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Poetry
While Listening to the Evening News
by Alex Sy The sky, the sudden flare— the sky, vast, immeasurable. The glare—see how we dare to risk falling off the cliff high up where the distant stairs declare allegiance to this world. We claim to pull our hearts open, to bear— The highway lights in rows like aisle angels in heaven melt in the eye. The mullahs in Iran convene like crows. Meanwhile, my people swarm the floating Nazarene as if everything depended on it.
Alex Sy
A Hole in My Heart
by Debadrita Sarkar I have a hole in my heart, where a flower blooms everyday, to solace my soul. But, once my aunt said It is hard to breathe sometimes, right? and once, my best friend pitied for me, for the disgrace of God, in my heart. But, the hole never leaves me, in spite of all the curses and scars. Instead, the hole showed me dreams at nights, explaining and splitting the society from my own soul. And when I sit on my bench, all alone, the hole in
Debadrita Sarkar
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
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
Generational Poetry
Poetry about the hardships of families.
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
Granduncle Nyong
by Laurehl Onyx Cabiles My bachelor granduncle always sits on the corner of the terrace made out of bamboo, unpacking old Bibles, reading...
Laurehl Onyx Cabiles
Aug 17, 2025
Nature poetry
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
Heads or Tails
by Kersten Christianson Another summer road trip and she was off the island like a chickadee in flight. Winters were for clam digging by lantern, gathering, steaming, chowdering of bivalves; whereas summers were for pickle hunting, parachuting into one Saturday market, or another, searching for the best, magic dill pickles jarred by hand, proffered by cornichon connoisseurs. Saturday markets sparkle like a campfire. Iridescent bubbles drift on the warm winds, flutter around s
Lynn Peterson
Dec 17, 2025
Two Poems by Doug Tanoury
by Doug Tanoury Hudson River Day Line I would walk to the river in the morning To watch the sunrise In the early days after I left her For no reason other than — I Could! And every personal choice I made Conferred some dignity on me. The sunlight on the blue water paved A golden path to each new day, And I listened to the soft respiration Of the river, the sleepy, quiet sounds On a summer morning That I alone heard. The Redness of the Morning Light It was an ocherous sunrise,
Doug Tanoury
Dec 10, 2025
Love poems
Poems about love, sex, and relationships.
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
Wilted
by Erin Jamieson We meet by the same pebbled bridge from a decade, maybe two decades ago your freckled face now lined with wrinkles my...
Erin Jamieson
Sep 21, 2025
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.
Heads or Tails
by Kersten Christianson Another summer road trip and she was off the island like a chickadee in flight. Winters were for clam digging by lantern, gathering, steaming, chowdering of bivalves; whereas summers were for pickle hunting, parachuting into one Saturday market, or another, searching for the best, magic dill pickles jarred by hand, proffered by cornichon connoisseurs. Saturday markets sparkle like a campfire. Iridescent bubbles drift on the warm winds, flutter around s
Lynn Peterson
Dec 17, 2025
Three Poems by Vivian Faith Prescott
by Vivian Faith Prescott What To Do If You Crave Fish Tacos? 1. Wake up in the 4:00 a.m. daylight. 2. You’ve packed your go-fish bag the night before— notebook, pen, snacks. Don’t forget the herring bait. 3. You and your husband and dogs load up the boat at the nearby harbor. 4. Decide on salmon or halibut before you go—halibut it is. 5. Your father’s been gone-fishin’ in the spirit world for 6 months now, so head to his favorite bay. 6. At the halibut hole, jig and jig to th
Vivian Faith Prescott
Dec 3, 2025
Marzipan
by Diane Funston The pastry held no visual memory. Round, flat, sugar-iced, upheld on a crystal platform, cut into rustic triangles, dessert after literary repast. After the first taste, memories melted as a moist dense almond filling from the flaky butter shell broke, sugar coating cracked, mixed together, like old photographs in a newly unstuck drawer. After the third sneaky slice, I was lost in grandmothers kitchen, at my old vinyl upholstered chair, coffee time in late af
Diane Funston
Dec 1, 2025
Urban poetry
Three Poems by Ibrar Sami
by Ibrar Sami Return The city is strewn with bodies, Just now, a few return alive. At the bus stand, a guest was supposed to arrive, Instead, a famished soul has brought the news. The stray dogs on the street, halted in their unadulterated mating rituals, stand frozen in their tracks. To uncover the truth behind the veil, with paralyzed consciences, every single scoundrel has lined up in waiting. Suddenly, a stranger, carrying a fiery blaze within his chest, stands at the cro
Ibrar Sami
Dec 15, 2025
The Abandoned Asylum
by John Grey Wind pierces the gaps in brick, the cracks in windows. The patients, nurses, doctors, have long gone. The current occupant is presence. It was closed for lack of funds is the usual story. But some say shuttered because its cures were much too cruel, that the screams of patients can still be heard in its drab rooms, down empty corridors. There’s some who worked there still alive but they bite their tongues when questioned. To commune with the inmates, I suggest vi
John Grey
Aug 24, 2025
Winter Boy
by Mary Bone I looked out of my window on a cold night. I saw a young boy down below on the street. He didn't have a jacket or hat on. Large holes were in his jeans. Ice covered my window. I couldn't see him anymore. Every morning, I saw him shivering below and then he seemed to vanish. I threw jackets and scarves down from my window. I left food in a sack on the sidewalk. Winter boy never came back and vanished from my thoughts, now frozen.
Mary Bone
Aug 5, 2025
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