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Poetry
Hammer
by Aidan Bernales Smirnoff piss in the face of Jesus Christ Leapt over in our pursuit of rundown rooms That bear no windows. We know to winnow The sheets upon the kiss of the lock and the key Or kiss our bedbug-bitten end. Ah, this city! Graffiti litanies line its fences. How they beckon me, Like the early-morning tsupers or those nocturnal Prostitutes who whistle for you. Birdsongs, I call them. And you’re quite raring to bargain, aren’t you? Strike up a conversation with th
Aidan Bernales
Menus
by Erin Jamieson cacophony of marigold taxis in cities whose perfume is Tuscan olive oil & fried cod a farewell to the Thai bistro, where you shared pad thai and he took your chopsticks a farewell to the cafe with discount espresso past mid day- he’d order two even though your mind was already racing a farewell to a family diner with sticky red polyester booths his double bacon cheeseburger dripping onto your salad plate- the salad he ordered without your consent I didn’t thi
Erin Jamieson
Community Unrest
by Carl 'Papa' Palmer Silence shattered 2am security alarm blasts a block or a mile away relentless until it stops abruptly leaving a void of non-noise yet not quiet serenity in the darkness of my bedroom did someone return home not enter the control code within the time limit push the wrong button on their car remote unable to reset in the dark or a thwarted burglary prowler frightened toward my unlocked car or yet another false alarm alerting no one not bothering to turn on
Carl 'Papa' Palmer
Three Poems by Grant A. Moore
by Grant A. Moore Anniversary the city edge, its concrete knife divides the Earth, creates a cliff the shifting gears engage to dive, a morning drive becomes a trek along the etching mountainside, the tips of which all signals die; ascending poles of cable lines, the crooked rubber vines that test the forest depth infested heights with swarming trails of valleyed years much older than the minutes here, forgotten since and gone to ground, to gravel found upon the paths unravel
Grant A. Moore
My Brother's Recipe for Mac and Cheese
by Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios He said it would make me famous this dish, made sacred with Emmenthaler sherry, a whisper of nutmeg. He said I would be famous and I am, among the neighborhood children many years ago, grimy and hungry from play jostling in the kitchen for a plateful. I ladle the macaroni and cheese in long sinewy strings, pulled from the spoon, breadcrumbs buttered and browned, a ceiling to crack into on an adventure in texture and memory, for the quiet gray
Elizabeth Kirkpatrick-Vrenios
Mindful of Your Visit and Asparagus
by Melanie Perish Asparagus—spring harvest and thick, tapered as arms. The bundle of stalks waits for olive oil, black pepper, high heat – a timer set to roast them to flavor. When you arrive next month, above me with your damp, wide shoulders, the delts, biceps, extensors – your flexors and tendons tapered to wrist. My eyes, focused on your face, will not see hands spread on either side of my naked arms. We will be heat. We may let the vegetables burn.
Melanie Perish
Generational Poetry
Poetry about the hardships of families.
Stranger
by Amber Cannon Around Thanksgiving Since my birth I have received a birthday card From my maternal grandparents Accompanied by a phone call “You got your card right, now you spend That money on something just for yourself” They’ve never missed a year Even following my grandfather’s passing The signature in the card went from Grandma and grandpap To just grandma But she maintained their schedule With worsening shaky illegible signatures Until November 2020- No card A reminder
Amber Cannon
Mar 19
My Mother's Table
by Giuseppe Farina i kept my mothers' kitchen table eight chairs long, solid wood large enough to hold a feast of plates and all of us to sit around sharing food and lives she made bread upon it, sometimes twice a week and Sicilian sweets none of us could duplicate even with her recipes found handwritten in her Sicilian slanted script if i had been born the daughter she had always yearned for could i have learned her secrets, memorized her hands as they mixed, kneaded and bak
Giuseppe Farina
Nov 20, 2025
Two Poems by Martha Clarkson
by Martha Clarkson The Last View Teenager, trying to fall asleep I worried my father would die driving home drunk, crash into the big oak along the speedy median and I’d be stuck with my mother. But when the time came at 94 it was just an undramatic fade huge oxygen tank heaving by the bed, my stepmother asleep on the living room pull-out. I paced the assisted-living halls wandered into in a game room where we’d once played bridge felt-covered card table the thrill of a six-h
Martha Clarkson
Nov 10, 2025
Nature poetry
Mushroom Gathering
by Siobhan Hodge The rules say nothing of why we should forage, only not – we’re out here alone – time to hunt with your eyes, leave the tender caps untipped, a haunt of tiny white heads, undergrowth bristling. Let the animals have them, but I wonder how they know which ones are fair or foul, food or folly. The sheep bleat on and on, distant tussocks in the fog. Goomalling rains aren’t enough to drive us off. We wander into bush, golden wood with ochre spores, creeping on fal
Siobhan Hodge
Mar 12
Two Poems by Ronan Lingatong
by Ronan Lingatong Trough I’ll count the rising of the shoulders of the waves. One. Two. Three. Four! I’ll look at its white snorting of bubbles And count again the seafoam; First to be felt are the troughs kneeling, Watch as there are more like it coming. In the second rumbling of the trough, The wind will be sucked in, prepare yourself. In the third groaning of the trough, Wrap your calloused fingers on the Lawaan gunwale In the fourth treachery of th
Ronan Lingatong
Mar 2
Myth of Harvest
by Srijani Dutta The female ones tiptoed to the forest To unburden the agonies of daily wages, Instead they heard the cries of the dead; Wind carried the leaves from the old tree And placed around the yellow swamp At the backyard of a lady’s hut; They went there to listen To the music of the earth And count fireflies like the fate lines of palms In the dark autumn night, Eyes stumbled out Reminding themselves Of their origins and history As their eyes came across None B
Srijani Dutta
Jan 8
Love poems
Poems about love, sex, and relationships.
