Our Love Was

Our Love Was

Our Love Was by Joanne Lee

Our love was

Car shows, summer beer fests, and 24/7 air-conditioning

wet Chelsea boots, crunchy leaves, ice coffee no matter the temperature

puffs of warm air from our mouths in the winter, a preheated car, Christmas and New Year’s Day with family and mutual friends

holding hands, walks to my front door, spicy food that you attempted to eat, and multiple trips to the bathroom

memories of high school, college, after-college, moves, and my first meeting with Potato

waiting, loneliness, and other priorities

misunderstandings, arguments, no one giving in, no one winning

muted tears, looking out opposite windows, long drives in silence

drunk anger, tightly closed mouths, and hearts impenetrable

regrets, limited efforts, and finally, a goodbye

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/acc83-img_2140.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Joanne Lee
Joanne Lee

My name is Joanne Lee.  I am a Korean-American, born and raised in Chicago, IL.  In the daytime, I am a regular nine-to-five employee working in accounting but come nighttime – I am whatever I want to be. 

I am the master chef of my kitchen, the top billboard artist of my bathroom, an amateur (very amateur) but enthusiastic potter and photographer, an aspiring writer, and proud mom of my precious puppy; Potato. I love all forms of art, but especially literature. 

My dream in life is to publish a book of short stories and poems but for the moment I take great joy in filling my journal with ideas, thoughts, poems, drawings, and other random tidbits. 

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Poetry by Pranav

Poetry by Pranav

The Crescent Moon in the Night Sky

Poetry by Pranav Rustagi

Just like every Saturday night
I was again writing about him
Adding one more chapter to
how he introduced the moon to me
I have always sought for darkness
Maybe that is reason why
"No moons" used to be my favourite
Until when he introduced the moon to me
I was thinking all this
Lost, staring at the most beautiful thing
Crescent moon it was,
And I remembered when I used to ask him
Why he chose me? 
And just like always, he would say
"You're the crescent moon in my night sky" 
I would always end up thinking 
What a weird amour I had got
And he would chuckle and say
"One day you will understand" 
I was so lost in my darkness
That I never understood what he meant
But tonight I did
In the night sky with billions of stars
I always thought that I was incomplete
Full of flaws and imperfections
But he saw right through my walls
Crescent moon
Though it seems incomplete
But it's the same moon
Which would soon glow on the full moon
I was perfect, just never realised 
With tears in my eyes tonight 
I finally understood what he meant
When he caressed my forehead 
When it hit the dusk... 
<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/f96b2-img_20190504_170822_123.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Pranav Rustagi
Pranav Rustagi

I’m from Delhi, India and doing graduation in the Computer Science field. I am a vocalist.

Besides singing, coding and writing are my basic interests. I’m not that much serious about writing but it won’t be right either if I state that it’s just a hobby for me. My relation with writing is something unexplainable. It has been 2 years since when this talent was passed on to me from a friend of mine who left writing.

I am not yet published but I look forward to having my book published someday. In the end, I’d thank my friend for what I am today. 

Instagram handle: @i_speak_truth_insta 

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poetry by pranav
Summer Haze on Canvas

Summer Haze on Canvas

Behind the poem Summer Haze

Poem and the article by Deanna M Ramirez

I wrote my poem Summer Haze last spring as an ode to my childhood in Somerville, Massachusetts. Raised in the Mystic Housing Projects as a child, I spent summer days playing outside from morning till night.

Fueled largely by free lunches delivered to our neighborhood. I had no clue as a child it was charity. I relished the convenience of not having to leave the parking lot where I played. And the free lunches always had chocolate milk!

We lived in a third-floor apartment and I didn’t even know what air conditioning was. Summers in the eighties were hot and humid, and I recall drinking in the moist air when it rained. We called them sun showers. The large raindrops splashed off hot rooftops, as depicted in my poem. I can still smell the rain.

Steam rose from the hot concrete. My friends and I played in the puddles that quickly became warm in the sun. The warm puddles felt soothing on my bare feet.

Richie’s slushies.

Richie’s slush truck visited the Mystics daily. He’d drive up, jump out of the driver’s seat, then open the back filled with white tubs of Italian ice. My favorite is still watermelon. Ma loved lemon. I think it’s still her favorite, too. Cooling down with delicious slushies is a fond childhood memory.

My mother put change in a small plastic baggie, if we had one. She’d drop the bag out the window after I yelled up to her asking for a slushie, “Ma, ma! The slush truck is here! Can I get one?”

If we didn’t have a baggie, she’d just toss change out the window! Richie’s truck didn’t waste time, and I rarely had time to run up two long flights of stairs to get the money.

The coins bounced off the concrete scattering, and I’d chase them down. I remember the immense relieve when my hands held my watermelon slushie. It tasted amazing in the blazing summer heat.

