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Two poems by Keziah Spaine

19/11/2020

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Dinner

Rip me out.
Take me to my hiding place.
Break my body,
wake it up.
Empty me inside out.
Stuff me in a bin bag.

Wheel me, push hard.
Trundling across cement.
Grazing tarmac.
Bleeding on your shoes.

Cracked;
I am cracked.
My china skin breaks.
A raw egg.
Yoke spews from my gut.
I am sour.

Eat me alive.
Your gob around my face.
Take my eyes; burn it all.
Decontaminate me; set me free.

Open me up.
Please.
Place me in the palm of your hand.
Please.
Stroke my skin away.
 

The Rose Bush

Growing out of my centre were the little buds,
that he nurtured with the water of his words
and the sunlight of his smile.
The seeds were a sprinkling of his kisses and his tears.

The plant pot the roses grew from
weighed down the way I'd wished for beauty
and to be worshipped and adored.
The stalks flourished from their roots.

There were days when he trimmed the flowers
and days he pulled the earth,
but they were stubborn.
They grew in me as his love grew for me.

As a white bulb blossomed
wearing a costume of knives.

As a red bulb bloomed
into delicate folds of flesh.

I made war with his garden
that he kept too well;
that he kept better than gardens before.
When I'd sown the seeds myself.

I snapped the heads off the flowers,
tore into the roots
and slaughtered the rose bush.
His rose bush.

I cried over the hole in the compost,
touched the space in the garden.

As I remembered the thorns
and the petals of our love.

(Keziah Spaine is a 19 year old student, writer and activist from Bristol. Her experiences with the UK mental health system, relationships and love inspire her poetry and writing.)

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Kaleidoscope Brain- a poem by Rebecca Carley

12/11/2020

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Kaleidoscope Brain
(One year before Alzheimer’s diagnosis)

Pictures. Flashes of light
Tiny moments of meaning unconnected
    but still joined in the impulses of
    the slippery brain I have treasured
Spelling errors multiply as they swirl around in the drain where my brain used to survive and thrive.
Is that what I meant to say?
What were we talking about?
Can you see the confusion and barely suppressed terror in my eyes?
Words are my treasures; translations of experiences rolled in meaning and emotion.
I run after my words, begging for them to glance backward, to wait for me...
How can I lose my words without losing myself?
Am I the words? Are the words me?
How can I separate the soul from the body and still remain whole?
Don't run away from me, my beloveds.
Stay with me.
Dance with me.
Laugh with me.
Cry with me.
Lie down beside me and offer the greatest gift.

(Rebecca Carley was a teacher, artist, musician, among many things, prior to her early Azlheimer's Disease diagnosis in July 2014, just a year after this poem was written.  She lived in central California with her husband  and son.  Rebecca passed in June 2020. This poem was submitted by author's husband Michael Carley.)


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It’s a Beautiful Drive on Highway 14- a poem by Danny P. Barbare

5/11/2020

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It’s a Beautiful Drive on Highway 14!
 
Homeward I go by
   A house with a white
   Fence
I’ve always dreamed of
   Having.
   It’s
A winding road
That has taken me
   Here.
That seems shorter than
   The day--
Greener than the years,
Like a cool wind   
   The fields
Of hay, cattle, and
   Horses,
And large red barn.
A sign 38 acres for
   Sale.
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Herman Melville decides on the color of his whale- a poem by Richard Holinger

22/10/2020

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HERMAN MELVILLE DECIDES ON THE COLOR OF HIS WHALE

Herman Melville dangled his legs over the end of the pier.
His boots nearly reached the rolling waves beneath him.
He felt elated. His big book was almost done.
He’d sent his sailors out to sea and killed them all except one.
He liked the final touch, his so-called narrator saved
by the savage’s coffin. Coincidence? Yes, but why
wouldn’t the box float to the surface, whether near the drowning man or not?
Only one other question harassed Herman,
brought down his mood: the leviathan’s color.
The entire novel—everything—depended on that decision, that vision. He’d scrolled through the rainbow spectrum tens, hundreds of times. Red for the American native. Orange for fire. Yellow for sunlight. Green for seaweed. Blue for sky and ocean. Indigo and violet (close enough) for veins and arteries. They all had potential,
each had its own merits but highlight one
and diminish the rest. Moby Dick consummated
every potential, the peg-leg captain trafficking life, death, and every mollusk and cormorant in between.
Then there, floating toward him, a dead fish, borne aloft by its very immobility, its dearth of struggle,
as if to stop resisting raised it up, allowed it to lounge. Did it hold the Answer, this Atlantic cod sweeping toward him, its dorsal fin invisible? In death,
its body had turned, its underbelly baring
every wondrous, inexplicable, invisible color.
Herman leaned out, plucked it out of its sea’s casket, and kissed the slimy, smooth skin reeking worse than cadaverous gutter rats on a rainy day, then slipped it back into its grave, the novel finished, the whale white.

