In Dreams


By Lynn White

Do you dream in colour,
or are your dreams grey,
muted monochromes,
pale imitations of reality.
Are they flat almost featureless
in a blurred mist,
or are they stark
black and white?
No grey.
No doubt.
Are your sleeping eyes prisms
to reflect the outside in,
in a spectrum of rainbowed glory?
Or are you afraid.?
Afraid to let it enter
 your unconsciousness.
Afraid to set it free
to make a kaleidoscope 
of shades and tones
to recreate 
a new reality
in glorious colour.
Do you remember?

Lynn White’s poems have been appeared in anthologies and journals such as Vagabond Press, Apogee, Firewords, Indie Soleil, Pilcrow & Dagger and Snapdragon.


The Slightest of Things


By Dana Al Rashid

It is the slightest of things
That have the most profound of effects

It is the invisible bite of an insect
It is the enemy you least suspect

It is raindrops piercing through stone
It is the little seeds you have sown

It is the silence of words left unsaid
It is the monster hiding under your bed

It is the grass growing under your feet
It is the invisible wall of deceit

Dana Al Rashid is a writer and poet from Kuwait. She published a poetry book last year under the same name as her blog: “Reflecting Moon.”

Crows to the Rescue


By John Grey

Crows have been by
to relieve us of my dead.
A possum was squashed.
A raccoon was mangled.
A sparrow dropped from the sky.
Can’t look.
Don’t even want to think
about those carcasses being out there.
Luckily, crows have a taste for my discomfort.

John Grey’s poetry has recently appeared in The Homestead Review, Poetry East and Columbia Review. He has work upcoming in Harpur Palate, the Hawaii Review and Visions International.

The Milk


By Carolyn Black

Am a little sour today
More than half-empty
Near the end of my days
A fresher version is nearby
It looks identical to me
But holds more weight
More presence

Ah, a hand is reaching toward me
Don’t shake me like that
I might curdle

The hand picks up the other carton
Which it chooses over me
Loaded, as it is, with promise
Of rich creamy coffee
I am all but dried up
Only a thimbleful of me left
Not worth pouring

Destined for rinse then recycle
May as well
Be totally empty
Washed out



By Joan McNerney

Slides under door jambs,
pouring through windows,
painting my room black.

This evening was spent
watching old movies.
Song-and-dance actors
looping through gay,
improbable plots.

All my plates are put away,
cups hanging on hooks.
The towel is still moist.

I blow out cinnamon candles,
wafting the air with spice.
Listening now to heat
sputtering and dogs
barking at winds.

Winter pummels skeletal
trees as the moon’s big
yellow eye haunts shadows.

Joan McNerney’s poetry has appeared in Seven Circle Press, Dinner with the Muse, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze, Blueline, and Halcyon Days. Her latest title is Having Lunch with the Sky and she has four Best of the Net nominations.

Early Riser


By Boomergirl47

Such a little thing
but it keeps coming back to me …
You, in the wee hours—
waking up and sitting
on the side of the bed,
hands on your knees,
head down, gathering your wits.
You, of sound but scanty sleep,
working at all hours—
my industrious man.
I lay there half-asleep,
watching you surface,
then reached out
and squeezed your hand;
you squeezed it back
and rose to start your day.

Pottery on the Acropolis


By Brian Geiger

Sometimes, Mrs. Aubrey drops her glass.
She doesn’t hear it break. And she doesn’t see it fall.
It just scatters through the planks.
And burrows in the earth.

I often see it on the porch. Dripping and moist in the sun.
It holds the weight of ancient ruins. Unremarkable now
But indicative of something vibrant long since passed.

She knows that Henry is gone,
But some mornings she forgets and brews two cups.
That’s when she turns her porch into the Acropolis,
The proudest jewel the earth has worn. A relic of life.
Or a testament to love.
Brian Geiger is the editor of the Vita Brevis poetry magazine.