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Pendulum~ By T. Bartlett

12/15/2014

To all things in life the pendulum swings,
from end to end and friend to fiend.

The swing holds no permanence, nor requests any rest.
The pendulum's loyalty betrays no sense.

Wager not on soft landing nor subtle alight,
for the pendulum's quest is ceaseless flight.

The constant is change; the change is constant.
Mors ubi dira fuit, vita salusque patent.

*Author Note: Edgar Allan Poe is one of my favorite poets/writers, so when I had the idea to write "Pendulum," I saw it as a unique opportunity to pay homage to him and his work. The last line in this piece was in the epigraph to Poe's story "The Pit and the Pendulum," and is translated to mean where death once was, life and health remain.

Author Bio:
T. Bartlett has loved writing from the first time she held a pencil. In fact, some of her earliest memories include writing as many rhyming words as she could on paper. Her writing experience includes composing poetry on her blog at bltcorner.blogspot.com, talent spotlight articles on children’s authors and illustrators, developing web and social media content, and feature articles for newspapers and magazines. She is also hard at work on writing projects that include picture-book and novel-length manuscripts.

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Ethics~ By Lazhar Bouazzi

12/11/2014

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Simplicity is the task of
Giving shape to chaos
An affair of alchemy
Like turning sweat
Into drops of silver.

Author Bio:
Lazhar Bouazzi holds a PhD from the University of Tunis in Tunisia. He specializes in romantic poetry and critical theory.

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Bog Woman~ By Ita O'Donnell

12/10/2014

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She was barefoot on the bog,
the moist peat
like pulverised tea leaves,
clung to her feet,
mapping out her future,
cooling her down.

Her foot prints pressed on the surface, on
strata beneath,
parallel layers of living bog,
a wetland mould,
bare tract of earth.

The gentle wind,
unrefined scents,
turf, heather,
purple ragged clusters,
quiver in dusk.

As in a monochrome silent film,
the frame darkened around the edges,
the colour drained away,
the woman stood still,
struck with her place in creation,
struck dumb

she was eating the peat
from cupped hands,
craving the elements,
tasting the minerals.

She was pregnant.

I knew her,
admired her.

Primitive woman,
feeding
her roots.

Author Bio:
Mother, published poet, songwriter and nurse. I was awarded a distinction for my poetry following a Diploma in Creative Writing. I received a first for my play on James Joyce and music and it was performed at The National Student Drama Festival 1991. I am a Poetry Therapist (i.e. using poetry to heal clients by finding their VOICE!!). I am returning to submitting my work after a long break with four daughters however, I have had seven poems published including one published in an Australian Broadsheet: The Australian, by the Poetry Editor.

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Lady Luck and Bad Luck~ By Pijush Kanti Deb

12/9/2014

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My lady luck got lost to my bad luck
and she hid herself so mysteriously
that me –the poor
went on seeking and repenting,
hands outstretched and feet proceeded
towards an unknown way of life
for embracing her company and love.
Alas! Still the got up game is on and on
To make me defeated and humiliated
In its each and every round.
I wish today to look my troubles in the face
as a brave man in throwing down the gauntlet
to my painful settlement with bad luck,
sketching a sweet smile -
own produced or borrowed,
on my lips,
filling the pools of my eyes up with golden dreams,
blooming a rose in my paradise-
composed in my heart
and singing a song to let my heart out
to each and every dreamful eyes.
Maybe, my bad-luck will surrender to my lady luck
and a new hide and seek game will be started again
keeping the crown reserved for the experienced head.

