Month: January 2020

Outshine the Night

Street light, warring against the darkness of the night, don’t you get tired watching it all get left behind? You watch the cars pass by, though some might stop by temporarily, you’ve witnessed them all leaving.

How can you stand tall after all that you’ve been bearing? The downpours and the storms might have dimmed your light, then how did you not forget your purpose in life?

Fighting against the coldness of starless nights, you have grown dark too, why are you no longer true? Street light, now gone berserk, switching off from time to time, letting the bad overshadow the good, letting what you were fighting against get over you.

It all started making sense again, you turn into your nightmares when you have lived them, and just as such the petals mourn into the soil, and the heart into a rusted coil, swinging between taking the jump or letting go. Is it worth it all, the risks of being caged or a follower of a ruthless leader?

Sights of how deceiving the landscape can steal the traveler’s passion of seeking more, taking the faith away from the one she inspired. Roaming around, the crashing of the spheres surfaced a looming feeling, sat by the edge I watched my world crumbling, down went my castle floating in that azure sky, and so my loyalty to a double-edged lover.

The love water was falling changed to a dagger and here it splattered into bits which could never be mended back again, some lost within the eyes of the tormentor.

Seeker of feelings soon sought vague highs, the masterpieces carved within himself being a dreary reminder, gone they were, turned to nostalgia of a time where truth reigned and rainbows shone.

Love, like art, must be free, but here I am paying the debts of the ones who couldn’t keep it real.

Deevesh Ramphul

I am Deevesh Ramphul from Mauritius. I am currently a student and aspire to be a writer.

I already have started working on my first book. My story is hidden within the layers of the simplicity of entangled meanings. Read through the lines and unravel the mysteries of my cataclysmic heart. I also have a blog online: http://deeveshramphul.blogspot.com/

Follow Deevesh on Instagram

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.

December storms raging my bones
Glaciers packed into my marrowed spaces
Ankles buckling like they’re standing beneath the
Weight of snow on pine trees
This frosty earth with its dipping moon
Blanketed under sculptures of glass and ice
Like my frozen veins
Waiting to be thawed out of these arctic days
Now with everything at a standstill
I exhale, weaving crystals from my breath
Forlorn, I seek warmer climates
To break free of this eternal doom
But the swallows, they only surface
When spring is in bloom
This chilly night I lie in wait so I can soar
So I can scrape the tallest pines
So I can free its branches of this binding cold
Just like I can free my veins
Of these blade-like oars

You touch me like these silver shadows
bouncing off moonbeams
contact high
just like the Polaroid I kept
tucked away in the back pocket
of my blue jeans
knowing you’ll be safest
here between the seams
this isn’t a puppy sort of love
for you turn my world
lighting up the skies within me

Sanjana Krishnan

I’m from India, but I’ve been living in Buffalo, NY for the past decade.

I’m in medical school and I’ve been writing poetry for a few years now, just slowly putting them out there. It’s great to have a creative outlet amidst all the studying and test-taking. They keep me in a good head space.

I’ve started to try and make something of my poetry now, I’ve written 106 poems to date, and one of them is published in Riza Press. I definitely plan on putting together a little book when I find a little down time. I’m also a painter and have about 10 oil on canvas pieces.

I publish all of my poems on Instagram, where you can find my account @versificationpoetry

Follow Sanjana on Insta

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.

I still remember as if it was yesterday
I was playing on the streets along with all the children in the neighbourhood
Little ones, the teens and even some of the adults
Street football was the one everyone loved
It was like a generation match, youngsters versus the adults
Everyone would be present for the street games

Reality check, 21st century…
Streets are for cars only
Games are only virtual
Chatting means social media
Acceptance means be someone else on the internet
Parents no longer know their kids, they only know work
Kids feel adopted by their babysitters

Video games, video calls, video conferences
Our lives resume to technology
Robots created to replace humans
Yet humans are turning to robots bending to each new ‘update’

Marie Anaïs Tessa L’Etang

I am from Mauritius but grew up in the Caribbean. My main hobbies would be reading and writing.

