By Toni G.
Let’s not do this she said. You
know who we are Jake, we’re
writers and if things don’t work
out we’ll end up writing about
each other. So, let’s not do this.
We were eye to eye then. The closeness
of her lips proving almost too great
a temptation for my willpower.
I took a deep breath, and tried to wash
the vision of her perfect lips from my mind.
Awkwardly, we walked to the no. 2 train
station, her headed downtown back
to Brooklyn, me uptown back to the Bronx.
Toni G writes poetry, flash fiction and song lyrics. She believes that everyone is a poet and writes because there’s so much to say.
By R. Hegland
There is something to be said
for the dull ache in your belly
that always appears when you think of home.
The longing so heavy in its familiarity
that you can barely stomach it.
R. Hegland is a student from Norway pursuing a BA in History – for what purpose remains unknown.
By Dianne Moritz
That house is lonely now.
First my dog, next your old cat.
No one expected a cancer,
So quick and greedy.
How I miss your laugh,
Blaze of blue eyes as you
Spoke of love and work,
Offered sage advice.
I miss these happy sounds:
Ice tossed in a glass,
Jazz in the background,
The unlikeliness of us
Being together there.
Those brief moments,
Memories so clear,
while the house stands
Bereft now, cold, empty as air.
Dianne Moritz enjoys capturing brief moments in time, celebrating trials, tribulations, and beauty of life. She dreams of publishing a book of drabble.
By Ron. Lavalette
He watches everything around him
unfolding in super-slow-motion,
but no one else seems to notice
despite the fact that they’ve all
been standing in line for days.
Even though the line never moves,
everyone banters and chatters away
at a normal pace. No one else
seems to notice that everyone’s
clearly frozen, motionless, in place.
Ron. Lavalette lives on the Canadian border in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. His debut chapbook, Fallen Away, is now available from Finishing Line Press.
By John L. Malone
Can I speak my mind?
I never know where I am with you.
One minute you’re stable.
The next you’re like a wind turbine
When the wind blows.
One evening you’re a calm sunset..
The next you blaze like a wildfire.
You unnerve me.
You’re a fruit loop.
A loose cannon.
An IED waiting to be stepped on.
But you’re mine.
I’m responsible for you.
So give me a break now and then.
Rein yourself in.
Don’t go off the rails.
I keep a close watch on you,
This mind of mine.
John Malone is pushing the envelope, thinking outside the square and still trying to make sense.
By Nayana Nair
I tell my friends
that “I’ll probably die of loneliness.”
They smile and reply “Me too.”
I wish I had told them “I love you” instead.
Nayana is an engineer and a technical writer who moonlights as an amateur poet. “Writing for me is a process of self-realization and an effort to understand what is ever elusive.”
By Christopher Lettera
I couldn’t save
my father the
night his heart
the horizon of
the EMT who
left his bag at
He followed me
back to the house
and before he left,
on reflex, I offered him:
water, green tea, a granola bar.
Christopher Lettera teaches poetry writing and fiction writing at Youngstown State University. He received the Robert R. Hare Award for Fiction and placed as runner-up in the Ohio River Valley Chapter of the National Society of Arts and Letters Short Story Writing Competition. His poetry has appeared in 4th and Sycamore; his fiction in Crack the Spine, Jersey Devil Press, Literary Orphans, and Postcard Shorts, and was selected for The 2015 Jersey Devil Press Anthology. He has been twice nominated for the Pushcart Prize.