Author Bio:
Pijush Kanti Deb is an Associate Professor in Economics in India. He has had more than 140 poems and haikus accepted or published by Indian and international publishers since June 2013, including: Tajmahal review, Camel Saloon Blog Spot, E-pao.Net, Dead Snake Blog Spot, Down in the Dirt, Poetic Monthly Magazine, Poems and Poetry Blog Spot, Poetry 24 Blog Spot, Long Story Short, Gean Tree Haiku Journal, My Word Wizard, and A Handful of Stones, Kalkion, Verse Engine, The Apple Tree, High Coupe, Madswril, Whisper, Mel Brake Press, The Voices Project, Vox Poetica, Kritya, Criterion,Calvary Cross. Muse India, Busting and Droning Magazine, Pennine Ink , The Artistic Muse, Guwahatian, Shayari.mobi, Galaxy International and Sentinel Quarterly.

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When a Woman Loves~ By Kenny Fame

12/8/2014

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The drapes that hang from her windows are all
tainted by envy, with attached fringed val-
ances, pushing against wind. Fawn’s the col-
or of her precious whippet; but every

time her window open's, he’s off and run-
ning, again... It seems like often times when
winter sneezes, she forgets to cover
up her mouth. Her, mama always warned her

that she must never eat collard greens cold
and she must make sure to properly soak
them in salt water; sometimes overnight
to make sure all the grit has fallen off.

Sometimes late at night, she still looks through those
heavy drapes, waiting, for her lost whippet.

Author Bio:
Kenny Fame is the stage name of musician Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr. In the NYC area Fame has built an impressive resume as both a: spoken word artist and a sought-after poet / lyricist in less than three years.
After creating a buzz in the competitive world of NYC's Spoken Word / Poetry scene, Fame decided to focus all of his energies into recording music after being introduced to musician's around NYC. Fame wrote
his first song "Another Man's Woman" which was intended to be a country song for somebody else to sing. Once Fame decided that he would be happier writing & recording music for himself, he began recording his demo tape in home studios in the spring of 2013 with the help of local producers. Fame's music is both melodic & thought provoking; just as thought provoking as his published works of poetry. After releasing three album's in 2014 alone; which included three #1 radio hit single's, Fame is once again where he started; doing poetry. http://kennyfamemusic.reverbnation.com/

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Joie De Vivre~ By Brittany Ackerman

12/4/2014

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Happy, in a sad, say way
cigarettes hanging out of her mouth
wearing black in the heat of the south
she wanted to get up north some day
we weren’t friends, or enemies per say
only knowing each other by word of mouth
then again those treaties never held any clout
how much exactly does a load of lies weigh
we could agree that each one seemed to mass
into a burden that would weigh us to a slow
and we become stuck in a mess unable to pass
faking a smile with a coffee to go.

Faking a smile with a coffee to go
he used to make small talk
always on a long walk
the jolt of fresh blood gave him woe
there were always things I didn’t know
like where all the paintings came from
the purple scar on his thumb
that he used to indulge in blow
I used to tell myself the lie
that if there had been more time
if I gave the whole thing one more try
everything would have been just fine

Everything would have been just fine
if we had listened to what our mothers said
all those nights tucked into bed
before we lost ourselves amid the shine
the glisten and glow that make us pine
always wanting to pull the thread
not grateful for our daily bread
everything would have been just fine
now we stay up late to watch the moon
staring at the white edges, attempting to pray
we will all end up with our dues soon
Happy in a sad, say way.

Author Bio:
Brittany Ackerman is a second year MFA candidate in creative nonfiction at Florida Atlantic University. She is also a graduate teaching assistant at the university, a writing center consultant, and is working on her thesis hours this coming fall and spring. She enjoys baking, going to Disney World, and sky diving.

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August 6~ By Sylvia Watanabe

12/3/2014

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A schoolboy's jacket this was all we could find

A charred pair of shoes she had no face

A shadow on the steps he turned to look

A clock stopped at 8:15                                       the insides were fused

Burns shaped like birds and flowers she wore her favorite dress

A boy in rags it was his skin

A tattered dress in a tree                                    she blew away

a door had opened                    into the air there

you were                            and then you     weren't

Author Bio:
Sylvia Watanabe is a fiction writer and graphic artist who teaches Creative Writing at Oberlin College. Her current work focuses on the invisible and erased histories of our nuclear heritage.