(Richard Holinger’s books forthcoming this fall include Kangaroo Rabbits and Galvanized Fences, a collection of his newspaper columns, and North of Crivitz, a first book of poetry focusing on the North Woods and Upper Midwest. His work has received three Pushcart Prize nominations, and his Thread essay received a “Notable” mention in Best American Essays 2018. Not Everybody’s Nice won the 2012 Split Oak Flash Prose Chapbook contest, and a chapbook of innovative fiction was published by Kattywompus Press. Among other journals, his fiction has appeared in Witness, The Iowa Review; creative nonfiction and book reviews in The Southern Review, Crazyhorse, Northwest Review; poetry in Boulevard, Chelsea. He lives in the Fox River Valley west of Chicago. Degrees include a Ph.D. in creative writing from the University of Illinois at Chicago. Please go to https://www.richardholinger.net/ for more on the author and for ordering books.)

 

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My bell jar- a poem by Marc Darnell

15/10/2020

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my bell jar
 
I'll give you a nice bell
me inside I didn't place
the glass around I more
humanely would have
used a porous element 
so I still politely breathe
beyond the fifty years
I choke at now vacuum-
packed and freeze-dried
 
I didn't mind the womb
it was opaque and I was
obsessively guarded by
the only one who ever
loved me but this glass
cruel everyone sees me
mourn trip tremble bang
they point hear nothing
 
I'm endlessly vocalizing
I thought it was crooning
but no a life death mating
scream the worst of glass
is seeing prettier people
exhale twirl laugh beside
lovers touching tossing
unshattered children in
the autumn evening air
beneath strings of lights
orange purple I remain
guilty chaste confused
gray within this grave
 
I believe the rip gape twist
of god will be done soon
o believe what an empty 
verb I'm a damp pouch
with a soul that traveled
nowhere we are tearing
contraptions wanting to be
more than chemical thank 
you last O2 molecule thank
you last ray thank you all

(Marc Darnell is a custodian and online tutor in Omaha, Nebraska, and received his MFA from the University of Iowa.  He has published poems in The Lyric, Blue Unicorn, Shot Glass Journal, The HyperTexts, Ragazine, The Literary Nest, Runcible Spoon, and elsewhere.)

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Second Round of Chemo- a poem by Bruce Spang

8/10/2020

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Second Round of Chemo
 
My brother wants to remember
our life—the marshmallows
we roasted on a stick,
browning them, their soft, sweet
taste in our mouth,
the coals beneath, soft and warm.
 
                             He wants to hold
onto Yesterday as I want to hold
onto him, but I’m not with him.
I’m twelve hundred miles away
                             where, after the call, at dawn
I go out to pick the blueberries,
some pale green, some plush blue
              that fall from clusters into my hand,
each with a round mouth puckered at the end.
              I go stem by stem, the weight of berries
bend the branch. I lighten the load.
It’s the least I can do.
                             Then to the raspberries,
I stick my hand deep into the thorny stems,
red juice of them staining my fingertips,
whole fistfuls giving themselves up,
                             fall in the bowl,
              like Eve with those apples, the smell of them,
wanting them all in her hand,
the ripeness, the sweetness,
                             this the third week in July
when the cancer came back, not good,
              the insistent cells proliferate
as those of the fruit in my hand.
                             Tomorrow, I will pour
them over my granola, the blue red
staining the whiteness of milk
              the bittersweet taste of fruit
as my brother, back in a sterile ward,
              has the metallic aftertaste in his mouth,
                             his skin desiccated
like those marshmallows that flamed, too hot,
              melted, ashes to fire.

