes into sand and shells and rocks. I could twirl around slicing my hands through the water as schools of minnows darted back and forth all together like a collective soul. I could float or merely sit by the shore and think vast thoughts or nothing at all.
 
My siblings and I would have to come in during storms even though we didn’t want to. Through the screened porch we watched lightning smack down and illuminating the sky like a signal to pay attention. The wind whipped up the water making foamy waves and the lake became a black sea.
 
And we watched.
We watched it be.


Author Bio:
Colleen Wells has used writing since childhood as a way to understand herself and the world around her. She recognizes it as a tool for healing and connecting with others. Her memoir, Dinner With Doppelgangers - A True Story of Madness and Recovery is an example of this. Colleen has worked in helping professions including teaching and doing activities with elderly populations. She holds degrees in English and Creative Writing, and enjoys mentoring high school students who want their own stories heard. She has blogs on both of these sites: 
www.colleenwells.com
www.dinnerwithdoppelgangers.com

When rosters crow
like Nature’s alarm clocks
that rouse a resting Earth,

let Morning come
with virginal blush that peeps
softly through Night’s dark sky.

As a genial Sun rises
to share welcome warmth
and light, let Morning come

for owls returning to roost,
for farmers ready to labor
in their forests and fields.

Let Morning come with its promise
of beauty for ashes, joy for sorrow,
and a spirit of praise for heavy hearts. 


Author Bio:
Sandra Bounds writes poetry because she loves it and as an added bonus, the process of writing helps her stay mentally alert in her efforts to survive Parkinson's Disease. She holds a Master of Arts degree in English from Mississippi State University. A retired English teacher, she has taught in both private and public high schools and in community college. She has publishing credits in Australia, England,and the United States.