Portrait by Louis Gallo A fine woman she was, full of protein and lentils and maybe some turnip greens . . . and I saw these translated into her everything, Ah, so much to live for, and even more to die for. I’m thinking of Walt Whitman right now. I always think of Walt Whitman….
“Alone and at Night” by: Eliana Sara
Eliana is a Brooklyn based gal. This is her first piece of poetry appearing anywhere. Other writing has shown up in Ink magazine and Kitsch. She has a fairly new
For Donovan by Sarah O’Brien
For Donovan by Sarah O’Brien Your pants are made from the softest fabric. You challenge me to a game of chess. “You didn’t use your Queen enough,” you say after winning, and I soak in this metaphor. I was too focused on someone else’s King. I overlooked mine—left you exposed. Your wounds from her violence…
A Last Moment Caught by Tom Sheehan
Sheehan, in his 91st year, served in 31st Infantry, Korea 1951-52, graduated Boston College 1956, has published 32 books, multiple works in Rosebud, Literally Stories, Linnet’s Wings, Copperfield Review, Eastlit, Frontier Tales,
‘Twas Halloween Night
‘Twas Halloween Night Peter Gregg Slater ‘Twas Halloween night, when all thro’ the house Every creature was stirring, even grandad an old souse. The candy bags were hung by the door with care, In hopes that trick-or-treaters would soon be there. The kids were all snug in their costume disguise, While visions of Skittles danc’d…
The Haunted Isle By Richard H. Fay
I lie beyond the narrow sandy strand,
A jagged mote upon the horizon,
A rugged speck upon the ocean.
Sailors skirt past my flanks in morbid dread.
My dark hollows house the unshriven dead.
The Vampire by Charles Baudelaire
You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
Seekers by Christopher Woods
In the bus station
I was near enough
To be master of ceremonies,
Seeing them on their way.
THE WITCHES (for older children)
THE WITCHES (for older children)
In the dark forest under the haze
absent the moon’s silvery rays,
when the night is black and still
the witches hold a blackbird’s quill.
In Your Apartment for the First Time in Months by James Croal Jackson
James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in Columbia Journal