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.
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
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.
She Could Just Sit in a Wheelchair by Patricia Ndombe
I put my depression aside whenever I take care of my grandmother. But there is always enough time to wonder what she thinks of me as I help lift her out of bed. She can hear the discs of my back scrape spine. Screw ergonomics. What will I tell her if she asks of my back?
There is an hourglass that sits on her forehead. She sits up and swallows pills like I swallow sleep. Grandma, please, let us get you a wheelchair.
I can hear her tick to the beat of a dying analog clock. Please stop worrying about us.
To Cut Yoko Too Far by Patricia Ndombe
I watched your piece, Yoko I am terrified
I hear your sighs turn shallow as people circle close around you Were you afraid too?
I cursed the men who touched you The men who snipped at your thighs and your chest, refusing to drop their masculinity in your divine presence
I cursed the man who circled you, pulling power from the scissors lying there, praying you would stay prey as other women in his eyes
I cursed the man who sliced your sleeve Go home, Pervert, to the pillow that holds your semen-pee
Did I pierce your piece Yoko?
The women were precious, love Not predators for at least the first few minutes of poetry class
I am sorry, Yoko I have screamed the stereotype You must forgive me, though many will not
I will now return to the fuming feminist that my mother knows and loves
Dedicated to Yoko Ono’s “Cut Piece”
About the Poet
Patricia Ndombe is currently an undergraduate poet at North Carolina State University in Raleigh, NC pursuing a major in English and Creative Writing. She is shaped by a family precisely half African and half African-American. Along with her other passions such as self-care and holistic health, she enjoys writing poetry as a creative outlet that enables her to reflect the world around her, escape the troubles of life, or look at it through another lens. Many of her poems were inspired while struggling with periods of identity uncertainty during her first two years of college, and this turbulent time period has given way to many others. Patricia has been blessed with the opportunity to publish over ten poems so far this year, including celebrated poems such as: “Ekeko”, finalist in the 2019 Gabo Prize for Literature in Translation & Multilingual Texts. “I want to be pricked the tongue by a fish hook”, a finalist in the 2019 NC State University Poetry Contest, and “Broughton Dr & Hillsborough St”.
Hair woven tightly knit, Stretching the corners of the lenses, Brown polka dots, On the bridge above the white picket fence smile.
Body taunt, upright, Arms reaching out and extending tight, Tummy tucked, breath in, Skirt flittering at the bottom of the rim.
Pointed toes, angular and rigid, Foot flexed, legs strong, At attention the parts are ready, For the sweetness of the song.
Notes flutter through the air, Striking out and inspiring the motion, Head high, body bound, Fair hair bounces up at the notion.
Floating through the sky, The skirt abounds unlimited in flight, The strength is freed into the light, As the smile is suspended in height.
Her inner steel weighs nothing down, It makes her apt to launch above the crowd, Unfettered and suspended above, Defying physics, my metal dove.
Untethered by Alicia Thompson
The vessel floats next to the dock, A rope haphazardly connecting the two, Waters touching the bow and pile, All seemingly separate, yet the same too.
The sailboat begins to rock and hit up against the dock, Bumping and now bruised the bow and the pile, Tides lapping on the side, Causing the clash of elements that will not subside.
The haphazard rope that now seems like an afterthought, Has no chance at resolving the dispute, As the sideboard crashes into the dock, Binding, frayed and worn, gives irresolute.
The boat tithers to and fro, Hanging low, the mast leans towards the waves, Nothing and no one guiding the way, Cast into the disheveled and roaring waters.
The rope drags behind flailing about, It reaches and screams for the piles in the distance, Unanchored and adrift, serving no particular purpose, A failure from the outset, no chance to begin with.
But then the rope’s knot is lodged in the rocks, Catching a break that could not have been foreseen, Now wrought, the vessel standing at attention, Swinging and swaying, tethered again.
The jagged black rock, Connected to the distant fray, Mast, pile, rope, and dock, All seemingly separate, yet proven the same.
About the Author
Alicia E. Thompson
Born and raised in Pennsylvania, I spent most of my childhood playing in the woods and the fields surrounding my home with my neighbors, siblings, and my cousins. When I was a sophomore in high school, I moved to Columbia, South Carolina and was introduced to a new life in the South. Although I traveled back to my home state of Pennsylvania to pursue a degree in History at Penn State University and later to New Orleans, Louisiana to attend Tulane University Law School, I landed in the low country of South Carolina to be closer to my extended family. Myrtle Beach is now home; I am a partner at a southeastern based law firm where I focus on real estate matters, I am married to my husband Greg, and we have 3 children.
Poetry in a new outlet for me. While juggling motherhood and practicing law for the past 12 years, I prioritized work and family above self. Struggling with the daily grind and trying to find quiet time, writing poems helps me tune into the outer world and to be present and grateful for the everyday life. My poems focus on my children, nature, coping with work stress, and my travels. Eleanor is about my 5-year-old daughter who is enamored with ballet. Her strong will juxtaposes her ability to glide through life, like the juxtaposition of the strength and grace of a ballerina. In my spare time, I enjoy the beautiful South Carolina coast, yoga and meditation, organizing a book club with other professional women, and spending time with my family.
You can follow me on Instagram at @aethompso and on AllPoetry.com @EleanorT.
When they autopsy the scarecrow, they spill sunflower seeds and salt, split apart a cotton heart trodden with cobwebs, steady - handed enough to keep the smile at least halfway in preservation. When they autopsy the scarecrow, they aren’t bewildered with the withered pumpkin - rind ribs, for what good nature survives the seasons of isolation? They do not catch their breaths in the autumn winds, try to ease their minds in the rich scenery. They do not grieve the scarecrow, nor do they spur a thought for its spirit, but it is there at their side, warding off the crows that wish to rob them of their harvest. It whispers, “Heroism is usually a solo dance, not without injury, but never failed to make me smile, for how would you startle evil with anything less than happiness? Breathe. Open your eyes and look. See my happiness morph through the changing earth and in your changing heart.” And when they turn to leave, a blur catches their eyes...