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i'll be the harpy~ by Linda M. Crate

12/2/2014

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i am peaceful
serene little wave
a pacifist
in a world of flame
yet even my
ocean
is shaken by the turbulence
of this violent state
we're living in,
and i can see things need
to change;
grasped the hems of
safety and comfort too long
must break away
swallow my fear--
for once i must be brave
leave my cowardice
behind and stand up for what i
know is right,
and i know this is wrong all
these terrible acts
committed against fellow humans
yet you have your reasons
they're whores, criminals, they deserved
it, she asked for it, she isn't human;
believe what you want, but we both know
that you are wrong--
i will not stand here in the bent
sunbeams of golden
laughter be oblivious to it all
i will soar through azure skies pecking
out the eyes out of all that cross
women
i will be the harpy i have to be
to save the wounded and weak from the
atrocity dragging around us all.

Author Bio:
Linda M. Crate is a Pennsylvanian native born in Pittsburgh, and raised in the rural town of Conneautville. Her poetry, short stories, reviews, and articles have appeared in a myriad of magazines both online and in print. Her novel Amethyst Epiphany is forthcoming from Assent Publishing under their imprint Phantasm Books. To find out more about the novel you can follow her blog here: http://darkenchantressofhogwarts.wordpress.com/. To find more of her writing you can follow her on facebook here: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Linda-M-Crate/129813357119547.

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Genderless~ By Jordan Rubenstein

12/1/2014

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Discomfort. "Is that a boy or a girl?" Their gaze pierced me. I could feel them judging my every move, looking for clues. How should I classify that person? How should I treat them? Should I be able to tell if they’re male or female?

Curiosity. Is that person normal? Have they noticed me staring? What are they thinking?

Superiority. Why are they dressed that way? Do they realize that they’re making a fool of themselves? That people aren't supposed to be androgynous? No freak like that can survive in society.

Laughter. Poking fun at me. As if I can't hear or see or understand. But why would I understand? I'm no longer human; I'm merely an it. Their question echoed in my head; "Is it a boy or a girl?" It? Am I an it? Am I a boy or a girl?

"What can I get for you, sir?" the waiter asked. I could feel trouble coming. I ordered. I listened to my voice- my female voice. It is a betrayal to me, a contradiction to my appearance. One word, and people's perceptions of me entirely change. As I spoke, I watched the waiter's response. He looked confused, and then embarrassed. "I'm sorry ma’am...I just... I didn't realize" he spurted out.

I sat there, helpless. "What did you not realize?” I wanted to ask. “Does my feminine voice change completely who I am?" I am now a woman in the waiter's eyes. But, am I a boy or a girl?

It's right before class, and I need to use the restroom. I walk into an empty bathroom, take care of business, and proceed to wash my hands. A girl walks in. Her face makes her emotions entirely visible- she is embarrassed for going into the bathroom with a male. She immediately turns around, opens the door, and looks at the sign.

Women.

She looks back and forth between me and the door, baffled. It is as if her looking long enough will change the sign on the door or turn me into a woman. She is convinced there is a man in the women's bathroom. Am I too much of a man to be in a women's space? Am I unwelcome? Am I a boy or a girl?

I am stuck in a society where I am supposed to choose one or the other. But what do I choose? How the couple perceived me? Or the waiter? Or the girl in the bathroom? Or how I was born? Or how I felt yesterday, or feel today, or will feel tomorrow? Am I a man? Am I a woman? Why does it matter?

I am a woman. I am a man. I am both. I am neither.

Author Bio:
Jordan Rubenstein is Digital Marketing Executive at UJA-Federation of New York. A nonprofit advocate and freelance writer, Jordan is passionate about social justice and equality. Jordan identifies as queer and genderqueer, and strongly believes in the fluidity of gender and sexuality.

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