Orpheus by Ryan Mahr-hale

Don’t look back she said on the wobbling log.
Stream an unstrung washing machine;
leaves traffic cops redirecting the light.

The forest was magic that day. There were surely
more people about than you, shyly envying
how your brutal extraction from the world
of organic geometries and green enabled
the hot rush of return. You pitied them,

the spirits of streams and trees, because
they were not you today. The log threatened failure
of the enterprise. You laughed. Looked back.

Two Aspiring Saints Interface in a CVS by Ryan Mahr-Hale

Her hands writhing, she says
“I can sound good but not be good”

as you fiddle with a mascara wand
in CVS under lying lights

instead of answering. She picks up
her can from the ground. “I’m going

to smoke a cigarette,” she says. You nod.
She paid for that Monster energy drink,

curlicued and carbonated. You slip
the mascara wand into your pocket.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/34d2c-aaron-burden-xg8iqmqmitm-unsplash.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Ryan Mahr-Hale
Ryan Mahr-Hale

Ryan Mahr-Hale holds a B.A. in philosophy from the State University of New York at New Paltz. For his money, the most compelling philosophical question is whether (or in what sense) we have free will. He has worked in retail and human services and lives in Kingston, NY, with his wife. His poetry has appeared in Neologism Poetry Journal.

Read submission criteria here.

A Time Traveler’s Tale

A Time Traveler’s Tale by Aishwarya Roy

I was nine when the tectonic plates shifted between my parents.
The buildings collapsed all around me, as I held my mother’s hand at 2 am, and slept at my neighbours. My body shrank inside the warm blanket as if I was lying on a crescent-shaped moon.

/the moon kept eating my darkness, and became full/

When I turned thirteen, my home taught me the principles of dictatorship, long before my History teacher could.
The women around me lived under their men’s rules and roofs, a lie of love, but liberated themselves in the commas in between the lines.

/they needed a bigger heart than the sky, because they multiplied with each sunset/

A not-so-sweet sixteen-year-old me realised how a bus ride was a perfect metaphor for this fleeting life. That’s how quickly things pass you by when you’re not looking.
My elbow kicked a middle-aged man when he rubbed his bushy skin against my waxed arms, in the crowded bus.

/we will always be in constant motion, even when we stand still/

While an eighteen high on endorphins, I read a scientific fact, which said that because light takes time to reach us, eveything we see is in the past.

/maybe that’s why I felt like I’d already met you before, when we’d only just met/

Twenty-one pilots and a few heartbreaks old me built a house of cards once. And heaved that sigh she’d been saving for the final glimpse of what lay before her.
And just then — it all fell apart; within the time it takes to blink once.

/we built a relationship, and you wonder why, I’m still holding my breath?/

Today, I’m an eighty-five-year-old woman, immersed in self-love, wearing a black bindi, lying on her deathbed.
I see the war raged against the humanity getting over, the summer sun settling behind the oldest building of my city, spreading shades of rose. The leaves detach themselves from the tree, like a child losing the firm grip of his mother’s palms, and getting lost in the crowd.

/the yellow taxis bring home missing-person(s),
And I lie back and wonder how, somewhere between the fear of love-bites and love handles,
I grew up/

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/d21ad-eve-poetry.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Aishwarya Roy
Aishwarya Roy

I’m Aishwarya, a messy poet, from Kolkata, India.

The engineering student in me reduces the probability of sadness to near zero, by feeding itself salty newspapers of memes. The artist in me reads classics and scribbles art on forbidden walls.

I’m still the same little girl, who would write stories of love and wars upon the palms of her hands, walking around, arms outstretched, asking people to read them.

Read submission criteria here.

If You Ever

If You Ever by Tamoha Mukhopadhyay

If you ever remember me,
By the falling of raindrops on
Our forgotten words
Do not let me bleed in pain,
Make me bleed in poems.

If you ever see me,
By the bend of our path
Do not let a barrage of words
Impede our love ,
Let them caress me .

If you ever feel me,
In the edifice of all our unaccounted memories,
Do not let me feel untouched ,
Ink your fettered words in my heart.

If you ever ask me,
In an inundated road
Do not restrict yourself from the rain
Let it drench us in all our unspoken words.

If these ifs fail to arrive
Do look at the sky,
My heart will always beat there.

Extrication by Tamoha Mukhopadhyay

Don’t bother me now
I am busy drenching in all the unexplained metaphors.
humming the fatuous onomatopoeias.
For once my heart is not faint with a hundred stitches,
I am not abashed for my rumbustious self.