Summer Haze will forever hold a special place in my heart. I’m grateful to have a beautiful quality canvas, thanks to Canvas HQ, to showcase the poem.

Summer Haze Canvas Contest

In honor of Summer Haze, I’m having a seven-day writing contest. The winner will receive a canvas (same size as mine)! Keep reading!

Summer Haze on Canvas

Write a short piece (poetry or prose) about home. Write something that inspires thoughts of home through your eyes. It can be a new sense of home and belonging, or fond nostalgic memories.

Share your piece on Instagram using the hashtags #evepoetrycontest and #canvashq. Deadline is October 31, 2019.

Visit the contest post on Instagram. Like the post and tag two friends in the comments to qualify.

I’ll announce the winner on November 2nd.

I’ll announce the winner on November 2nd on Instagram. The prize canvas is the size shown in the photo of Summer Haze on canvas above. Dimensions are 24″ x 36″ x 1.5″.

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.

CanvasHQ special promotion.

Order your own canvas and receive 35% off plus free shipping and handling on US orders. Click here and use the promo code: eve poetry.

Magical and Majestic

Magical and Majestic: Niagara Falls

A poem by Veena Ramaswamy

Awe struck by the breathtaking magical scenery that lay before me,
Boarded the double decker ferry that floated along the shiny clear waves of the blue sea.
Clothed myself with a red rain poncho as I scurried through the queue,
To experience the beauty of the natural wonder that painted an iconic view.
My body rocked as the boat swayed to the crashing waves of the river,
The freezing water trickled on my face, sending me a little shiver.
The foggy mist clouded the entire vast area and suddenly wrapped around my eyes,
Became frightened of the loud thundering sound, which actually unraveled an astonishing surprise.
The incredible divine beauty of the Niagara Falls ascended while the sparkling mist faded away,
My eyes beamed with joy at the sight of the historic amazement which lay at the heart of Canada and USA.
The ferry smoothly slithered through the rapid current of the aquarium-blue whitewater, beneath the rainbow bridge.
As the raging torrent of 80,000 gallons of water forcefully tumbled down the basalt mountain ridge.
The two deafening waterfalls plummeted downward, pounding the edge of the metamorphic rock formation,
Sprays of liquid silver water splashed into the depths of the paradisiacal pool, transforming into a foam of lather with shiny crystallization.
It was a moment of bliss and serenity as the ferry cruised along the varnish clear pool,
Which looked like a curtain draped with distinct threads of silky blue satin and shined brightly like an expensive glass jewel.
As the excursion came to an end and the steamboat docked along the shore,
Stood there, speechless at the sight of the mystical beauty which I’ve never seen in my life before.
Infatuated by the mesmerizing God given wonder, my eyes suddenly dazzled red, orange, green, and blue.
The vivid colors of the translucent rainbow arched gracefully through the dreary sky,
bleeding a palette of prismatic shades which saturated the horizon with a crimson hue.
The humming of the ferry’s horn gradually subsided, realizing that I just couldn’t take my eyes off of the heavenly falls that was sparkling at a distance.
As I took my last step to board off the ferry, I leaned over my shoulder one last time to witness the eternal existence.
The beauty of the Niagara Falls etched into my soul as the magic followed me all the way home. As months passed by, the phenomenal journey was just unforgettable, leaving traces of memories which looked exquisite even in shades of monochrome.
<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/f4752-paul-green-5lrxnlhfzoy-unsplash.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Veena Ramaswamy
Veena Ramaswamy

Veena is a simple, fun loving, & ambitious person, raised in the nation’s capital of Washington DC. She graduated from Boston University, with a Masters in CIS and Data Analytics.

Her main principle in life is to work hard, be humble, be yourself, and follow your dreams! She is also an avid learner and a creative thinker.  She has a passion for exploring new things and leveraging her talents and skills.

She has loved writing since childhood and is one of her fave hobbies apart from drawing, nature photography, dancing, blogging, etc. She is also a lifestyle blogger and has her own blog called Beyoutiful. She has also published other poems in Brown Girl Magazine and Nature Writing Magazine. 

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

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Words A Beautiful Creation

Words, A Beautiful Creation

A poem by Mayank Saxena

Words have an amazing character
You mould it and they change their texture
They motivate you
They disintegrate you
They reflect your identity and nature
They can shape your future
They can cut like a sword
They can be lighter than a bird
World is nothing without words
We, poets are nothing without these words.
<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/a61a6-fb_img_1564731465708.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Mayank Saxena
Mayank Saxena

I’m from Nagpur, India. I am a Geologist by profession but a poet by passion. My hobbies are travelling, writing and reading. I work with a company providing Geoscience solutions and software.

I love to pen down my emotions on paper. Writing is like a meditation to me.