(Bruce Spang, former Poet Laureate of Portland, is the author of two novels, The Deception of the Thrush and Those Close Beside Me. His most recent collection of poems, All You’ll Derive: A Caregiver’s Journey, was just published. He’s also published four other books of poems, including To the Promised Land Grocery and Boy at the Screen Door (Moon Pie Press) along with several anthologies and several chapbooks. He is the poetry and fiction editor of the Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine. His poems have been published in Connecticut River Review, Red Rover Magazine, Great Smokies Review, Kalopsia Literary Journal and other journals across the United States. He teaches courses in fiction and poetry at Ollie at University of North Carolina in Asheville and lives in Candler, NC with his husband Myles Rightmire and their five dogs, five fish, and thirty birds.)



             

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Two poems by Thomas Zimmerman

1/10/2020

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Sonnet for the Long Married #3
 
There ain’t no cure for love, sings Cohen on
the playlist. Both dogs barking: hate the music?
want a treat? You crank the sound and drink   
your meds, these cool strong beers. Linguine bubbling,
damp dishtowel your epaulet: Commander
of the Kitchen Sink. The rain, the time
tick-ticking down, hung leashes drip, unfinished
dissertation shelved, and Hamlet essays
still to grade. Your wife still at the stylist’s:
takes him eons. Darkened windows glint
like sequined mirrors. All these years refracted
and redacted, water droplets, life
support. You wipe your hands and glasses: why
so warm and wet? Love’s IV on slow drip.
 
Midlife (V)
 
Chorizo, couscous, thin-sliced gala apples
in a bowl: a bachelor’s hash a husband
married many years can love, with spiky
jazz (that’s Braxton morphing Monk), cold beer
in front of you. Your wife has turned in (headache),
so it’s you and Trey, adopted greyhound
black as dreamless sleep. Linked memories,
your private myths—first Ali-Frazier fight
(on German radio), a gradeschool English
teacher and the story of his scar,
Andromeda’s bare bottom in a painting
by Burne-Jones—rise glistening as boulders
in a river. Have you journeyed well
enough to know the boulders, be the river?


(Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.com/ at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. Poems of his have appeared recently in Ephemeral Elegies, Grand Little Things, and Trestle Ties. Tom's website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/  )
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Two poems by Subhaga Crystal Bacon

24/9/2020

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Balsamic Moon: Last Quarter before New
                                                                    
I took my aching heart for a walk above the river
seeking solace of rocks, and wind to clear me.
Balsamic moon, time of rest, of healing.
 
Blackbirds swooped tree to tree, to horizon.
Lilacs hanging heavy, bowed by fragrance and futility,
I took my aching heart for a walk above the river.
 
Balsam flower roots, the size of a hand, boil
into medicine. Leaf, flower, seed: all good
like the Balsamic moon, time of rest, of healing.
 
I lie down in arrow leaves, last shower of yellow
petals, cool and fragrant their little shade. The weight
of unshed tears in my aching heart, a river.
 
There’s a time to be lost in yourself, unknown as foreign land,
to listen for wisdom in your darkened quarters like this
Balsamic moon, last sliver of light, time of rest, of healing.
 
Silence holds the answer to the questions you don’t ask, like blackbirds
feeding on Balsam seeds. If you listen, you will hear them
in your aching heart’s lost river under Balsamic moon,
last quarter before new, time of rest, of healing.
 

Still Here
 
Another sleepless night, pull of the moon
or some internal weather moved by time’s
changing rhythms. I walk, somnambulist,
in the new morning, west where the sun goes
each lengthening day to rest. I sit on the waking
earth. Last year’s grasses bleached platinum
on this south facing slope. River runs. Sky
unmarred by cloud thins along the sun-bright
ridge. I can see through each shadow of tree
the snow-dusted cheeks of hill and the age lines
left by deer. The dog paces in rustling steps
to check if I’m still here. I’m still, here.

(Subhaga Crystal Bacon the author of two volumes of poetry, Blue Hunger, 2020 from Methow Press, and Elegy with a Glass of Whisky, BOA Editions, 2004. A cis-gender, Queer identified woman, she lives, writes, and teaches on the east slope of the North Cascade Mountains, in Twisp, WA.)


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It Had That Swing- a poem by Ed Ahern

17/9/2020

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It Had That Swing
 
My mother spent evenings listening to records.
Years of evenings.
78’s and 33’s, and only big band swing.
All named after the band leader.
 
