Cynthia Elder lives on the edge of Hundred Acre Cove in Barrington, Rhode Island, with her husband and their increasingly empty nest.
Crossing the Brightman Street Bridge
by Cynthia Elder
Dropping down,
a honey bright ball
ready to bounce,
the sun,
as I drove toward cirrus clouds
dripping in neon,
reminded me of those
who’d been blinded as they walked
a rough-hewn road,
doubting God.
###
Cynthia Elder lives on the edge of Hundred Acre Cove in Barrington, Rhode Island, with her husband and their increasingly empty nest. Her poems have appeared in The Allegheny Review, Dog River Review, Plainswoman, and elsewhere. She has work forthcoming in Young Ravens Literary Review and Eudaimonia Press Mental Health Anthology. Cynthia has worked in nonprofit social service organizations for 25 years.
Nkateko Masinga is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of three poetry collections: ‘The Sin In My Blackness’ (2015). ‘A War Within The Blood’
pantoum for the parting
by Nkateko Masinga
what a mess i will leave you with
none the wiser, mass of fragility
baby girl, my face in miniature
turn the ache into architecture
none the wiser, mass of fragility
grow smart like mama, eloquent
turn the ache into architecture
speeches at presidential suites
grow smart like mama, eloquent
your father’s height, dizzy spins
speeches at presidential suites
hopelessly enchant the masses
your father’s height, dizzy spins
baby girl, my face in miniature
hopelessly enchant the masses
what a mess i will leave you with
###
Nkateko Masinga is a Pushcart Prize nominee and the author of three poetry collections: ‘The Sin In My Blackness’ (2015). ‘A War Within The Blood’ (2016) and ‘While The World Was Burning’ (2017). Her work has been published in the 2017 edition of U.S journal ‘Illuminations’ and she is a 2019 Fellow of the Ebedi International Writers Residency.
Sarah Litchney is a student studying Creative Writing and English at Southern New Hampshire University.
Depression
by Sarah Litchney
All these structures fall in repression.
I am depressed and on this canvas I write on.
I attempt to make dazzling pictures with majestic peacocks and screaming sirens,
but only see the machinery of decaying forest.
You can have that part of me you desire,
all eight legs and venomous fangs,
with crawling silence of my footsteps,
I bite off heads and sliver in my solitude.
St. John was offered on this silver platter.
He made what was mortal some plea to the gods,
but I take head without offering any comfort.
I have no will to be compassionate.
The mind becomes a stretch of mute blackness.
The body is the vessel of torment.
I pull out each eyelash and grind them against my dry skin.
I seek the companionship of abandonment.
So clear a liar to myself and my other selves,
I close my eyes in hope of night.
No one to stop the circulation,
of rights and wrongs and ailments of blight.
###
Sarah Litchney is a student studying Creative Writing and English at Southern New Hampshire University. She has been published in a college literary journal twice for her poetry, and she won a national poetry contest when she was ten in middle school. She currently pole dances and Olympic weight lifts in her free time, and she loves dancing salsa with her Hispanic family on the weekends.
Journals publishing Janet McCann’s work include KANSAS QUARTERLY, PARNASSUS, NIMROD, SOU’WESTER, AMERICA, CHRISTIAN CENTURY, CHRISTIANITY AND LITERATURE, NEW YORK QUARTERLY, TENDRIL, and others
IN THESE TIMES, EMILY, NO
by Janet McCann
Tell all the truth but tell it slant — Emily Dickinson
Tell it bent,
refracted in an oblique lens?
No, tell it as a fishhook
caught in smug corpulence
Tell it as drawn blood
Label the dark red vials
Tell it as a sword
mightier than the pen
Tell it as a scream
half an inch from a sleeping ear
Tell it as a siren
a snapped shriek
Don’t hide it in gardens,
bejewel it, dress it in silk
Spell it
Tell it
Yell it
###
Journals publishing Janet McCann’s work include KANSAS QUARTERLY, PARNASSUS, NIMROD, SOU’WESTER, AMERICA, CHRISTIAN CENTURY, CHRISTIANITY AND LITERATURE, NEW YORK QUARTERLY, TENDRIL, and others. A 1989 NEA Creative Writing Fellowship winner, she taught at Texas A & M University from 1969-2016, is now Professor Emerita. She has co-edited anthologies with David Craig, ODD ANGLES OF HEAVEN (Shaw, 1994), PLACE OF PASSAGE (Story Line, 2000), and POEMS OF FRANCIS AND CLARE (St. Anthony Messenger, 2004). Most recent poetry collection: THE CRONE AT THE CASINO (Lamar University Press, 2014).
George Moore’s collections include Saint Agnes Outside the Walls (FurureCycle 2016) andChildren’s Drawings of the Universe (Salmon Poetry 2015). Poems have appeared in The Atlantic, Poetry, Arc,
Trains
by George Moore
I do not remember locomotives by name.
I see the trains in the Newark terminal
commuters hurrying to board and disappear
into steam clouds and a world beyond my view.
The blowdown and oil smelled of iron scorched
in fires fed by gray men in filthy overalls.
