“Just a job–” crackled imperfections Drain each day’s joy, Stealing every drop From the surface– The sorrows of this wasteland. “I don’t care–” parched hearts Plead for belonging, Begging for an
By Gloria Gustafson Nature retreats home Friends and flaming lights bring peace As Night takes its watch Gray curtains of sky Swing aside to stained glass panes with Dawn’s housekeeping Snowdrops bend
By Anna Huttar Tangled, twisted carpet, shreds of grass Folded together into clumps of death— The fodder for a raging appetite, A carcass for the prairie’s ravening crow. The hungry flames come,
Staring at the mirror, I see a slimy something wearing broken pieces of a rotten ribcage, calcified skin clinging to the curves and the grooves and the cracks. Flesh sags off the face
My eternal calling is an artist, And my life’s work goes mostly unnoticed. Maybe you’ll spot ink on my fingertips From my pen that carries songs from seasons, Scratching words soon
Who is my father to me? Old Chevy truck, jumbled toolbox, Knicks and knacks, garage full of sawdust. Peanut shells on the floor and shelves —endless Pringle cans of bent nails. Empty hook
“Daddy, Daddy, I can’t see.” I reached up expectantly And looked into my tall dad’s face. Hoped to find on him a place To see what he could see, When I
A Light clothed once in darkness, A Hope put once to death, A Faith that once was shaken, A God who had no breath, A moan among the angels, A tremor in the
White wisps carried by the wind, Float uncharted trajectories, Waiting to be released back To the ground below–– Where wish-makers continue to blow. Lessons I’ve learned, Courage I’ve sought, Carried to
The world under a bluish-gray blanket Lies quiet and still as a child caught reading. She listens to the shudder of semi-trucks and mufflers Like a father’s obnoxious snoring. Bulbs glow ghostly
by Emily Bond weave your clover flowers into necklaces watch your goldfish crackers swim in their blue bubble bowl borrow your friend’s strawberry toothpaste that you somehow still taste fall asleep to
the joker & the queen, they said but they forgot the fool . . . the one whose face turned cherry red, and never kept her cool. the words she said never failed to fall on
Lost in a labyrinth Desperate to return To when I was carefree. Where has time hidden In this never-ending hide-and-seek? I’ve given up looking. Pleading with time to return To when I
Well-worn figures on a shelf, With shiny eyes and plastic faces And a quiet voice within That faintly calls from distant places, “Remember us, my friend! And the world that we have made
Haven Visser We whirl amidst infinity Through universes, twirl And something in us longs To seek out safety in this world But nature here is tainted These souls so full of greed What
Let’s run together, you and I, Through the floral tapestry woven in the valley As pastel nectar drips down the sunlit sky. Leave behind the deadlines and the harsh times, The rumors
Look at God’s army, And you will see an army Of outcasts, Rejected by the world, Counted as worthless and hopeless, Cast out, and wandering among strangers With no place to call
Nomad— wandering the regions of my mind, holding your shifting, fluttering skirt close to your legs, and wading through a swamp of half-remembered dreams, like colorful garments glinting through the brine. Floating fragile
The waves tower above me; My ship tosses and flounders— Subject to the sea. Where can I turn my bow? My journey continues on— Destination thought, not seen As the wind tears my
My lover grows, twisting dark roots into my hair and under my arms like a broken embrace. False affection snakes ’round my ankles and smiling, whispers, “isn’t it nice to be held?