The bands are largely forgotten now,                         
but there were Jimmy and Tommy Dorsey,
Woody Herman and Harry James,
Benny Goodman and Glenn Miller.
 
My mother, widowed and jobless,
Played the music of her courtship,
Of a yet unburdened future,
At least twice a week.
 
I never liked the music,
But had nowhere else to go,
And absorbed it despite myself,
Melodies lingering decades later.
 
In cleaning out her house
I couldn’t throw away the records
And suitcased them back home.
Never played, almost forgotten.
 
They’re serious collectibles now,
Worthwhile selling off,
But I can’t discard the future
She almost had.

(Ed Ahern resumed writing after forty odd years in foreign intelligence and international sales. He’s had over two hundred fifty stories and poems published so far, and six books. Ed works the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories, where he sits on the review board and manages a posse of six review editors.)


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Alone Again As Before- a poem by Yash Seyedbagheri

10/9/2020

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Alone Again As Before

I stare at nightscapes
stars flicker a little too bright
over nearby rooftops
where Lady Gaga and House of Pain regale partygoers
I imagine bodies bouncing in basements
speakers thumping, dim lights glowing
 
like last week
I speak to the night
trying to find words
to describe vastness
sterility of rooms without pictures
 inbox without emails
 
without the simple words. we’d love to invite you.
I try to speak
talk to me. get together for a quick drink.
please. may I join?
I’d like to join
I’d really like to
 
pronounce the words, but awkward
hands reach into the air
and I feel a thousand scenarios
mockery, apathy, ignorance marching
thumping. voice pulls back into sterility
like last week
 
and many last weeks
 
why can’t I just speak?
at least the wounded words would be spoken

(Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. A native of Idaho, Yash’s work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.)

 
 

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    The Beautiful Space-
    ​A  Journal of Mind, Art and Poetry.


    1. This is your literary journal to publish your unpublished poems and artwork related to themes of the mind, the body, the soul, mental health, health, healing, illness and the brain.   
    ​
    2. We may occasionally accept work not related to above themes as long as it is of good quality and relevant to our project.

    ​3. We aim to publish work of one author every week depending upon the rate of submissions and quality of work.
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    5. All submissions will be subject to peer review before accepting for publication. We will contact you ( within 8-12 weeks) only if we decide to publish your work.
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    Submit Poems, Artwork, and Blogs
    1. You can submit your poems ( max 50 lines, up to three poems at a time, all in one document), & Artwork.

    2. We are happy to publish anonymous work as well as stories if you choose to as long as we hold your details in our records.

    3. All submissions should be your own unpublished original work.

    4. All submissions will be reviewed before accepting for the publication. Decision of our reviewing team will be final.

    5. Please send all your work as one Microsoft word document file, align to left of the page and font 12 Times New Roman with your details to the following email​.

    ​6. Please also include one sentence personal bio you would like to be published with your work