I run wild, barefoot in the shadowed woods
Magnolias aside
My lips are not blanched,
soul not shackled,
hair not rough with excruciation

I dance around, amidst the thorned roads
In the glinting moonlight,
mirthful memories,
The clear sky,
untethered from the strings of life,

Your Evanescence by Tamoha Mukhopadhyay

When you came,
The night had not seen the moon,
The sky had not seen the bees cavort.
The garland of my soul had not seen her flowers bloom.

Then, you left me
in the cacophony of life.
The flowers that you gave,
On a fooled autumn evening
Besieged me,
As I saw them get putrid.

you left me with a quavered heart,
You left me with a barrage of conjectural questions.
You left the world, except mine.

The moon glinted in her her glory,
The bees buzzed in exuberance.

But the garland of my soul was withered, forever.
When I was leaving,
I saw a part of your soul,
Lying by the riverside,
I consorted it,
On my way to the inevitable path of silence.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/ecc0d-screenshot_20210604-100428.png&quot; alt="<strong>Tamoha Mukhopadhyay
Tamoha Mukhopadhyay

I am Tamoha Mukhopadhyay, a girl of 15 from Kolkata, India. 

I have always adhered to writing in my darkest of times. My poems are mostly melancholic, but buds of hope never fail to rise from the greyness. My poems celebrate pain, love, extrication.

I often feel tangled in the strings of life and the darkness seems to pirouette around me and writing is a form of untethering the strings and starting all over again.

Read submission criteria here.

Shaping Water

Shaping Water by Born on a Dark Moon

I was a singer that could not sing
a writer that could not write
frozen in ice
living in sub zero conditions
with no knowledge of fire making
here words were arrows of jagged water
and I was full of them
even when I came to temperate shores
I could not thaw
yet there was a fire that burned deep inside
that flamed so fervently
I could not hide from its warmth
I melted
salty liquid streaming
shaping a voice that was my own

Bittersweet by Born on a Dark Moon

fire stoked
cauldron stirred
bubbles rise from untouched water
heart remembers searing heat
steam releases
tears fall
heart embraces her own potion
both bitter and sweet

Feather Soft by Born on a Dark Moon

gently does it
let kindness come
wash your loops and sharp thoughts in sacred water
invite compassion to be your friend
hand over it all
for inside you rests
sensitivity as precious as a babe
one that has waited beyond knowing
to give you their words

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/5863a-kaitlyn-baker-vzjdyl5jvxy-unsplash.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Jai Michelle
Jai Michelle

Jai Michelle from Born On A Dark Moon is an artist of many colours. Growing out of Scottish soil but now grows roots in The Netherlands she is a recording artist, poet, and playwright. Taking her inspiration from the confluence of the inner world, vulnerability, and spirit where truth is her paint and expression her brush, she invites you to dive deep into the colour and canvas of her work. 

Read submission criteria here.


Dawn by E.R. Paget

Delicious light licks at the windowpane,
Piercing glass to filter and refract.
Eager it springs, darting into corners
So long sunk in darkness.

Under the watchful eye of an indulgent sun,
The shadows slant and prance,
Conducted by the light with an energetic hand,
To twirl and spin unbound.

Swathed in warmth, a room reborn,
Resurrected from the depths of the night.
Blessed it basks in the days’ sunlight
Waiting for the dark to return.

Falling by E.R. Paget

For her, it was
No risk at all,
To take a leap
Of faith so great,
Falling recklessly,
Into the dark.

This House by E.R. Paget

This house has stood for many years,
Walls deep and thick with dust,
Quietly soaking up the past,
These bricks so often touched.

In homage they hum and whisper
Of people dead and gone,
Stories and secrets set in stone
Once lived and now undone.

I hear them in the quiet of night,
These occupants of old,
Slipping softly room to room
The ghosts of tales untold.

They pass as shadows through the door,
Silently they roam,
Moving meekly with no malice,
Gracious, they share their home.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/a7a9a-img_1033.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>E.R. Paget
E.R. Paget

E.R. Paget lives and works in Scotland. The landscape and coast around her home inspire both her writing and photography. She often links her poems to the photographs she takes.

E.R. is passionate about her natural surroundings,
history, and the balance of light and dark in life. She shares some of her writing and photography on Instagram: @life_and_light_poetry

Read submission criteria here.