Writing has always been a big part of me since I was 8 when I won my first poetry writing competition, and ever since I never stopped writing. Writing is a crucial part of my day and is more than just a hobby for me.
My instagram is anais.tessa

Follow Anais Tessa

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Even if we break apart
Remember, you’ll always be in my heart

Even if you call me a loser
Remember my love, I lost to you

Even if you say I’m broken
Remember, I broke my wall for you

Even if you say I’m the acid to your rain,
Remember, no love from you I gained

Even if you say I’m ugly,
Remember, once upon a time, this face, you loved

Even if you call me an old soul
Remember, old souls loved the most

Even if you said it hasn’t been your day, your week or your year
Remember, I was there for you

Even if you couldn’t see what I saw
Remember, I was your mirror and made you see what I saw

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Have you looked at the star chart?
It’s the night we would have shared tomorrow in Buffalo.
I found the coffee shop for our first meet
after you won the dare — it had a fire neither of us experienced —

some day, not one day, I said.

But now I ache to feel your lips, finally, pressed to my ear.
Have you looked at the star chart?
To find you in the dark, just by the sound of you
but also by the feel of you, a chuisle,

one day, not some day, you said

Pulse to pulse, but I don’t know if I can reclaim my heart now.
I asked you to keep the compass safe for me, 700 miles away.
Have you looked at the star chart?
Some day, the beats grew distant and measured,

one day, not some day, you said.

I speak to and between the empty spaces of those beats.
I look at the space where I used to wear my heart on my sleeve.
I stare up at the sky, a chuisle, and know the sky is still the same.

But maybe there’s no difference between one and some.

Have you looked at the star chart?

Tiffany Chaney

Somewhere between Virginia and North Carolina: Find slips of her wit igniting weeds between the concrete slabs of the city sidewalk or in the worm-hooked smirk of a crow in the Blue Ridge sky. Chaney earns her bread and butter through freelance writing and the odd tarot reading, creative publication, and artwork purchase.

The vices that fuel her literary devices are assisted by americanos and dancing. She earned her BA in creative writing from Salem College, the oldest women’s college in the United States. Creative writing, particularly poetry, is both a career and soulcraft for her.

Chaney’s poetry and fiction have been featured in such publications as Thrush Poetry Journal, Moon Books: Moon Poets (an anthology of pagan poetry), Moonchild Magazine, Pedestal Magazine, and VQR’s Instaseries. Her artwork has shown in the Piedmont region of North Carolina and most recently in Denver, Colorado at Spectra’s “Tiny Art, Big Ideas!” show in November 2019.

Chaney’s poetry chapbook Between Blue and Grey (Amazon, 2012) won the Barnhills Books & More: Mothervine Festival Award for Best in Poetry in 2013. Her latest, weird little horror short story is a little bit Gaiman, Lovecraft, and Poe, The Blacklick Frog Rain: An Oral History Tale As Told By Kester Stoot, is available to read for free on Kindle Unlimited or for the price of a coffee refill.

Follow her on Instagram @tifchaney and visit her website at https://www.sassafrassoothsayer.com/Chaney’s

Follow Tiffany on Insta

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases at no extra cost to you.

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Reminiscence

Sometimes the smell
of gingersnap cookies
resonates in the air.

The chaotic Sunday
nights after we got home
from an evening at the park
one cousin running around
pulling out board games from the
closet, while another was slipping their
tiny feet into grandma’s old heels
and stomping around the kitchen tiles.

Christmas Day was in that small
house on a hill every year,
a house built on the foundation of love.
A house that had been called
home for more years than
you could count on two hands.

It was a house where we all felt safe,
even when the sun set and
darkness swallowed the sky.

The night was filled with old
cartoons on VHS and three trips
to the kitchen in the same hour
to grab another snack from
the cluttered kitchen table.

When it was time to sleep,
two or three children
would curl up underneath
the layers of quilts and sheets.

