“Airplane Mode”


By D.F. Parizeau

In the


between hurricanes, expired passports
and paper planes, I’ve spent too
many days contemplating

my retreat;

bridges mean


to those with wings.

The pain of leaving


crimson in my chest.

Must I fall before first flight?
Skin raw from each defeat:

I jump,

I fall,

I fly.


Frozen Leaves


By Eliannamayer

Frozen leaves,
Don’t exhibit much life.
Caught in a moment between.

Captured and captivated,
In intricacies good and bad.
Lush green, jammed
Icy cold.

If you drop it cold, it will break.
and I,
looking at this frozen leaf
ask for a similar fate.
Icy, cold has no time for warm emotion
Numb is the way to go.

Feeling broken inside, go ahead and break me.
I too am caught in a moment between,
almost feeling hopeful and inevitable dread.
It seems, the girl with blisters is better dead.

Lots, Items, Knacks, Everything


By Deb Whittam

To the counter she marched
resolute, chin held high as
she looked the shopkeeper
directly in the eye.

That painting, there, the one
above the door, I’ll give
you twenty dollars,
not a penny more.

Silence met her words
but with a nod he agreed
and painting in her hand, she smirked,
there had been no need to plead.

At home she unwrapped
her highly sought after prize
only to discover on the frame
a notation that made shock arise.

twenty she had paid,
twenty she had offered,
but the tag clearly stated
clearance – just one dollar.

The Gardener


By GriffithsKL

Under an organic coverlet
tangled roots channel through clay.
Each threadlike finger, a plunge
into dark, moist, fecund paradise.

The shape is defined, turned, hoed.
A spade and a savage push cuts through.

The oily scrape of metal on soil
churns up segmented, sinuous miners
the color of waggling tongues.
And leggy parasites, their sultry wind
through fathomage interrupted.

The bed, sedulously furrowed and sown
by a calloused and grime-lined hand

Silence, as unseen feasts, a million quickenings
and a thousand microscopic fornications explode within.