Corazón posible
by Ted Bernal Guevara Magdalena, serve another pricey drink my way. I won’t be bitter. This evening wrecks decay. Anyway, plans with you are up a steep hill, I know. I’m just a long wait to that sacred mill. My life is far from here, from any advance. I would be lucky to have circumstance. But, Magdalena, it’s in my soul to hold you normal, to release myself of distance and bridge all abysmal, to your bright sanguine of a heart, I long to touch. I will treasure your mortal, y
Ted Bernal Guevara
Mar 4
Longing
by Steve Evans My mouth is full of the aftertaste of chocolate, of red wine’s soothing soliloquies, and many other promises, but all they really speak about is you. I’m not feeling guilty, though. What am I to do when you aren’t here except eat more chocolate and pour more wine? You could appear and close the box, recork the bottle and offer me your own sweet tastes but you’re so far away. We both know that won’t happen. Shall I grow fat on the absence of you, sing hopelessly
Steve Evans
Jan 26
Agate
by John Swain Agate the sea wreathes mosaic, we wade in the shallow, we float on gold rosettes to the diamondback sandbar, your eyes fletch the sunlight, the sun stills in prism. The sky shines to billow the skirt of your dress like a sail, you move to tilt the wild sphere, you curve to mindful blue. We wash transparent, you necklace sun inscripted on the pendant clasped with agate bound like wind behind my neck.
John Swain
Jan 7
Death poetry
Reminders of Loss
by Sam Hendrian Lay awake ‘til 6 AM Waiting for the sun to rise So the shops would be open again And the radio would play something more relatable. The happiest day of the year Is the most miserable for many Who are forced to remember someone they’ve lost Or imagine having someone to lose. Thankfully it didn’t snow To add insult to injury Although the iciness of the air Failed to give hope that somebody might care. No presents to wrap, No wine bottles to cap Other than a sing
Sam Hendrian
Jan 28
Two Poems by J.D. Isip
by J.D. Isip Lavender Shrubs Never as many flowers as we imagined, yet see how sturdy they are, how strong the scent like your skin out...
J.D. Isip
Jul 10, 2025
Unbreakable Bond
by Debadrita Sarkar The old lady picks up the auspicious white flowers, binds them with a black ribbon, all together. A soft match but...
Debadrita Sarkar
Jun 26, 2025
Food poetry
Poems about food, cooking, and the love of sharing meals.
Menus
by Erin Jamieson cacophony of marigold taxis in cities whose perfume is Tuscan olive oil & fried cod a farewell to the Thai bistro, where you shared pad thai and he took your chopsticks a farewell to the cafe with discount espresso past mid day- he’d order two even though your mind was already racing a farewell to a family diner with sticky red polyester booths his double bacon cheeseburger dripping onto your salad plate- the salad he ordered without your consent I didn’t thi
Erin Jamieson
3 days ago
Mindful of Your Visit and Asparagus
by Melanie Perish Asparagus—spring harvest and thick, tapered as arms. The bundle of stalks waits for olive oil, black pepper, high heat – a timer set to roast them to flavor. When you arrive next month, above me with your damp, wide shoulders, the delts, biceps, extensors – your flexors and tendons tapered to wrist. My eyes, focused on your face, will not see hands spread on either side of my naked arms. We will be heat. We may let the vegetables burn.
Melanie Perish
Mar 26
Two Poems by Ronan Lingatong
by Ronan Lingatong Trough I’ll count the rising of the shoulders of the waves. One. Two. Three. Four! I’ll look at its white snorting of bubbles And count again the seafoam; First to be felt are the troughs kneeling, Watch as there are more like it coming. In the second rumbling of the trough, The wind will be sucked in, prepare yourself. In the third groaning of the trough, Wrap your calloused fingers on the Lawaan gunwale In the fourth treachery of th
Ronan Lingatong
Mar 2
Urban poetry
Hammer
by Aidan Bernales Smirnoff piss in the face of Jesus Christ Leapt over in our pursuit of rundown rooms That bear no windows. We know to winnow The sheets upon the kiss of the lock and the key Or kiss our bedbug-bitten end. Ah, this city! Graffiti litanies line its fences. How they beckon me, Like the early-morning tsupers or those nocturnal Prostitutes who whistle for you. Birdsongs, I call them. And you’re quite raring to bargain, aren’t you? Strike up a conversation with th
Aidan Bernales
21 hours ago
Community Unrest
by Carl 'Papa' Palmer Silence shattered 2am security alarm blasts a block or a mile away relentless until it stops abruptly leaving a void of non-noise yet not quiet serenity in the darkness of my bedroom did someone return home not enter the control code within the time limit push the wrong button on their car remote unable to reset in the dark or a thwarted burglary prowler frightened toward my unlocked car or yet another false alarm alerting no one not bothering to turn on
Carl 'Papa' Palmer
Apr 2
Three Poems by Grant A. Moore
by Grant A. Moore Anniversary the city edge, its concrete knife divides the Earth, creates a cliff the shifting gears engage to dive, a morning drive becomes a trek along the etching mountainside, the tips of which all signals die; ascending poles of cable lines, the crooked rubber vines that test the forest depth infested heights with swarming trails of valleyed years much older than the minutes here, forgotten since and gone to ground, to gravel found upon the paths unravel
Grant A. Moore
Mar 31
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