When my father left one days and never returned
the trains continued to carry me outward
by common rails by grease sweat and exhaust
across borders and seas to find myself alone.
The cars ratcheting a beat on the rail seams
sleeping to the rhythm in my mother’s lap.
Conscious of the steady stream of time
sweeping us up and back to the age of steam.
George Moore’s collections include Saint Agnes Outside the Walls (FurureCycle 2016) andChildren’s Drawings of the Universe (Salmon Poetry 2015). Poems have appeared in The Atlantic, Poetry, Arc, North American Review, Stand, Orion, and The Colorado Review. His work was recently shortlisted for the Bailieborough Poetry Prize and long-listed for the Gregory O’Donoghue Poetry Prize.
Natalie Crick, from Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. She graduated from Newcastle University with a degree in English Literature
The Moon
by Natalie Crick
Schools of moths descend,
Pulled in by waves of light when
The fields begin to steam like horses
In the cool
Like the hush of rainfall
After the sun’s marriage to the skies.
From his window, the child can see;
The young moon sulking behind the sun,
Disappearing beneath the moors
With a final sweep of chill.
An actress on stage
Applauded by the throng
One last time,
Only to return again next night
From where it grows to fullness,
A round milky globe
Asking the question:
Who will admire me next?
###
Natalie Crick, from Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. She graduated from Newcastle University with a degree in English Literature and plan to pursue an MA at Newcastle this year. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including The Lake, Ink Sweat and Tears, Poetry Pacific, Interpreters House and Jet Fuel Review. Her work also features or is forthcoming in a number of anthologies, including Lehigh Valley Vanguard Collections 13. This year her poem, ‘Sunday School’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
Ann Bracken is the author of two collections of poetry, No Barking in the Hallways: Poems from the Classroom (2017) and The Altar of Innocence (2015), She also serves as a contributing editor
The Code
by Ann Bracken
In this circle of men
their code demands one rule—
Find my value in my words.
Each session a blank check
you discover that everyone has
an attic filled with hope,
loss, and dreams.
How do you hold the experience
of terse words
shaped by
poverty and despair?
Slowly you will discover the unexpected bridges
connecting your life to theirs—the falls,
the disappointing parents,
the harsh walls of privilege.
Press deeper.
Mind only the present—
the books discussed,
the ideas on the page.
Ann Bracken is the author of two collections of poetry, No Barking in the Hallways: Poems from the Classroom (2017) and The Altar of Innocence (2015), She also serves as a contributing editor for Little Patuxent Review and coordinator for the Wilde Readings Poetry Series in Columbia, MD. Her poetry, essays, and interviews have appeared in anthologies and journals, including Bared: Contemporary Poetry and Art on Bras and Breasts,New Verse News, Fledgling Rag, ArLiJo, Reckless Writing Anthology: Emerging Poets of the 21st Century, and Women Write Resistance: Poets Resist Gender Violence among others. Ann’s poetry has garnered two nominations for the Pushcart Prize. She offers poetry and writing workshops in community centers and at conferences.
Disney Princesses don’t want to get married nowadays.
They know their way around a bow and arrow,
Eat out a lot.
They’re skeptical about stepsisters,
They prefer
Princes that consult
Rather than control.
Ones that climb the stairs
And not their hair.
They choose
Uber over horse-drawn,
Waking to a smartphone
Rather than a strangers’ kiss.
Hedge funds over credit unions,
Loose comfortable clothing.
They don’t
Always feel like singing in public,
Wait well,
Take no for an answer,
Play dumb.
They won’t
Whistle while they work,
Put up, sweep up, or and shut up,
Swoon and expect to be caught,
Falter and expect to be saved.
They want equal billing,
Signing authority,
A credible back story.
They want last names.
“Poetry is my church. My refuge. Without it I wouldn’t have navigated my life nearly as well.”
Tricia McCallum, a Glasgow-born Canadian, is a Huffington Post Blogger, a 2016 Pushcart Prize nominee, and the author of two poetry books, The Music of Leaving (Demeter Press 2014) and Nothing Gold Can Stay: A Mother and Father Remembered (2011).
She has won the poetry competition at goodreads.com a total of three times through the past three years, along with an honorable mention.
McCallum says she publishes both online and off, wherever she can find good homes. “My approach is simple. I tell stories in my poems and write the poems I want to read,” she says.
Her latest poetry manuscript entitled Icarus Also Flew was a finalist in the Marsh Hawk Press Book Contest in 2017.
Anne Mikusinski has been writing poetry and short stories since she was seven years old and most probably making them up long before
Night Music
by Anne Mikusinski
Tonight’s soundtrack
Includes
The soft whirring
Of rotating blades
Above my head
As they lull my thoughts to
Sleep
And usher in
Tonight’s cast
Of worries and dead author’s quotes,
And other things unspoken
Before midnight.
Their presence brings an uneasy
Familiarity
To the room
And a longing for better
Company
At this hour
A wish for companionship
And soft words
Before sleep.
Anne Mikusinski has been writing poetry and short stories since she was seven years old and most probably making them up long before she could hold a pen or pencil in her hand.
