It has been there since the beginning,
the anger.
It resides deep within me.
I recognize my monster;
I am half of it.
It’s in my blood.
That was my first;
I play pansy face.
My demons dance in my closet,
I stack them up.

when you walk
walk on water
not eggshells
or shards of glass.

hold out your hands
to collect raindrops
or sunshine
shun the icy 
bombardment of hail.

use your teeth
to smile
not bite. 


Author Bio:
Melynie Ferrari is a recent graduate of Pace University who holds a deep passion for reading and writing. 

Steal only what you feel
In this box we’re confined to
Nothing surrounds us but madness
Nurtured by pride, wrath and lust
Surviving on greed and gluttony
Only envy and vanity have seen us through
From one story to the next
Man’s story has yet to be told
And soon they all shall know
Not everything’s as they believe it to be


Author Bio:
Ashley Virginia Matthew is a graduate of Cedarville University. She majored in Journalism and has two minors in Creative Writing and Bible. She currently lives in Fairfield, Ohio and enjoys writing fiction and poetry. Ashley has been writing as a hobby since childhood and enjoys writing on a variety of genres, from fantasy to romance. Her writing is influenced by a vast majority of topics, including sports, personal life events, historical figures and more. 

In her spare time, Ashley also enjoys exercising, watching professional wrestling, blogging and listening to music. Some of Ashley's previous writing experience includes being a staff writer for KayfabeKickout.com, an intern reporter for The Pulse-Journal, a reporter for two collegiate student newspapers and a reporter for her high school student newspaper. Ashley's writing goals include someday being a published novelist and to always strive to improve at her craft for writing. 

I craned my neck through the eye of an eagle
Floating above blue skies of five summer suns
Above breezes hanging in no man’s land
Between angels in the sky and presidents on sands
As pirates of Mogadishu choked
From within walls of ruins and leaking boats on sea
Men, women, girls, boys and guns
War screaming for peace. 
​
​
Author Bio:
Beaton Galafa is Malawian writer of poetry, fiction, and nonfiction. He is a graduate from the University of Malawi, having specialised in French Literature. In 2014, he participated in the Commowealth Creative Nonfiction Writers Workshop that took place in Uganda. His profound love for poetry arises from how embellished word has been used in different times in his country to attack social ills perpetrated by despotic regimes. 

Immortal lines, not immortal life;
In Idaho does the bear catch the
Salmon or does the salmon leap
Willingly into the bear’s jaws, a
Movable feast? Timid
 papa of
Constrained prose, parsed down, parsed down to dust,
To immortal dust. Little nerve when
It came to words, not like Henry or
Jim or even Scott the sot who
Leavened his prose with a liberal lump
Of the candida albicans of
Salacious innuendo. 
                                    You
Feigned an affinity for the
Corrida while the desire of your
Cuerno de toro remained
     unrequited;
Women, so many of them sampled
For show, seeking one with a spicy
Canary, a refugee from the
Safari between her thighs, seeking
A chance to release the Serinus flaviventri
From inside her, a cunning intrepid
Man might write, but not one so timid
As you, whose words and very life were
Ceaselessly circumscribed by the
Malevolent musical mother
And the relentlessly proper
Patriarch, even unto the time
You were
                                 Papa. In your old age
You slept and insentiently stroked
And smoothed your beard with the tips of your
Fingers and the palm of your hand
Recognizing even one whisker
Awry after so many years, and
You dreamed among the snowy peaks of
A half-naked Cuban boy baked brown in
The tropical sun, reeking of fish
And rum, looking up at you with a grin
Sugarcane juice dripping down from his chin.
 
                       
​Author Bio:
Ned Randle’s poems have appeared in a number of literary publications such as The Spoon River Quarterly, Poydras Review, Emerge Literary Journal, Barnwood International Poetry Magazine, The New Poet, Hamilton Stone Review and Four Ties Literary Review. "Running at Night-Collected Poems" was released April 1, 2013 by Coffeetown Press. His chapbook, Prairie Shoutings and Other Poems, was published by The Spoon River Poetry Press, Bradley University.

Randle’s debut novel "Baxter's Friends" was released June 1, 2013 by Coffeetown Press, Seattle to very good reviews. His most recent short story "Potential" will appear in the upcoming edition of The Examined Life-The Literary Review of Carver Medical College, U. of Iowa. Another, "Clyde", appeared in the Jan. 2016 edition of Soundings Review-Northwest Institute of Literary Arts. "Wild Bill" appeared in Red Earth Review, Summer 2014.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to live nine lives, like a cat, and if they will go by too fast for my liking.

Nine lives, nine deaths, nine hello’s, and nine goodbyes.

Nine, the number that’s the sum of everything I try to hide; nine, the number of secrets I keep that tear me up inside; nine, the number of locks in the vault of my past; nine, the number of curses and prayers I've cast; nine, the number of kingdoms that I've left behind.

For the Hebrew people, nine is a symbol of truth. In Japan, the number nine is considered to be ominous and unlucky. The number nine, when pronounced by the Japanese, sounds too much like their word for "pain" or "suffering."

According to the Bible, the Ninth Hour is the Hour of Prayer, as Jesus died during the ninth hour, crucified by the Romans on the Calvary, in Golgotha.

And there are also Nine Circles of Hell in Dante's Divine Comedy, in which sinners of all kinds journey through the Underworld's much feared and mythical infernal spheres.

So, how many times do I need to pray? How many hours, days, years, or lives do I need to atone, to right everything I've done wrong in this life, in my mortal form?

If the pattern is any indicator at all, then Nine is the answer for all the questions I've asked God.

Nine is a finite number, yet it holds infinite values, to me; it is the number of voids in my nothingness, the number of dimensions in my consciousness, and the number of lessons I need to learn, to evolve.

Nine will forever be greater than the sum of its parts –than every part there is to my being, as a whole.

Hopefully, my nine lives won't go by too slow, and I can only hope that Karma has mercy on me, and my soul.


Author Bio:
Alva Cardona is a freelance digital marketer and web content developer with more than six years of professional experience. Alva holds a BA in Communications with a minor in Journalism from the University of Sacred Heart and currently lives in the beautiful Caribbean island of Puerto Rico. Her love for reading and coding can only be surpassed by her passion for writing poetry. And maybe coffee. And chocolate. Find her on Twitter here: @acardonac

In the day room, I hear
a TV program about how eighty
is the new seventy, which
long ago became the new sixty,
It features interviews
with octogeniarian hikers,
sky-divers (as if that were
a reasonable activity at any age),
 
as if every person that age were off
doing daring things, more exciting than
their lives ever were before.
Nowhere do they mention
what happens when the legs go,
the mind begins to drift, the world
reduced to a day room and a bedroom
shared with a stranger-roommate
who talks non-stop or not at all,
who sleep-walks or screams in the night.
 
My great-grandchildren,
those I want most now to know
speak a foreign language
of bytes and tweets.
They file in each holiday, looking at me
with feigned interest
and urgent curiosity,
children on a field trip to
a museum of ancient history.
 
And what about time?
Will it stop for me suddenly
one day, or is it a stream
my soul steps in and out of?
 
In the day room,
another program has started.
 
​
Author Bio:
Anita McKay's poetry has appeared in numerous publications, including Chronogram, Rose & Thorn Journal, Bella Literary Magazine and miller’s pond. She is an avid traveler who enjoys seeing new places, learning the history firsthand, enjoying the food, and meeting people.  The most significant part of travel for her is the encounters with people, including herself.