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    2020- A Poem By Javed Alam
    7 Days After My Sister’s Death- A Poem By Richard Vargas
    7 Days After My Sister’s Death- A Poem By Richard Vargas
    9/11- A Poem By Peter Mladinic
    ACTIVE OPTIONS- A Poem By Maureen Sangster
    A Dry Mournful Tune- A Poem By Sy Roth
    A Labyrinth Of Strangers-a Poem By Howard Brown
    All I Ever- A Poem By Tia Reiser
    Alone Again As Before- A Poem By Yash Seyedbagheri
    A Minor Distraction- A Poem By Bruce McRae
    Anxiety-a Poem By Hazel Ryder
    Apathetic Ennui- A Poem By Emily Mulligan
    A Poem By Vincent Zepp
    Artwork By Sherri Porrit
    Artwork By Zahra Aghayan
    A Time To Seek- A Poem By Scott Thomas Outlar
    A Train To Somewhere- A Poem By Linda Imbler
    Bare Bones Reality- A Poem By C. B. Buckner
    Behind The Wheel-a Poem By John Patrick Robbin
    Between Us- A Poem By Johann
    Bird In The Wire
    Breaking Free
    Bumper Sticker- A Poem By Matt Borczon
    Catching Myself- A Poem By Kitty Donnelly
    Clinic- A Poem By Henry Bladon
    Couldn't Be Written Or Worn- A Poem By Uzomah Ugwu
    Cry For Help
    Curved Waters- A Poem By Dr Maureen Shyamala Rajamoney
    Dancing On Waves- A Poem By Karim Harvey
    Deliverance- A Poem By Paula Matthews
    Dissociated- A Poem By Matthew Borczon
    Edge Of The Cliff- A Poem By Andrew Scott
    Emergency Room- A Poem By Dr Mudasir Firdosi
    Escape- A Poem By Amit Parmessur
    Fear Cycle- A Poem By Katie Lewington
    Field- A Poem By Rosie Woods
    First Real Spring Day Without You- A Poem By Denise Thompson-Slaughter
    Gentle As Water- A Poem By Marcus Severns
    Heal The World In Love-an Essay By Linda M Crate
    Heartache
    HERMAN MELVILLE DECIDES ON THE COLOR OF HIS WHALE- A Poem By Richard Holinger
    Home As A Story- A Poem By Cristina Leone
    How To NOT Manage Mental Illness-a Poem By Javed Alam
    Interrupted- A Poem By Sarah Henry
    It Had That Swing- A Poem By Ed Ahern
    It’s A Beautiful Drive On Highway 14- A Poem By Danny P. Barbare
    Julie- A Poem By Paul Warren
    Kaleidoscope Brain- A Poem By Rebecca Carley
    Leaving Me With A Years’ Worth Of Writing- A Poem By David Elvis Gale
    Letting Go (so You Can Just Fall Asleep)- A Poem By Melanie Browne
    Life
    Life And Death And In-between Moments- A Poem By Sunil Sharma
    Life Was A Phoenix- A Poem By David Grigorian
    Loss- A Poem By Louis Kasatkin
    Lost And Found- A Poem By Siri Espy
    Luisa Maria- A Poem By Caroline Am Bergris
    Maintenance- A Poem By James Penha
    Major Depressive Disorder- A Poem By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
    Moon Paper- A Poem By James Diaz
    Mournful Tune- A Poem By Sy Roth
    My Bell Jar- A Poem By Marc Darnell
    My Heart Leaps Up- A Poem By Rajnish Mishra
    Neocortex- A Poem By Dr. Jennifer Wolkin
    Night
    Once Upon A Time
    On The Way-a Poem By Chani Zwibel
    Opinions Are Like- A Poem By John Patrick Robbins
    Our Family Closet- A Poem By Joan McNerney
    Painting Of A Farm
    Panic Attack Protocol- A Poem By David Icenogle
    Parkinson's- A Poem By Louis Kasatkin
    Patience
    Phantom Hand- A Poem By Bruce McRae
    Praised Be The God Of Cats:-a Poem By Rosie Woods
    Psych Ward- A Poem By Regina Elliott
    PTSD-a Poem By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
    Releasing-a Poem By Allison Grayhurst
    Road Trip-a Poem By A.Clifton
    Rugby- A Poem By A. Clifton
    Sam's Mystique-a Poem By Linda Imbler
    Second Round Of Chemo- A Poem By Bruce Spang
    She Walked Out On Me Two Weeks Ago
    Shoegazers's Dreams Of Snow:Clad Sanity-a Poem By Sudeep Adhikari
    Silent Chaos- A Poem By Megha Sood
    Social Isolation – What’s The Alternative?- An Essay By Sultana Raza
    Social Isolation – What’s The Alternative?- An Essay By Sultana Raza
    Social Media Girl- A Poem By Lauren Martyn
    Something Like A Wheel- A Poem By Alice Smith
    Soul Mate
    Stagnant Puddles- A Poem By Tohm Bakelas
    Survivor- A Poem By Lynn White
    Sustained- A Poem By Ford Dagenham
    The Bouncy Ball Man’s Bi-polar Journey- A Poem By Linda Imbler
