In my mind
I can go where I want.
I can travel the world,
Scale the mountains, and
Explore the deep oceans.

In my mind,
I can soar like the eagle,
With freedom in my wings
To search the past driven 
Into the present as the
Future approaches. 

In my mind,
I can dance in the twilight 
As the day breaks forth, 
Overflowing in its radiance 
To embrace My flighty path.

In my mind,
I can create my Eldorado,
My land of milk and honey,
With gold paved streets,
And pearl castles.
In my mind, I can go.
I can go where no one
Can reach me.


Author Bio:
Unyierie Angela Idem teaches English as a Second Language (ESL) at Holyoke Community College (HCC), Holyoke, Massachusetts, USA. In her free time, she reads and writes poetry that addresses a broad range of issues from personal to social and political. Her poems have appeared in Sentinel Literary Quarterly: The Magazine of World Literature (April 2011 issue) and aaduna (Fall/Winter 2011 and 2012 issues). She has participated in a number of poetry events, including HCC faculty readings and the aaduna Fundraiser in Harlem, New York. She has also been a guest reader at a public library in Massachusetts. She is currently working on a collection of poems.

​​They walk out of the store as I’m tossing groceries in my car
I never noticed before, I never looked before
I just never saw what I refused to be me before
And somehow I missed it
because I had it for a while; the sunny smile,
the hand in mine
I didn’t need to notice the other people at the store
As I watch them walk across the parking lot,
hand in hand –
I notice them now, I see them now;
her laughing at something said, him looking back
bringing their joined hands up to
her face to brush against her cheek,
pushing their grocery laden cart with the kids walking behind;
arguing as siblings do
For a minute I thought it was me and,
for a second,
I forgot to remember
that that only used to be me and I knew how it felt;
I knew how it felt to be that
And I looked around and realized I hadn’t noticed before,
or maybe
that I just refused to look before,
or
that I just didn’t see before
I just never saw that just wasn’t me anymore,
just a ghost of the me before
And I watched as they packed their bags in the car;
laughing and talking
And the kids clamoring for attention;
an impromptu tickle fight buckling them into the car
The children’s squeals of delight cut through me like a knife
Her laughing as she climbs smiling into the car
And for a minute I hate her,
for a second I want to warn her to take care
She just may not notice before,
maybe she just won’t see before
a ghost of the her before –
walking out from a store, catching her off guard
while tossing groceries in the car
Realizing in a minute, knowing in that second
that she never noticed before,
she never looked before
she just never saw what she refused to be her before
and somehow she missed it
and it just wasn’t her anymore


Author Bio:
Jennie Hope Meres is a poet and fiction writer currently residing with her husband and children in the New York area. She fell in love with the nuances of words as a young girl after being handed a book of poetry. She then began her foray into the world of writing by emulating her favorite childhood poets until she grew into her own voice. 

​Omalicha, I do not love you
for the sway of your hips,
or protuberance of your tits.
That love dies like the strike of the wind.

Omalicha, I love you
like the joy experienced in heaven
after a sinner is accepted
by a legion of cherubs.

I love you than the bloom
of jasmines, than the beauty of daffodils.
I love you than any sight un(seen)

Omalicha,
like stars in outer space
that illuminates the effulgence of dusk,
Let me lighten the innocence of your core.

Like a spring
which gladdens nature with its waters,
Let me gratify the grace of your he(art).

Omalicha,
Come to me now.
Come to me bare.
Make me have paradise on earth.


Author Bio:
Ajise Vincent is a Nigerian poet. His poem “Song of a Progeny” was a shortlisted poem at the 2015 Korea-Nigeria Poetry Fest. His works have been published in London Grip Magazine, Kalahari Review, Sakonfa, AfricanWriter, Indian Periodical, Social Justice Poetry, I Am Not a Silent Poet, Afrikana ng, Poetry Pacific, The Poet Community, Whispers, Commonline Journal, Novel Afrique, Black Boy Review, Tuck Magazine and various literary outlets. He is currently attending college majoring in economics.