About the Poet
I am 17 and from Ohio, USA. For as long as I can remember, I have loved writing. I started out with short stories and began writing poetry a few years ago, but began focusing heavily on it just this year. As this is my senior year of high school, it is time for me to decide what I wish to purse for a career. I am still a little indecisive, but one of my top choices is to have a career in editing. I just don’t see myself not being involved in the art of writing! Some of my other hobbies include makeup and fashion. While I only practice those hobbies for fun, I take my writing seriously. Although I do not have a job in the field, I do have an Instagram account : @karissa_thinks_in_ink . I’m always looking at ways in which I can improve as a poet and I am looking forward to continuing to pursue this craft in my future, whether it’s part of my day job or on the side. I hope you enjoy my work and am ever grateful for the opportunities!
Elizabeth James is a poet and novelist, residing in the United States of America. After years of dealing with inexplicable challenges and social issues, she was diagnosed as an adult, with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Elizabeth’s goal is to be an advocate, to bring awareness to the creativity and unique abilities of those with ASD. Her book, “Words of a Wild Butterfly- Poetry of an Autistic Mind,” will be out in the Fall of 2019.
Fire-red hostility whizzing through a burning hot blaze soldiers dodging in muddy trenches Blood-soaked earth holding the weight of fallen heroes The stench of death mingling with acrid smoke that fill his failing lungs
The sun is a murderer beating a blazing dragon’s poison on rugged uniforms The moon is a robber hunting tired prey that pause to blink Death is an escaped prisoner googly eyeballs rolling for prey on a sinking earth
He holds his weapon in one plastic arm patched with thread dipped in blood of fellow comrades Fallen Splintered Scattered across a flooded ground as the stars shoot and time runs by a whizzing bullet
Now a crippled bundle of bones fastened to a wheelchair The only remnant of a forgotten bravery is a missing limb PTSD is a spider lurking in the corners with the cobwebs in a dingy attic he calls home
Living off the ‘Thank you for your service’s scarcely thrown his way as lonely eyes peek through a shuttered window in a dusty room where faded copper medals lay in abandoned shame
His heart is a leaden hammer breaking a fragile memory into shredded leaves But his strength is made of eternal concrete
About the Poet
Perry Kay lives in New York but her heart is in LA. She love to write poems and short stories and wishes to one day publish a novel. You can follow her on Instagram @perrykay39
I could not show you What was drawn As it was scribed Along my bones And it was Restrained under Coatings of guilt Hardened by the words You burrowed in my skin So when you asked me To show you my soul I couldn’t show you Because I couldn’t see it either (it used to be yellow, what colour is it now?)
I Will Grow Tomorrow Instead
Poetry by Taylor Lutka
Today I felt like silence Easily broken with your words A shattered mosaic of lethargy Tapered at the seams Of your blade-like edges Today I felt like darkness Draped in bitter frost Veiled behind window panes Sending rain clouds across Droughted landscapes Today I felt like breaking And this dim silent world That littered the portrayal Of the essence of my mind Remained barren Sleeping with the misrepresentation That nothing would grow again
(but I know it is just today)
About the Poet
Taylor Lutka has been writing professionally for just over two years. She provides blog/article writing and editing services, but her true passion is poetry. She especially enjoys running her Instagram account, where she posts new poetry daily. Her writing focuses on everything from mental health issues, having your heartbroken, and what it means to be in love. She will be featured in the upcoming Augies Bookshelf “Instapoets” Anthology being released in January, as well as an anthology to be published by Train River Publishing. She is currently working on writing her debut poetry collection, which is hoped to be released sometime next year. Instagram – @taylorlutkapoetry
Babbling perennial brooks untamed Streaming through the fissures unstrained Limpid, pure bliss that flowed in trail Drops that converges in deep vale Sunshine buss on the dew drop plain
Kaleidoscope of light's attained The clouds that downpour unrestrained Of slushy snow, rain, mist and hail Untold moods babbling perennial.
The tranquil disposition claimed When the ripple effect is gained The existence of mortals frail When the sea swells on a large scale The basis of life unexplained Untold moods babbling perennial.
About the Poet
Aalia Liaquat is from Bangalore, India. She is a kindergarten teacher. Aalia started writing 20 years ago, although then writing happened infrequently. For the past six months, writing poetry has become Aalia’s passion. She writes mostly romantic poetry but she loves to write on different themes as well. Follow Aalia’s popular poetry on Instagram: @harvestingmind
Let us lay on the shore of this ocean and feel our love through the deserted caves of our hearts near the cold sand, imprinting our love into this cold-blooded earth and creating a masterpiece of two demons.
Let this salty water wash our love soaked bodies again and again. Let us make love laying down beneath the blue infinite sky.
Let our love be the pathway for these smiling stars till eternity. Let us spell the darkness of these gloomy nights.
Let us imprint the partial shadows of our love into the moon. Let this cold breeze purify our souls, filled with love again and again.
Let us be the verses of each others poetry Let us be the love which we wish to create till eternity.
The moment we breathe the air together is the life that sustains our love ever since the day, our hearts meet in the middle of our sadness, but let it be love that gave us hope and bind us until the last breath of our hearts.
About the Poet
Injla is a budding writer and a poet from the heart of India. She is an old soul spreading the brightness and believes writing is more about feelings from within. Injla knows exactly how it feels to break again and again, then to rise up. She holds a great faith in her heart and soul and believes that God has the best plans for her. Follow Injla’s writing on Instagram: @yourinnerself14