We would argue over who got
the spot next to grandma that night,
or when it was peaceful,
we would stare at the ceiling and
say whatever was on our minds.

Then, grandma would switch off
the lamp on her dresser,
gently pull back the sheets,
and lay down next to us.

She would pray,
asking God to keep us safe
and sound and simply thanking him
for her family, showing her gratitude.

As our eyes would start to flutter
shut and sleepiness overcame us,
she would turn to face the wall,
gently trace circles on my little arm,
and smile.

Goodnight, she would say to us.
I love you.

Emma Lambert

Hi! My name is Emma Lambert and I am from Charleston, SC. I am 17 and in my junior year at Wando High School. I have been writing creatively for as long as I can remember, but I am also a part of my school’s yearbook program, Legend.

My freshman year I started in journalistic writing and I’ve been covering stories about real people who I go to school with since. Writing has gradually become a huge part of my life over the years; I’ve delved into short stories, poetry, and I drafted my first fiction novel in November.

I work at Charleston County’s after-school program, Kaleidoscope, with 2nd through 5th graders and I love spending time with children. I plan to go to college for English/Literature, with a minor in creative writing and psychology. My Instagram is @emmalambertt_ !

Follow Emma on Insta

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Third Person Flight

I was born in the desert
South of the moon
My body stays forever
But my mind will travel soon
To green pines and rolling fields
Streams of water untouched

I’ll miss the tumbleweeds
And Joshua trees
But it’s a relief
To bury these bones in the sand

Teodor Nihtianov

I’m originally from Stara Zagora, Bulgaria but have lived in the USA for the last 19 years.

Writing is something automatic for me, I have to do it or my head will hurt. In fact, I’d pay to do it if it came down to it. That being said, my other major hobby is reading. Poetry, graphic novels, short stories, novels and everything in between. In fact, I just finished Ask the Dust by John Fante and am now reading Klaus, a graphic novel about the origin of Santa Claus. Traveling is #3 on the list, I like being nomadic and lost.

Writing is an integral part of me, more than a hobby, but unfortunately I don’t possess the right word for it. It’s pretty much an extra limb I carry with me. I have plans to release a short story/poetry book in the near future; I just need to iron out some details.
People can follow me on Instagram @twistedprusti

Follow Teodor

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising/referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, with no extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here. 

Cold Love

She traced a heart
on the fogged glass
in the city
that never sleeps
for the person
across her window,
who needed to know
they were loved
in the coldest times.

Emalee Goode

Emalee is a high school junior from South Carolina who has always had a passion for writing. She is involved in her school’s yearbook program as well as her school’s marching band color guard program. 

Writing has always been a love for her, and poetry has recently become another outlet. She’s drafted three novels as of November 2019 after competing and winning NaNoWrimo, and also runs a blog about her life, fashion, music, and everything else under the sun. 

She hopes one day to put her love for writing to good use and publish a book or two.

You can follow her on Instagram: @neverthelessgreatness

Follow Emalee

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.

Creative Respire

Do you look at all the patterns
The taut lines, playful swirls and dots
And the ways that they push and pull
Curve loud, singing colors and knots
The beats of hearts and sighs of souls
All jumbled together laughing
Tears leaking, dripping and salty
Mix of caramels chocolate mashing
Into mountains of happiness
Gusting into the winds of change
Your thinking loud and not mundane
Lights of fancy with smells assuage
A peace with sun inside your heart
Wishes to be found and dance beats
Rhythmically lilting a song
Escapes from lungs breathing so deep

Denise Rusley

Denise is a registered nurse of 26 years. She’s a mother of two and lives in Texas. She has been writing off and on most of her life.

Denise is in the early stage of writing her first book but recently was part of her first anthology called Poetry Pills with PaperPensandPoetry.

Denise is a connoisseur of all things from the heart and soul. She is woman of strong faith and a believer in truth. Her hobbies include reading, music and drawing.

You can follow her work on Instagram: @nobullheart

Follow Denise on Insta

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.