Waiting it Out

By Annie Harpel

hold on to the stars
during the darkness of the new moon

with each night
there will be more light
until it comes full circle again

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“(I write) to try and fulfill my purpose.” – the writer

Jaded Jaspers and One Other Poem

By Angela Moore

Everyone hunts for perfect gems.
While I reflect on perfectly flawed stones.
Precious ones.
Handsomely jaded Jaspers.
Once mine.
Somehow lost along life’s journey.
Priceless jewels from the sands of my past.

Taken for Granite

I might not have glitter,
but I do have a mine of sparkling memories.
My dreams may never manifest,
but I relish my rocky reality.
Maybe the key to finding happiness
was valuing all the diamonds I took for granite.

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Angela Moore “loves writing because it’s a powerful way to convey emotion.”

Angles of Light – A Trio of Skinny Poems

By Tyrean Martinson

Refracted light bends at angles
Changing
Velocity,
Wavelengths
Decreasing,
Changing
To
Reveal
Spectrums
Changing
At angles light bends refracted.

Through my lens, I seek hope
In
Apertures.
Light
Gaps
In
Pure
Refracted
Spectrum
In
Hope I seek through my lens.

Behind a picture framed, I found new angles
Of
Beauty
Uncompromised,
Images
Of
Joy
Unfiltered
Discovery
Of
A new picture I found behind framed angles.

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“I write because the words invite me to dance. I write for those who take refuge in books, as I have many times in my life.” – the writer

Ghosted

By Diana Diamond

I’ve been crumbed like a pigeon
I’ve been simmered into a crisp
I’ve been ghosted so bad
I no longer exist
The backburner; a familiar place
Cook me into perfection
Leave without a trace

I’ve been ignored into oblivion
I’ve been gaslighted into denial
I’ve been unmatched and crossed out
Blocked and deleted;
Oh, you name it!
I’m a one-hit wonder;
You hit me once then leave me wondering

I’m a heavy lifter
Carrying a dead horse
The horse is riding me
And now I am trodden
A fatal encounter
But to you, it’s all forgotten

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“I write because I can.” – the writer

Cataract

By Lynn White

Before the moment when the cloud cleared
I had no idea how blue the sky was,
no idea how silvery the rain
though I’d felt it many times
falling gently
or fierce
as a cataract
after a storm
and I’d searched my memory
and my imagination
to find how they were coloured.
Before the moment when the cloud cleared
from my eyes
and tears spilled
like cataracts,
I had no clear idea.

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“I write to let the words escape.” – the writer

The Void After Yesterday

By Satvika A. Menon

Sepia photographs and inky signatures are
a testament to how much of yesterday remains –
a sliver of a day,
a wisp of a moment caught at the edges of Time’s barbed skirt,
displayed amongst other almost-broken relics,
dust collected and withering beneath the modern light.

How tragic it is,
that so many days and hours spent in joy and bliss
fade away into the void after yesterday,
to be tampered and reworked by our minds,
to slowly slip past us and away,
away into the darkness and the silence,
into the never-ending nothingness –
the abyss.

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“As a teenager, I write as it is an outlet for my energy – for all the emotions I cannot express elsewhere.” – the writer

Wearing Her Jewelry

By Lois Perch Villemaire

When I need to
capture her creative spirit,
I wear one of Mom’s
rings or bracelets,
especially her favorites.
I remember her small hands and wrists,
straight fingers with slightly enlarged joints,
arms that hugged tight.

She wore a ring crafted from
a sterling silver spoon handle,
wrapped around her finger,
I discovered it hidden under a jumble of
costume jewelry.
She bought it, as I recall,
at an arts and crafts festival
in New England.

Now I share her taste,
collecting beaded bracelets,
and rings of twisted, braided silver,
mounted with gems of earth tones,
reminding me of her.

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“I write to describe my feelings, experiences, and relationships.” – the writer

Change of Course

By Melody M. Merrell

I wonder if you ever knew how much I needed you.
I was adrift, listing, destined to capsize.
A series of storms and turbulent waters caused damage to my mooring.
The sky was darkened, unreadable.
I was unable to find the markers I so desperately needed to right my vessel.
Deep water terrified me, but I was destined for it—until you.
It was no accident, it was Divine intervention.
God knew I needed you.
To get me back on course, back to what was right.
Despite the injuries, most unseen, you were the driving force that righted my life.

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“I’ve recently started writing to stitch some of my past together, like a quilt.” – the writer

Writer’s Block

(For Steven King)

By Dianne Moritz

I face the terror

of a blank page:

this monster whose

mad eyes mock,

whose slack lips

scoff and jeer …

silent shrieks,

and endless laughter.


I hyperventilate,

as sweat soaks

my writer’s garb,

and screams escape

my tightened jaw.

I grab the demon’s

brittle neck. One sweet

twist is instant death.


Now I’m ready.

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

Transplant

By John Grey

two poets
are spreading
pieces of paper

across a
coffee house table

swapping poems

carefully
seriously

like donating
body parts to each other

and hoping
they will take


“(I write because) it’s getting too painful not to.” – the writer