Through the Trees


By czvasser

Through the trees
bonfire bright
did you see the flames

Log upon log
tinder and my tender heart
waiting watching

The flames flame then
die wood
becomes embers
stirred by branched memories

Lights at tunnels end
leading to conclusions
that do not fruit

Sunrise slithers
among the smoke
choking the last glow
of you and me
leaving the residue
of tearless goodbyes.



By mahbuttitches

When people asked her what she couldn’t live without, she’d smile and say, “My journal.” People would nod politely. The truth was, though, without her journal, she couldn’t remember who she was. In a mixture of different handwriting and emotion, memories poured out of her mind in a desperate attempt to be recalled. Inevitably, something would scatter it all for her. She saw herself as a little girl building beautiful sandcastles of memories in her mind, as waves of trauma wiped them away. She had learned to cope, but nothing could prepare her for the day her journal was stolen.

When the Sun Dies Out


By Danielle

A hope for light from stars too distant to yet touch down on earth. A firefly trying its best to illuminate rooms as dark as pitch. The center of gravity, the cause for grounding: removed remainders floating free. Tangent to a rounded path: collision course unsettling. Days or nights untold unending in a darkness colored dim. The ups the downs the highs or lows: learning to sink, trying to swim. A warmth unknown to future generations: a unifying force turned shared tragedy. Come together to stand by fire? No: we’ll kill each other first; we’d rather freeze.

The Harrier


By Edd B. Jennings

Last night,
When I returned from my hunt,
A harrier,
Made his characteristic
Low, undulating sweep
Across the low brush.
When something on the ground interested him,
He stopped in place
In the full hover only the harrier
Can accomplish.
He was out again this morning.
He has his hunt,
I mine.

How Will the Republic Fall?


By Dan Blum

How will the republic fall?
A raging mob that storms the wall?
Waving Uzi and grenade?
Ransacking through some hallowed hall?

Because we chose of our free will
A false Messiah to fulfill
A vain and haughty dream
Proclaim our greatness on live-stream,
Lead us through a heavenly door,
And poof our nation is no more.

For all we hold most dear, that seems
So permanent, so set
Is in truth as delicate

As a glassy crust of ice
That forms upon an April night
And melts off in the morning light

The Old Pioneer Cemetery


By Jane Yunker

Shadows drift among the stones,
breezes telling stories,
memories, soft whispers,
to the nesting birds
and the humming bees
that drink the nectar
of wild flowers cooled by dew,
heated by the mid-day sun.

Morning, afternoon, evening,
shadows grow long, fading into night.
No one stops to wonder, to walk
among those who came before.
No one notices the leaning fence,
the rusted gate hanging on a single hinge,
its crumbling corner anchored by weeds
grown tall, tangled with the years.

Only shadows drift among the stones.

Jane Yunker’s most recent publications include Creative Wisconsin, Oshkosh Independent, Living and Playing Magazine, and the Hometown Gazette.