I have two poems published in books. One is titled, Artisnal Miners in Amaranthine: Poetic Abode. The second poem is Mystery of Earth in a book entitled, Raindrops. 
Instagram: mayank_saxena83.
Facebook: Mayank Saxena

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Wild by Zahra

Wild by Zahra

Wild, a poem by Zahra Zuhair

You will fail
to find that passion
you sparked in me
when you lie with her,
for she is the magnificent trees,
but never a lush forest,
and she is the ocean
but never the surfer's waves,
and she is the shoreline
but never the dotted seabed,
and she is the stars that light up for you,
but never the sky that changes for you.
And you, who wouldn't dare
preserve and explore a forest,
or ride the mighty waters,
or drown inside the quicksand that I was,
or push a little harder to reach the sky-
I was too great in my being for you.
It was not me that could not hold on to you,
but it was you that could not hold on at all.
<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/50661-picture_20190926_185701967-01.jpeg&quot; alt="<strong>Zahra Zuhair
Zahra Zuhair

I write poems about mental health, identity, faith and relationships. My writing comes from my own personal experiences, and mental well-being; a place within me that reaches out to the world, wanting to confront issues that people need to talk about. I think my writing is a form of rebellion against systems which oppress through conformity rather than liberate the individual soul and mind. I am always ready to share my work and contribute to larger causes. It’s what drives me as a writer and a teacher.
IG: @liminaling 

This post contains affiliate links. An affiliate link means I may earn advertising / referral fees if you make a purchase through my link, without any extra cost to you. It helps to keep this little magazine afloat. Thanks for your support. Read full disclosure here.

Dead Butterfly

By Elizabeth Barrera

Closer he comes to the flower
each time they meet.
He would caress her beautiful petals
with his dignitary love.

But the flower withered so suddenly
that she forgot to tell the butterfly
how beautiful his wings are,
how colorful her world is with him.

Each time a bud glows,
the butterfly's eyes would twinkle
but the day becomes gloomy
upon the hurtful realization.

Though he still went on with his life,
he could never really find
someone as precious as the flower,
someone who holds the dead butterfly's heart.
<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/44a49-elizabeth-barrera.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Elizabeth Barrera
Elizabeth Barrera

I am Elizabeth Barrera from the Philippines. I’ve been in love with writing since time immemorial, but I found my passion in poetry. I fell in love with the rhymes, imagery, metaphors, and all others. It is about speaking to your audience with fewer words but with deep meaning. Someday, I also wish to publish a book that could inspire people across the world.

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The Blotted Truth

A short story by Leena Auckel

She glanced at the paintings hanging on the wall. Some abstracts and some landscapes. It was a pleasant sight! When Henry wasn’t busy analysing enzymes and DNA in his lab, he used to paint in his studio. In the corner, she saw a sturdy shelf containing thick books. She trailed her fingers along the titles on the book spine. Secrets of the Chemists, DNA Demystified, and after more interesting titles. She reached his easel. On the canvas was a majestic swan gliding in a blue lake, that part was freshly painted with different shades of blue, which rendered it very vivid, she could almost catch the faintest ripple on the lake. She liked how the sky pigment sculpted the contours of the conifers around the lake.

It was amazing how he could handle electron microscopes and his paintbrush with the same finesse. She came near his table, a white mug contained water he had rinsed his paintbrushes in and the pots of cobalt blue and navy blue pots of paint he used to paint the lake lay next to it.

Cassandra had a passion for painting too but the sands of time wanted otherwise. Each time she started to draw something she was discouraged by her partner’s harsh comments.

Somehow seeing colours always brought back her childhood memories for those were the only colourful phase of her life. Unlike the last 2 years which were only a bleak black and white. She had been under constant psychological and moral abuse by her partner Jake, which had eroded her cheery personality and rendered her stoic. She was being dragged in the swirling vortex of manipulation without even realising it.

Henry had been abroad for some years. It was only two months ago that he came to Hamilton. At first, Cassandra plainly refused for the meet-up, like she had been doing for many other reunions and outings lately because Jake did not see it with a good eye.

In the beginning, she used to feel bad about not being able to meet her friends and relatives, but with time she changed. She started spinning a cocoon of low-esteem around her, and she showed no interest in sharing laughter with happy people.

Cassandra gave in only when her other two friends told her they would pick her up from work and meet over lunch. She would have been swallowed in a depressive tornado by now, if it was not for Henry, who saw how drastically she had changed from the happy-go-lucky girl he had known as a classmate to a forlorn girl with wrinkles of worry.

She went so far back in time that she inadvertently knocked over the cup of water which tipped over the pots of the navy blue and royal blue paint. A navy blue river started to form its way on the table sinuously until it reached Cassandra’s finger, which was lingering on the table. The cold water stimulated the thermoreceptors on her fingertips and flipped Cassandra back to reality. She stared at the mess in horror. She quickly picked up the cup and grabbed hold of some tissue paper and stopped the water from flowing from the edge of the table. Just in time before it reached the floor!

