Years later, we drive home – Michael H. Brownstein

 

Drive with me through this field of prayer,

through mudflats and iron foot,

the eulogy deep and dried passion fruit,

the salt of columbine, a terrain of frenzy,

lacewing and the yellow mollies of spring,

milk and milk thistle, a porcelain of words.

 

Drive with me past the girth of oak,

the prayer tree, the blue iris,

purple passion, the field of glories

behind the back forty no one touches.

Share with me wild onion, mint,

dandelion leaves and acorn meat,

the edible leaves of the Acacia.

 

Drive with me. Share my bounty.

The eulogy premature, prayer alive in flower

and grass, blossom and honey bee, a porcelain

of words, of muscle cars and beaters,

this car we are in now going home again

a strength in who we really are.

Brighten your day.

 

 

unnamed (3)Michael H. Brownstein’s work has appeared in American Letters and Commentary, Skidrow Penthouse, Convergence, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review, and others. In addition, he has nine poetry chapbooks including A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004), Firestorm: A Rendering of Torah (Camel Saloon Press, 2012), and The Possibility of Sky and Hell: From My Suicide Book (White Knuckle Press, 2013). He is the admin for project Agent Orange (projectagentorange.com).

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Of Wind and Rain – Arlene Antoinette

 

As he stood looking through the back window

at my english tea roses,

he said he couldn’t tell the difference

between the movement of the flowers

from the wind or from the rain.

How could you not, I replied,

confused by his lack of eyesight and insight.

 

When my roses are moved by the wind,

they move as one. Pink headed soldiers

lead by a strict drill sergeant,

each unwilling to be called out

for breaking formation

or for being the weak link in the chain.

Eager recruits desiring to satisfy their sergeant’s

every whim.

 

When my roses are moved by the rain,

each petal dances independently of the others

to the rhythm of the raindrops.

A single drop kissing the petal,

like a passionate lover

toying with his sweetheart’s emotions.

I can almost hear their squeals of delight

floating through the air.

 

He laughed, saying I was foolish 

to have given so much thought 

to such an insignificant thing. 

I cried, thinking him thoughtless

for ignoring one of the small beauties

of this world.

 

 

Arlenstillmyeyee Antoinette enjoys writing poetry and flash fiction. More of her work may be found at: Sick Lit Mag, GIRLSENSE AND NONSENSE, Boston Accent Lit and The Ginger Collect.

Lyrical Swells – Ken Allan Dronsfield

 

Starlight stirs my coffee

the moon a soft croissant

lilac or lace win my flavor

new tidal ebb in accession.

Impassioned lyrical swells

sunny haze; dust in rhyme.

biscuits aligned on a doily

the black tea steeps alone.

April’s innocence bygone

the leaves waiting to glide

orange orbs in the garden

memories of my June bride.

 

Ken Allan Dronsfield, Bio PictureKen Allan Dronsfield is a poet who was nominated for The Best of the Net and 2 Pushcart Awards for Poetry in 2016. His poetry has been published world-wide in various publications throughout North and South America, Europe, Asia, Australia and Africa. His work has appeared in The Burningword Journal, Belle Reve Journal, Setu Magazine, The Literary Hatchet Magazine, The Stray Branch, Now Then Manchester, Bewildering Stories, Scarlet Leaf Review. EMBOSS Magazine and many more. Ken loves thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night, and spending time with his cat Willa. Ken’s new book, The Cellaring, a collection of haunting, paranormal, weird and wonderful poems, has been released and is available through Amazon. He is the co-editor of two poetry anthologies, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze and Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available from Amazon.

 

An honest request – Kieran Rundle

 

Do not tell me of love.

Tell me instead of passion;

of secrets, of hope.

 

Tell me the stories that the willow branches

whisper to one another in crossing

as they wrinkle the still pond,

and disrupt the merriment

of the minnows.

 

Speak to me in the tongues of stones,

of sand grains, side by side,

thrust together by the bellows of the ocean,

and the grating crinkle

of being tossed once more into the fray.

 

Show me the glowworms that hide

behind the moss curtains of your eyelids.

Let them expand to

illuminate your freckles,

your smile.

 

We are not two people thrust together.

We are not two lovers sharing our bed of thorns.

We have sewn our clothes from threads of memories

and garnished them with beads of teeth

lost by young mouths

as they grew old enough to forget.

 

We are two ecosystems, conjoined.

We are intertwined closer than the roots of a carrot,

twisting into themselves.

We are seeds, yet to bloom, but cracking

the cases of ourselves.

 

Bring me yourself, so that I may do the same.

Together we will explore the forbidden craters

of this world

and only the truth

will leave our tongues.

 

kr2016Kieran Rundle, a high school student, is the owner and editor-in-chief for Sincerely Magazine LLC. She is on the staff for Miracle Magazine, and has worked for three years as an upper editor on Albemarle High School’s Literary Magazine. She is an award winning artist, poet, prose writer, and playwright. Her work can be found in a plethora of places including Charlottesville Area Transit Bu
sses, The UVA Special Collections Library, Quail Bell Online Magazine, and the Crossroads III Anthology.  She is also an avid theatre kid, cat lover, stargazer, cookie eater, and chocolate addict. Find her at redbubble.com/people/owlgirl.