    The Bread Shop- A Poem By Vivien Yap
    The Celestial Stardust- A Poem By Thomas Patrick Hywel Williams
    The Craft- A Poem By Keith Landrum
    The Fire Of Reunion-a Poem By Abu Zayd
    The Forgotten Life Of Velma Evans- A Poem By Linda Imbler
    ​The Fragrant Face Of The Rainbow- A Poem By Hongri Yuan
    ​The Fragrant Face Of The Rainbow- A Poem By Hongri Yuan
    The Inlay Work On The Left Side Of The Brain- A Poem By Winston Plowes
    The Masquerade- A Prose Poem By Abu Zayd
    The New Room- A Poem By Gwil James Thomas
    There Is Bliss- A Poem By Jeremy Gadd
    There’s No Place Like Home- A Poem By Mike L. Nichols
    There’s No Place Like Home- A Poem By Mike L. Nichols
    The Small Dance- A Poem By Paul Brucker
    The Struggle Beyond Life
    The Wall-a Poem By Levi Mericle
    The Wild Blueberries- A Poem By Caroline James
    They Have Flown- A Poem By Thasia Anne
    Thinking Outside [BOXES]- A Poem By Allan Lake
    Third Generation- A Poem By Robin DeFrance
    Three Poems By Ahmad Al-Khatat
    Three Poems By Alice Smith
    Three Poems-by Ann Christine Tabaka
    Three Poems By Austin Vertesch
    Three Poems By Barbara D’Emilio
    Three Poems By Barbara D’Emilio
    Three Poems By Brian Rihlmann
    Three Poems By Carol Alena Aronoff
    Three Poems By Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon
    Three Poems By Charlie Brice
    Three Poems By Damion Hamilton
    Three Poems By Eduard Schmidt-Zorner
    Three Poems By Edward Lee
    Three Poems By Gary Glauber
    Three Poems By Glen Armstrong
    Three Poems - By John D Robinson
    Three Poems By KD Williams
    Three Poems-by Kitty Donnelly
    Three Poems By Linda Stevenson
    Three Poems By Mark A. Murphy
    Three Poems By Maryam El-Shall
    Three Poems By M. J. Arcangelini
    Three Poems By Rajnish Mishra
    Three Poems By RM Yager
    Three Poems By Ruth Asch
    Three Poems - By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
    Three Poems By Samuel W. James
    Three Poems By Saoirse Love
    Three Poems By Sharon Thompson
    Three Poems By Sophia Falco
    Three Poems By Yuan Hongri (Translated By Manu Mangattu)
    Tile Art Work
    Treating Depression- A Poem By Javed Latoo
    Two Poem- By Ahmad Al-Khatat
    Two Poems-by Adam Levon Brown
    Two Poems By Ahmad Al-Khatat
    Two Poems- By Ahmad Al-Khatat
    Two Poems By Anthony Crutcher
    Two Poems By Asper Blurry
    Two Poems By Cemile Kabadayi
    Two Poems By Claire Unis
    Two Poems By Craig Snelgrove
    Two Poems -by Darren C. Demaree
    Two Poems By David Dephy
    Two Poems By E. Martin Pedersen
    Two Poems - By Gale Acuff
    Two Poems By Gerard Sarnat
    Two Poems By Hongri Yuan -Translated By Yuanbing Zhang
    Two Poems By Howard Brown
    Two Poems- By Howard Brown
    Two Poems By Jacqueline Jules
    Two Poems- By Jeevan Bhagwat
    Two Poems By Jeri Thompson
    Two Poems- By Joe Lynch
    Two Poems By Keziah Spaine
    Two Poems By Kirsty A. Niven
    Two Poems-by Kristy Keller
    Two Poems By Laura Slack
    Two Poems By Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad
    Two Poems- By Rajnish Mishra
    Two Poems By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
    Two Poems- By Ryan Quinn Flanagan
    Two Poems By Sarah Losner
    Two Poems- By Scott Thomas Outlar
    Two Poems By Serafina Valenzuela
    Two Poems- By Sheikha A.
    Two Poems By Steve Carter
    Two Poems By Subhaga Crystal Bacon
    Two Poems -by Sunil Sharma
    Two Poems By TAK Erzinger
    Two Poems- By TAK Erzinger
    Two Poems By Tapeshwar Prasad
    Two Poems By Thomas Zimmerman
    Two Poems By Timothy Resau
    Two Poems By Tom JF Wood
    Two Poems By Vivian Wagner
    Two Poems By Wendy Gabriel
    Two Poems By Wolfie
    Urban Oasis- A Poem By Geri Owens
    Visiting Time
    Waking To Darkness-a Poem By Michael H. Brownstein
    What's In A Name? By Kiranjeet Chaturvedi
    When Lightning Touches The Ground- A Poem By Michelle Chacon
    Where I'm From- A Poem By Carolyn Licht
    Yet Another Encore- A Poem By Ronald Finn
    Your Eyes A Beauty To Behold! - A Poem By Samuel Abonyo

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