Death is a Friend

Death is a Friend by Aylin Roland

If I am to know death
as a friend and not a foe,
I’ll take her hand and whisper,
“I’ll never let you go.”
We could walk through the garden,
down the street or take a bus.
We could do anything we like,
just the two of us.
We could talk for hours
about life and love.
How every day is unlike another,
how we are never good enough.
If I am to know death,
she could tell me her secret
and I’ll keep my lips closed tight
with every intention to keep it.
In time we’ll grow closer
just as good friends do.
Death and I together.
It’s like I always knew.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/5863a-kaitlyn-baker-vzjdyl5jvxy-unsplash.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Aylin Roland
Aylin Roland

My name is Aylin Roland. I’m 34 and based in southern Indiana. I am a poetry lover and have been writing poetry since I was about 12. I love to write poetry of extremely different themes, such as love and romance to death and the supernatural. 

I would say my greatest inspirations come from the people I know and love.  I consider Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, and John Keats as my favorite poets. I hope to someday publish my work in a collection. When I’m not writing you can find usually find me watching a horror film, conquering a puzzle, or enjoying some good wine. Or maybe all three at once! 

Read submission criteria here.


Entrapped by Biraj Valia

Swirls of drape entwining veins of desires
Slender fingers flipping pages of heart
Twist of hues now vividly her eyes fires
Infatuation thorns hold love apart

Helplessness and remorse ever startling
Weakling limbs tangled betwixt hawthorn tree
Tomcat eyes bewildered in lust thwarting
Ravelling Spells lost in her arms by wee

Conscience lost the secrets of sorcery
Confined by beguiling grace deceiving
Ensnared flora and thorns of forgery
Tragic heartache in delicate thieving

Powerless betrayal smelt in each breath
Pinkish bluish-white san spring only death

Metamorphosis of Life by Biraj Valia

Nuptial vows planted in the pot of life
Growing as one over years of changes
Entwined together betwixt love and strife
Blooming our beautiful buds as angels

Salt pepper hair and wrinkles evolving
Seldom disheartening zeal for a kiss
Forgetfulness and fatigue try stalling
Our romantic endeavours of pure bliss

Phases of life transitioning ever
Melodies of our love syncing in rhyme
Mirror unveils remnants whatsoever
With fragrance of togetherness sublime

Metamorphosis of life is certain
Souls sail together beyond the curtain

Fragrance of Love by Biraj Valia

Thy fragrance caresses unceasingly
Swirls me into inebriating state
Swoon me in thy mystic belle secretly
Festoon garden of my life pleasingly

Thy after shower scent ferry me straight,
Into oceanic waves of fragrance
Refreshing delicate aura ornate
Floral sea breeze cologne your scent innate

Morning floral perfume my complacence
Thy stimulant smell embracing my dawn
Blooming petals of love spur radiance
Divine floral whiff reveals thy presence

Citrus scent over hues of twilight drawn
The fresh scent hold me in thy elegance
Tickling my passion with pleasure thereon
Rejuvenating lively vibes are born

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/27ff1-me.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Biraj Valia
Biraj Valia

Biraj Valia an entrepreneur often travels across the country for work, during these long business trips that he started writing travelogues. Learning new forms of poetry, experimenting with rhyme schemes and syllables intrigued him. Simplicity with an easy flow of expression gives his poems a unique style.

Read submission criteria here.

Between Us

Between Us by Sonali Gupta

I talk to you of the distances
between us. However not feeling
one and still asking you, what’s
between us? Is there an invisible
thread tying us in an infinite bond
or is the gravity like the one
in a black hole? My thoughts
like lingering smiles and silhouette
of an undiscovered hope dancing like
the spring under an autumn veil
& like all that I am, ask you again,
tell me, what’s between us?

And you send me a snapshot
of the starry sky above you.
A sky freshly given up all its
rain and showing up the colors
seasons wear. Filled with my blue
and my grey, stands the exquisite
sky between us. The stars are there
yet quite distant and the sky like a
beautiful stardust around,
light me up. I smile at it and
see the sky above me. It looks the
same, and I know what’s between us!

If maps are to be believed, between us,
are cities and places and
hundreds of bridges, lakes, gateways,
minars, temples, staircases, houses
and then a world between us.
But remember the bougainvillea that
I told you is my favorite, that now
clings to your balcony, and then
the aroma of my roses that travels
deep down the nursery of your terrace.
Do I still have to ask you,
What’s between us?