There was still some paint residue on the table. She reached for the tissue roll to wipe the rest of the paint only to find that it was over. She heard the garage door opening. Henry was back! Oh my god, what do I do now?! I created such a mess. It’s always me. Wherever I go things go wrong!

Her heart was pounding as she looked frantically around the room for something to clean the mess. Luckily, she found a bunch of filter papers lying on the bookshelf. She grabbed one of them and lunged towards the table. The knob of the door clicked and Henry’s shadow flooded the doorway.

“Am-am so sorry Henry, I didn’t mean to. I mean it’s my mistake, ev, everything just toppled over. I am cleaning it!” she muttered.

Henry just stood there staring at her. This made her even more uncomfortable. She wondered how will he react, will he brood? Will he scold? Or worst, will he beat me? This was how Jake used to react during disputes, with time she had been conditioned into walking on eggshells.

“Am almost done,” she said heading towards the table her cheeks turning crimson. By now the filter paper had absorbed most of the residual paint. She reached for it and started to crumple it.


She froze. She closed her eyes. It’s coming. She closed her eyes harder, conditioning herself to bear the pain.

She waited. Nothing.

“Cassandra …Cassandra!” he said in a soft voice.

Henry held her shoulders and turned her around and looked into her eyes.
“It’s fine!” he said. “it’s just some paint,why are you getting so worked up?”

He picked up the filter paper and admired it,  the blue colours which had seeped in had taken different hues of blue.

“This is beautiful,” he whispered.

He bent down took his paintbrush and dipped in the the navy blue pot of paint and brushed a few strokes on the blotting paper. Cassandra peered to see what he was doing but she could only make out a blue blob of paint at the rim of the paper. He dipped the brush in black paint now and painted few more strokes and placed it back.

Now she could make it out. He had drawn a woman figure on the filter paper.

“For you this might be a wasted filter paper meant to be discarded. But the artist in me sees a sky on that paper. And that’s you with all the sky stretched in front of you showing you that possibilities are infinite.
Even if you soaked up all the mess that doesn’t make you less valuable, Cassandra. What you have endured does not put you to a disadvantage instead it has built you and armoured you with shields that will help you face harder days with ease.”

He stared at Cassandra’s awe-filled eyes and continued. “Don’t make yourself a victim of what you have undergone, you are more than just a sufferer. You are a Warrior! This sky is just waiting for You to open your wings and fly. Yes, Cassandra fly! Fly and conquer new horizons!”

<img class="wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img" src="https://evepoetry.files.wordpress.com/2021/08/d9e32-leena-auckel.jpg&quot; alt="<strong>Leena Auckel
Leena Auckel

I am from Mauritius, a tropical island in the Indian Ocean.  Presently, I’m working as a lecturer in a Medical University.  I started writing as a hobby back in college and gradually, written words became my lifebuoy.  With life becoming more of a whirlpool, writing keeps me afloat and helps me reach out to people.

During my journey from medical student to tutor, I have come across many students with difficulty to cope at both academic and psychological levels hence my purpose to write motivational quotes.  My other hobbies include cooking, drawing and painting. My current project is to bring together my paintbrush and pen to promote mental and physical health.

Find me on my Facebook Page: Sun-Kissed Ink

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Poetry by Karen Blunt

Remains of the Day

By Karen Blunt

In the rubble of my memories...
As I searched thru the dust filled corners of my mind
I found a remnant of you...
What was left of our torrid love affair.
How our passion burned so hot...
Now the remains are only ashes
And each day that passes...
I leave the remains of us farther behind.

Blissful Love

By Karen Blunt

I wish to dwell forever in the pantheon of your love.
To bask in the glorious feel of your touch.
To drink in the sweetness of your kiss...
Forever lost in this blissful affair.

About the Poet

Poetry by Karen Blunt

Karen Blunt lives in Arizona. She is 62 years young and single. She currently lives with her daughter and her family. She is a retired chef and still love to cook, but only cooks for her family. She is an amateur photographer and often uses her own photos as background for her poems. Karen is an avid reader and hopes to publish her own book in the future. She has not yet published anything, but has written a few short stories when she was younger. You can find Karen on Instagram: @blunt.karen.

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Grammarly Writing Support

The Little Shed

The little shed is painted blue
with two old chairs for me and you
We sit and talk till stars shine high
Discuss wild dreams and sometimes cry
The shed is dark and meant for tools
but staged just right for dreaming fools
One day we'll laugh and reminisce
Having checked off goals from
our shed dream list

Dedicated to my honey. ❤
-Deanna Ramirez ©