October 28, 2018

Windows of Promise / Moon Child by Penny Wilson

Windows of Promise

Tangled vines
Climb the wall
Roses cling tight

Windows clouded
With yesterday’s

Sunshine through
Tarnished panes
And chipped wishes

Tomorrows left behind
Gazed through
Windows of promise

Moon Child

My moon child.
With alabaster skin and a
Stardust twinkle in your eyes.
You walk among the blooms
Kissing each with dew as
The morn approaches.
You sleep away the sun
To kiss the flowers
Once again
Under the stars.

Penny Wilson is a freelance writer who writes in several genres.  She's had a successful blog with a growing and loyal following for more than 5 years.  Penny has written articles for Counseling Directory .org, Introvert Dear .com, and WOW Women on Writing.  Her poetry has been published on Ariel Chart, a monthly online Journal and Spill Words Press.  She is currently working on her first novel.  

October 24, 2018

Fading Into Dawn by Steve Klepetar

Here a silent space, snow on the mountain  
where boulders grow beyond streams 
cut from glacial ice. Nobody speaks. 
Wind trembles and far away 
a storm blossoms beneath clouds.
A woman wakes up humming,
eyes rimmed with sleep.
All night she has ridden a dream.
Her face is a cloud wrapped around a cliff,
or darkness fading into dawn.
There are candles, and shadows on the snow.
A voice cries in the pines.
All morning I have felt the breath 
of winter as it curls around my head. 
There are wolves hidden in the thickets here. 
You feel their breath, the purple shadows of their fur. 

Steve Klepetar lives in the Berkshires in Massachusetts. His work has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Klepetar is the author of fourteen poetry collections, the most recent of which are A Landscape in Hell (Flutter Press) and Why Glass Shatters (One Sentence Chaps).

October 23, 2018

The Story of Forever by Sandy Benitez

The birch tree on the corner 
lot held secrets the wind 
could only keep for so long.   

Seasons tend to change the view.  
A small, black heart was etched 
carefully onto the white bark.   

Drawn by hands that touched and 
felt passion's eternal pull. 
The initials T.L. and D.S. were 

scrolled inside like handwritten 
letters on parchment.  I didn't 
know who these lovers were  

but I knew their story well;  
he was Romeo and she, Juliet. 
My tears urged me to walk on. 

I didn't want to leave the feeling. 
Love was here, still waiting for
them to write the word "Forever." 

Sandy Benitez is the editor of Poppy Road Review and Night Garden Journal.  Her recent poetry chapbook, Cherry Blossom Days, was published by Woodhaven Press.  When not watching movies or reading, she likes coffee, forests, and the paranormal.

October 22, 2018

Slowly Passing / Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis by Ken Allan Dronsfield

Slowly Passing

Of shallow labored breaths
a lone kiss in the of predawn,
rattle and hum whispers within,
wish only sleep during cold times.
Yellowish orbs dart all about trees,
kisses spread from the tip of sprigs
spiraling down into the old garden
I try to reach out and touch them.
My ride takes us through the gates
grass glistens in the carriage-lights
touch of frost left upon a naked leaf
skies of yesterday; dreams of today.
Albino raven's roost in the old cedar
pious penance delivered by rosary.
Moldy smell of freshly shoveled earth
thoughts linger within lofty reflections;
the things that can never be unseen
a taste of solace within old memories.
Prayers answered with a lilac scent
I feel small in this time of my passing
Resurrection Lilies sprouting nearby
fragrant Red Roses whisper to me.

Arbor of Wisteria and Clematis

I reflect upon the lavender Wisteria;
the lilacs and lonely gardenias.
I uncover the grand butterfly bush
Quoth the Nepeta, 'keep to the path'.
Those shrubby pussy willows bloom,
a burning felt deep within the Clematis.
What could be more purely aglow?
Pumpkins sit by bundled corn husks.
Only this and a Thimble-berry pie.
There perched a crow upon the arbor
craving the bi-colored, brag bonnet.
A harlequin colored sky now aflame
The rooster never asked for the time.
Orange bells fall from the trumpet vine,
first touch of frost kisses a naked leaf.
leaves soar and spin in the north winds
shake the arbor of wisteria and clematis.

Ken Allan Dronsfield is an award winning poet and fabulist from New Hampshire, now living in Oklahoma. He has three poetry collections, "The Cellaring", 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work. His second book, "A Taint of Pity", contains 52 Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection. Ken's third poetry collection, "Zephyr's Whisper", 64 Poems and Parables of a Seasonal Pretense is now available from Amazon or Barnes and Noble.  Ken loves writing, hiking, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy. 

October 21, 2018

Benevolence / Harvest Moon by Michael Keshigian

Fall approached
with tender kiss
and startling display
gently unhooking
the verdant dress of summer
who blushed 
and dropped soft petals
to the ground
emerging pale and tired
in the unfamiliar setting
then curled
to keep herself warm
till a bearded man arrived
with white garb
to comfort her.


Flame red, 
a bouncing balloon,
every year
the harvest moon rolls
upon the hills
on the bottom of the sky
till dusk departs,
then it floats upward,
a gold coin in the deep dark pocket,
treading heaven gingerly,
a bassoon melody
amid the starry ostinato.
The Earth replies, 
a subtle hum,
oaks and elms kneel in vigil,
moonlit cows, astonished,
stare as the glow swells.
It sings 
until heaven is filled
with orange splendor,
plains of wheat respond
as flaxen fields melt.

Michael Keshigian, from New Hampshire, has been published in numerous national and international journals, recently including Aji, San Pedro River Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, Muddy River Review, Passager and has appeared as feature writer in over twenty publications with 6 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. 

October 17, 2018

Memory Stick by David Chorlton

Surprises fall from the sky. Today it’s rain,
another time
a sequined purse came down
and sparkled with cheap gold on the sidewalk.
Right now a dark hawk
passes smoothly overhead, an invisible hand
makes ripples in standing water
and a moth that darkness left behind
is clinging to the window screen.
A book describing
seven Chakras fluttered down
beside the road and lay there for weeks,
a piece of corrugated cardboard inked
to plead for help
rests on the ground close to
a freeway ramp, and Heaven help us
someone lost their
toothpaste and a bracelet
on a quiet suburban street. The wind
can’t tell a summons from
a shopping list when
it blows them across an intersection
already littered with the glass
from a headlight and a buckled length of chrome
from when two cars collided on their way
between the stars. And almost imperceptible
is the tiny flash drive
that landed in a parking lot, which,
when plugged into a personal computer,
reveals the history it has carried
through the universe
of how everything began, but refuses
to disclose from which
of many gods it came.

David Chorlton is a transplanted European, who has lived in Phoenix since 1978. His poems often reflect his affection for the natural world, as well as occasional bewilderment at aspects of human behavior. A recent collection of poems is Bird on a Wire from Presa Press, and The Bitter Oleander Press published Shatter the Bell in my Ear, his translations of poems by Austrian poet Christine Lavant. A new book, Reading T. S. Eliot to a Bird, is out from Hoot ‘n Waddle, based in Phoenix.

October 16, 2018

Cold Rain / Hay Wheels Upright by Phil Huffy

cold rain
winter’s exit music
plays on and on

hay wheels upright
for livestock

Phil Huffy thinks on his feet and writes at the kitchen table.  When he tried the other way around he kept writing about food. Recent placements include Orchards Poetry, The Lyric, Sarasvati (UK) 50 Word Stories and several haiku journals.