Between us is a distance that’s
far but isn’t that far you know.
Far just looks so much near now
Holding time so tight, between us,
have been the 11:11 wishes we
finger cross at, and an eternity
that refuses to unpromise what’s
between us. Your soul looks
like a camouflage that my bare
soul has waited yesteryears to
uncover and be painted with.
Can I tell you that between us,
have always been none, but us.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/b409a-screenshot_20210508-163216_instagram.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Sonali Gupta
Sonali Gupta

Sonali is a technical content writer from India, who writes expert resource materials related to Marketing and Technology. Previously worked as a banker and a freelance blogger, she has been a student of Economics and Human Resources.

An ardent believer of the Universe and optimism, she writes poetry and quotes to satiate her soul and souls around. Always keen on nature, traveling, music and photography. She’s often found talking about self-love, love, life, motivation, and philosophy.

She likes to say it all in hashtags and loves to be read between the lines. She’s one passionate being who lives to keep her vibe alive and stay in love with life.

Follow her on Instagram:

Read submission criteria here.

photo of an ocean shoreline to illustrate the poem entitled, Stronger


Stronger by Shadrach Davis

The land was green and crowned with grains
Ocean tides rolled droplets of gold on the shores
Birds roamed the heavens whispering melodies
That resonated in our hearts;

Then came sudden a spirit from the unknown
Whipped the beauty off the face of the place
We all called home
Our faces were inked with scars
That kept us quite in disguise
Loved? Oh yes, we were but left alone

With bided eyes, we searched into the blues
In white were written, no clues
Came the wind, we got lost
Like squirrels, stalked in winter without nuts
Through flames of hell, we walked
To reach the gates of fountains

We tied knots to gather scraps
Our bones were clothed with blankets of courage
We looked at the horizons differently
Colors seemed more vibrant and sparkling
Again our cups of tea were filled with milk

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/0c559-img_20210506_224550_554-1.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Shadrach Davis
Shadrach Davis

I’m Shadrach Davis, a Liberian born in Sinoe County. I’m a student at William V.S. Tubman University studying Public Health

I have a great interest in arts (music and poetry)
I believe in giving everyone equal opportunities to excel and be great. My writings promote African culture and heritage 

Read submission criteria here.


Wonder by Nameera Anjum Khan

A wonder. A womb.

I have a feeling that my eyes are too many faces looking down at the dusty pavement. But the skies were never made out of ribs, the seas never mastered the tides of my blood and the moon could never command the gravity of my heart.

This may look like a weak surrender upon a deaf glance but look again. It’s a wonder, not of virginity re-shaping itself or the veil of pregnancy blooming through nine seasons.

It is nine births, and more – all emerging from the point of no return. My head is all the colours of your rainbow touch. My skin is all the senses of your secret desire. My existence is all the questions you’re too afraid ask, let alone answer.

Sex. A fluttering of –


Sometimes, I see myself as the God. Sometimes, I see myself as the Creation. In both versions, I remain a sinner seeking heaven – an irony dodging misery only to write poems on it.

How do you see me?

Why do you see me?

You say that the sun is out tonight, I never knew untimely mornings, not face-to-face at least. I had heard of a happening that corrupts itself overtime. A sickness that spreads like creepers, everywhere. A tangible dignity swinging from the chandelier.

A woman and her birth – the untimely sunrise and the timely corruption.

Everything. Inebriated buds of truth. Nothing you’ve read before and everything you’ve read before; you die everyday just to see. How? Why?

Answers. Questions.

Birth – the memory burns. When will it rain?

Demise by Nameera Anjum Khan

I am a flower pot
Tumbling down the table,
I still shatter in your palms
As you try to catch me;
Now we’re both bleeding world’s sucking our tongues while the galaxies around us burst open into nothingness

My mouth is a sex fluttering like the butterfly in your belly
It crawls down your abdomen and leaves a word on your thigh
You discover it once the moon dies away-
As the sun ties a knot with Alzheimer’s

There is no light to burn the tips of our desires
But did I ever tell you of the flames hidden in my heart, tucked away in between the day and night?

You come closer
I am the flower out-growing the pot,
I am the pot filling the flower – the singing that eats the lyrics and churns on dead instruments

You come closer
And I’m the shattering and a bloodshed
I’m the demise; in tangent sighs and maroon walls.

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/f10c0-screenshot_20210507-214825__01.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Nameera Anjum Khan
Nameera Anjum Khan

Nameera Anjum Khan believes that poetry is a voice that can never be subjugated. Her work has been published in anthologies such as ‘World on Trial: The Earth’s Grand Vengeance’ by Witchesnpink, ‘Inked Fables’ by The Inked Square, and ‘The Kali Project’ by Indie Blue Publishing. She writes on topics such as gender, confessional pieces, politics, and mental health.