On Being Single


By Mentalistatwork

I’ll eat chocolate for breakfast
and smoke a cigarette for lunch

I’ll wear pajamas all day
and mascara all night

I’ll swipe left and right
and kiss indiscriminately

I’ll bring home an unmemorable date
and kick him out before coffee

I’ll be the person you fell for
and I’ll be single.


The Midnight Flower


By The Story Hive

A place, where the sunlight

isn’t allowed to go,

and where the starlight

falls to ground, swimming

through endless dreams,

taking refuge to shadows …

A place, forbidden to the sun,

protects those unborn, unseen,

neglected and hidden.

The most beautiful flowers

bloom under the midnight sky …

The most unique blossoms

in the land of twilight …



By Frederick Ostrovskis-Wilkes

The drought is hard,
Soil that once bore the fruit
and fed the thirst of spreading roots
now charred, sand and ash,
A cancer spreading through the plain,
Dancing on the burning graves of
those that seek the weeping rain,
Drown them, flood their wounds.

Resilient, he stands,
Leather skin with arms of spears
and pride to fill the space of fear
ravaging the lands

A warrior bound in blood
and mud to these barren sands,
Waiting for the night to call,
The pale blanket of moonlight’s shawl
to hold it,
hand in hand.

A Sister’s Goodbye


By Erik Porter

Excitement washed over him. He leapt from bed and strolled into the kitchen. Bags packed and loaded in the car last night. A punch from his sister as he ate his breakfast feast. Time slowed while Dad searched the house for missed items and Mom floated through the kitchen filling his plate again. He savored these last family moments, drawing them out like taffy.

Grandparents arrived. Time snapped back. Hugs all around. His sister wouldn’t cry, not in front of him, but he saw tears waiting. She punched him in the arm. It wouldn’t be good-bye without it.

I Won’t Go Down


By Michael Hotchkiss

The bottom beckoned
But I would not go
I yearned for help
I got hurt instead
I made my hole
It was for me to climb
I wanted a rope
I got a shovel
I was drowning in a sea of me
I needed a life boat
I got an anchor
Hope was above if I could get there
Take the boot off my head
There was a way and I found it
Toss the hurt, the shovel, the anchor, the boot
It’s my hole, it’s my sea
I won’t go down
It’s up to me

Good Intentions


By L. Stewart Marsden

He bought a used acoustic
And a Washburn mandolin
With thoughts of playing sixties tunes
On sidewalks of a mountain town
Where snow geese flocked from all around
To shop the shops for pottery
And other artsy craft;

His will to see it through
Was like his previous grandiose plans
And he hung his instruments on the wall
To either side of the pendulum clock
Which had tocked its last years before
And though the clockman swore by his skills
The pendulum remained quite still
As did the used acoustic
And the Washburn mandolin.


Uncle Eric’s Burger


By Christine Goodnough

Uncle Eric captivated the children with his alien spaceship story at the family picnic. Especially Andy, who peppered Eric with questions until mom finally shushed him.

While fixing their burgers by the grill, Andy piped up, “Uncle Eric …”

“Hush! You’ve pestered Uncle enough.”

“But Mom …”

Dad frowned. “Not another word until after dinner.” Andy sighed and shrugged.

After they’d eaten Eric said, “Now Andy, what did you want to tell me so badly before?”

“Two flies landed in the ketchup on your burger and you didn’t see when you put the top on. It doesn’t matter now. They’ve … uh … disappeared.”