Beach or Pool

By Dianne Moritz

Beach or pool?
You decide.
At least most pools have a slide.

Still …
Nothing beats the splashing tide,
roiling surf, soft ocean breeze,
sunning, napping near the shore,
wading, jogging, and much more.

Yet …
Here’s what some folks just can’t stand:
No escaping all that sand …
Sticking to annoying places:
inside suits, in ears, on faces.

So…
Beach or pool?
No contest!
For beach bums and surfers …
beach is best!

              
“Sometimes I write just for fun, but still dream of collecting my drabble in a book.” – the writer

God Forgot

By Sallie Crotty

God forgot
to create us
with masks
PPE to bind
our skeletons
as the blood sprays
and sticks
like sap
to our
fingernails, our
knuckles, fists
bound, yet ready
for the punch, the
kill, the weapon
to crack,
to smash the air
framing our eyes
holes
as mirrors of
the planet, the people
clawing their bed covers
pull me out,
we scream
we shudder
as our
fingertips press
the lover
next to us
carved into
our
sacred space

              
“Writing fuels me with joy, energy, and purpose. It’s vital to me.” – the writer

Rust

By Jace Elson

It starts in the factory
and eats its way out.
toilets in the front yard,
sagging swing-sets in the back.
houses that go for half
that you gotta hose the
Rust
out of.

It starts in the factory,
but it don’t stay there.
broken fences in the back yard,
junkers in the front.
people that leave for better
that learn you can’t leave the
Rust
behind.

It starts in the factory,
and seeps into me.
Town’s in my veins,
Death’s in my bones.
cause the iron that’s in blood,
that’ll
Rust
just like towns.

             
“I write because I’m searching for magic.” – the writer

Forging A Path

By Bruce Levine

Forging a path
through the wilderness
of the technological age
Stratum unknown
and unresolved
by the uninitiated
Thrust in out of
necessity into dark corners
previously disdained

              
“I write because ideas form and I feel compelled to share them.” – the writer

Pieces

By Kelley Morris

Broken bodies
Broken glass
Broken hearts
So many pieces to pick up
Although they may not be my own
They clearly lay in front of me
Scattered across the landscape
Of my city
Of my state
Of my country
Yet, love has not disappeared
It continues to weave
In and out of even the darkest days
Mingling with the broken pieces
Mending hearts
Mending lives
Mending souls
Offering flickers of hope
Amid feelings of despair
Showing us how to begin
Picking up the pieces

               
Kelley Morris is most comfortable when sitting at the piano. She loves writing honest, personal reflections of life.

on gratitude

By Nancy Elliott

early evening blushes
with a deepening streak of pink
sun sinks into the earth
the glow darkens
into inky blue

there
a star comes out
then another
soon the heavens are an endless sweep
a breath

that pulls me
up up up
into the mystery
around me
inside me

i am but another star
as incomprehensibly beautiful as this boundless sky
that holds me
as I yet behold
my heart full with it
full with it
shimmering

              
“The author walks, runs, hikes, looks up at the stars, dreams, loves, wonders, explores, and then words tumble out.” – the writer

Rookflight

By sarahsouthwest

Suddenly they rise –
we heard no signal,
but they know to go up
together, and twist
and turn in a maelstrom
of black wings
and guttural croaks,
impossibly high,
for no reason
we can see,
except the delight
of flight,
last sight of sun.

              
“I write because I want to make sense of the world, and share that sense with others. I write because it’s easier than meditating. I write because I love reading.” – the writer

Please Love Responsibly

By Sofia Gamba

You love with the heart
Of an unloved man
Pitied for your part
Never sure if you can.

Claiming uncharted shores
And skies of deepest blue
While opening doors
That you would never walk through.

I don’t understand
Cherished everyday
Why you play the unloved man
When you know a better way.

Now your tears fall
Demanding an apology
That I didn’t call.
Oh, sweet tragedy!

Chin up darling.
You’ll find someone new
As soon as you stop pretending
To be the broken-hearted fool.

               
I write to relax and unravel the knots in my spaghetti brain.

Purity of Blood

By Marcin Kozak

pegasi do not like unicorns
and vice versa

pegasi envy unicorns their horns
unicorns envy pegasi their wings

this reluctance does not prevent them
from copulating together
they hope for a better future
for their children:
unicorns with wings
pegasi with horns

apparently
they’re unfamiliar with
the idea of
purity of blood

              
“I’m writing from the woods, and the woods shape me and what I write.” – the writer

The Night Bus

By Shaily Agrawal

I took the night bus
draped in my wedding sari,
still adorned with the jewels
my parents had scrounged for me
over the years,
breaking their tender hearts
for raising a daughter unworthy.

I sought you
and the answer to
why I wasn’t enough for you.
I hope, they wouldn’t
cremate my body
before I reach you.

              
“I’m working-from-home mother and a small-town woman with a skewed perspective. My stories write themselves.” – the writer