Jason Giltner is a writer from Minneapolis. His work has most recently appeared in McSweeney’s. He often lies awake at night considering that the Bat Signal is dependent on clouds.
First Ave
by Jason Giltner
Have you seen the guy that stands out on First Ave?
The one that wears the pink winter hat
and the acid-wash overalls?
He recites Shel Silverstein poems to passersby
and give free hugs
to those willing to accept one.
He sings Joni Mitchell songs
and does interpretive dance
to the rhythms of street performers.
I’ve never seen him either
but everyone talks about him.
###
Jason Giltner is a writer from Minneapolis. His work has most recently appeared in McSweeney’s. He often lies awake at night considering that the Bat Signal is dependent on clouds. He isn’t sure if his use of the word “lies” in the previous sentence was grammatically correct.
Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and editor. Mumbai-based, he has published 19 books—solo and joint.
Cost of forgetting
by Sunil Sharma
If you methodically dismantle
memories of—
beings
names
places
past
community
with a swift movement
a time comes when you are
dismembered by the selfsame process—
a yawning chasm
then
being becomes a remote blur
on the horizon— pale-bluish-orange-dark
slipping into an amber sea
of fire-breathing monsters
hungry for crumbs of memories
dripping away in their flight
into the forest of dementia
on such nights
burnt-out, scary
living becomes walking dead
and the region gets dissolved
finally—
wiped away quickly
by rushing fogs
or stiff days
shrouded
by storms.
###
Sunil Sharma is a college principal, freelance journalist, author and editor. Mumbai-based, he has published 19 books—solo and joint. His prose and poetry have appeared in many places in the world.
Joan Kantor is the author of five poetry collections. She won First Place for poetry in The 2015 Writers Digest Self Published Book Awards for Fading Into Focus
Kitchen Companions
by Joan Kantor
for my mother, who so joyfully shared her kitchen with me
My mother’s been waiting for me
to open the small drawer beside the stove,
where smiling with anticipation,
I reach for the dingy-pink metal measuring spoons
that once were hers.
They clatter and clink,
till firmly cradled in my hands,
they radiate a warmth
that rushes through me.
As time disappears,
she and I silently begin to converse
and proceed with preparations
for a meal she’ll never share.
She’d like me to use her crusty black cast iron pan,
but I’m saving its heft
for the day those tiny spoons
will no longer be enough
to stir her up.
Joan Kantor is the author of five poetry collections. She won First Place for poetry in The 2015 Writers Digest Self Published Book Awards for Fading Into Focus, a memoir focused on Alzheimer’s Disease and family relationships. Her memoir, Holding It Together (a hybrid of poetry and prose) tells the story of surviving a family legacy of mental illness. Joan also took first place for poetry in The 2013 Hackney Literary Awards, has been widely published in literary journals, been a mentor and judge in the Sunken Garden Poetry Festival’s Fresh Voices program, and currently performs in Stringing Words Together, a violin and poetry duo. Her most recent collection, Too Close For Comfort, was published in the summer of 2016 (Aldrich Press).
Amanda Little Rose is from the small state of Rhode Island (USA). Previously, she served as Executive Editor of The Willow Literary Magazine.
Princess
by Amanda Little Rose
There is something primal in the way she whispered
winter into the rolling green meadows
that were riddled with legends,
and remnants of the time before
Her eyes lit up the night and sprinkled
starlight into moonbeams like a
seed that grows into the dogwood trees
by the river and beneath
the gods on the mountain,
Or the rolling hills
I am patient and still while
dreams breathe truth into distance
and my sister sings to me;
She is tradition,
she is beauty
Amanda Little Rose is from the small state of Rhode Island (USA). Previously, she served as Executive Editor of The Willow Literary Magazine. She received her Bachelors of Arts and Science in Secondary Education, and English Literature, from Salve Regina University, in 2015. Currently, Amanda works as a high school English teacher, certified Reiki Master, freelance poet and editor.
Born in Krasnoyarsk, Russia, Konstantin studies British & American Literature and Creative Writing at The University of Kent in Canterbury, England.
Weep Willow Reeds
by Konstantin Nicholas Rega
After rain
the earth has forgotten
where it keeps you.
But I disturb my pocket
and retrieve a flute
from the dark hollow
I have dug with greedy fingers.
Bone-white,
for it is bone—
your bone—
that I have carved
to go deedle deedle dee.
Day to day
I sit under a tree,
its branches tangled
leaves overhanging and shielding,
and cast my voice
through this porcelain reed:
our past replaying.
Round and round
the song breathes
lives as my blown needles
scrape and leak
each spinning memory.
And yet
I wonder
will there be anyone
to play a tune
for me?
###
Born in Krasnoyarsk, Russia, Konstantin studies British & American Literature and Creative Writing at The University of Kent in Canterbury, England. He has been published by The Claremont Review, Four Ties Lit Review, AOM, and has won the ZO Magazine Silver Prize for Poetry, and is currently a Review Assistant for Newfound. His poems are Asexual/Bi-romantic and neo-modernist, which revives the Modernist innovations of subverting traditional gender authority and narrative and making the personal universal.
