The Last Word


By John L. Malone

You always want the last word.
Do you ever look at yourself in the mirror, question yourself?
You like things open and shut. In neat little packages.
Even when we can’t see you, we hear you.
I’ll give you this. You go about your work quietly, not like your loud, foot-stomping cousins,
But you could loosen up, give others a go.
I know in some countries you go by a different name,
But a rose by any other name is still a rose
And a full stop by any other term is still a full stop.


His Smile


By Dianne Moritz

My love has a smile
That could melt the sun.
His lips curl up,
Like Alice’s Cheshire,
Exposing teeth, perfect
In their imperfection.
Deep laugh lines score
His cheeks, dark eyes,
That spark with teasing.
He’s a happy guy
Think passersby,
Dazzled by his
Glittering charm.
My love has a smile
That could melt the sun,
Eclipse the stars,
Sear the hearts
Of a thousand women.
Yet, when he smiles
For me, I wonder …
What lies beneath?

Dianne Moritz’s poems have appeared in Earth’s Daughters, Long Island Quarterly and other journals, as well as online in Adelaide Literary, The Haiku Foundation and Haiku Universe.



By Goff James

Within the poisoned prison
Of my troubled mind
I lock myself away
Trying to forget
The fears of yesterday
Praying for tomorrow
That all will pass away
In a state of anxiety
Coping with today
Within the poisoned prison
Of my troubled mind
I lock myself away

Living in La La Land


By Dianne Moritz

Frank Lloyd Wright said:
Tip the world on edge and everything
Loose ends up in Los Angeles.
He didn’t consider the see-saw effect:
Precarious balance, sudden
Jar when things shift back.
You’d understand, after mind-numbing
Encounters on Long Island.
Surfer Joe, high on fiberglass,
Life in the curl; caregiver, Larry,
Living for poems in Mommy’s attic;
Alex, his teeth lost singing
Too close to a mic, rockstar fantasies
Floating in marijuana clouds.
Illusions choke on coke, booze,
Whatever’s your poison.
L.A. has no lock on locos or losers.
Dreams shatter, scatter, die,
While Mother Earth spins on …

Dreamscapes and Desires


By Paula Jay

In my dream
I had you pinned,
Sitting on you, pummeling your face
With my balled up fist.
Your ‘loved ones’ stood behind me
Saying, “Stop” and “Don’t do that” and “Oh, no,”
Lacking any conviction in their muttered words
While you uttered tiny hisses
But never resisted my sharp knuckles,
My hatred,
My anguish.
You knew you deserved it.
In my dream
It felt so good.