​What's real
is this whole thing being orchestrated
you made me feel part of a drama 
was it the best weekend of my life or a show
all that I said
was it me who said it
and you mind read me
until I saw what you could not
and we canceled each other out


Author Bio: 
Kirsten Ellicson grew up in rural Richmond, Massachusetts in the Berkshires. A French literature specialist, she has taught university courses in the humanities including French language and literature, major works of Western literature, academic writing, film studies and English as a foreign language. Currently living in Paris, she works as a writer and translator. She is the author of a collection of poetry, "Light in the Dark Pool" (December 2014, available on Amazon), which reflects her conception of poetry as an exploration of the boundaries between self and other. In her free time, she has contributed to Global March Against Child Labor and WorldPulse as a volunteer translator. She enjoys spending time in nature and with her family, and engaging in intense conversations.

I knelt beside a bush of tiny roses
and wished my mother back into my arms.
As I knelt the silence of the breeze
said she is gone and never coming home.
 
Petals soft and sweet, her face to greet me;
leaves of green, the truth she taught and lived.
The stems, her sturdy-back determination;
thorns, corrective words she spoke with care.
 
I believe my life’s reward is to have known her
and shared a love with her for all those years.
So, as this bush gives out its many roses,
the lessons that she taught I’ll try to live.

​
Author Bio:
Carol Louise Moon began composing poetry on vacation to Mt. Shasta following a serious illness.  This time of rest and reflection provided the space to create the kind of poems which became Carol Louise’s passion. She believes this kind of renewal doesn’t happen in a vacuum, but my divine inspiration and the encourage-
ment of family and friends.  Upon joining a workshop, under the tutelage of two fine poets, Carol Louise was soon being published in local poetry journals and began sharing her poems in open mic and featured reader settings.  Today, Carol Louise spends much of her spare time editing, publishing and promoting other poets from her small city studio in California.   

Like a gypsy
travel
no destination 
no home
new places
new faces
no one 
to ask
where you live
no ties
no binding
of heart
or soul
on this earth 
or beyond 
journeys end
in peaceful slumber
at long last.


Author Bio:
I am a dentist by profession. I love the arts and nature. I am an avid photographer. I like to write poetry and short stories, mostly for family and friends. I was born and raised in India and then relocated to Trinidad and Tobago. Currently I live in Memphis, Tennessee with my husband, two boys, and two canine children.

I curse my fate
As I am unable to hate
Those who outcast their state of injustice 
Inflicted with thoughts of malice.
In my dream I go to heaven.
I find Him in His Holy garden.
I tell Him” I have a home of love and mercy
That makes me to forgive those who sink into injustice.”

He smiles at me shaking gently His head.
His face, I see, becomes, red.
Human heart divides into two parts.
One shows hardheartedness
Another feels kindness.
But you have to fill your heart
With kindness
With hardheartedness.
Then you feel painless 
Those who outcast their injustice.
After that I fill my heart with kindness
And hardheartedness.
Finally,
I am contended at least.


Author Bio:
Parnashree was born in West Bengal In Kharapur in 1988. She is an Indian writer and poet and completed her M.A. from Vidyasagar University in India.

A social worker woke me up, or rather,
I was yanked out of an unlit tunnel and
deposited on the other side, surrounded
by blinking, beeping numbers telling stories
that my body had been hiding under flaps 
and folds for months, and then the social
worker woman began to talk. Nurses
flitted by in pastel scrubs and smiled at me
the way people smile at the nice homeless
man on the corner who always says hello.
A menu was provided, I took hold
of it with willing hands but a loud protesting 
mouth. Do I have to stay the night?

The macaroni and cheese was creamy,
cold, and as I was throwing it up I noticed
the burn of the stomach acid in my throat
was almost soothed by the melted cheese
it passengered into the plastic bag provided.
I noticed the fluorescent lights appeared
brighter as the windows blued to night
and my senses began to recollect themselves
in a new edged wash of sharp awareness. 


Author Bio:
Gena LeBlanc is a senior and student of literature and religious history at Bennington College where she is working on her senior thesis, a collection of short stories and biblical exegeses about the Judeo-Christian Devil. She first began reading poetry in high school, appreciating it for its archaic beauty and melancholic mood. Since high school, however, she has had the opportunity to study poetry more broadly and is continually astounded by all that it can do. It is an art form she hopes will never die out. Gena has been published in Microfiction Monday Magazine and ElectricCereal.