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Contributor: Sarah Henry

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I remind him of a fossil.
I follow him around.
I follow him down the path
in the park which leads
to a playground.
I am imprinted like a baby
duck following its mother
in a straight line.

What has he done to
bring this on himself?
Every man knows
what he’s worth.

Leaves drop all around us.
They are thick with squirrels
and rotting hazelnuts.

A stone monument stands
at the entrance to the park.
It holds a time capsule
designed to be opened
in fifty years. I wonder
about the contents,
possibly sour, petrified,
or congealed.

- - -
Sarah Henry lives near Pittsburgh, where she is retired from a newspaper. Her poetry has been published locally and farther afield.

Seven Haiku

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Contributor: Jennifer Y. Montgomery

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India ink on
the white rug. So many towels.
Still damp, grey after.


That morning the damp
on pavement is bleeding round.
Fleeting crop circle.


An unripe apple.
Cold, chapped hands. Draft beneath the
Piano room door.


After the fire,
Smoke caught in her hair, ensnared.
Tears poured forth at will.


She felt out of time.
She left the wash on the line
And now this downpour.


The indent from too
tight gloves. Manifest as skin
goes pink. Ache then hum.


Rust bleeds through the paint
with every coat. She must strip
it down to the bone.

- - -
Jennifer Y. Montgomery is a poet, visual artist, pie baker, and attorney who lives in Connecticut with her daughter. She considers writing poetry to be a meditation. Her poetry has appeared in Red Weather and Haiku Journal.

When a Debutante Marries a Troll

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Contributor: Donal Mahoney

- -
The problem is, Priscilla grew up
in a penthouse having parties while
Biff came of age under a bridge

fighting other trolls, he remembers.
When Pris calls his office and says
we're having guests tonight

the chasm in their marriage grows.
The guests go home sauced and smiling
but the chasm stays behind, snarling.

Biff can't make the leap to kiss Pris
and some day have 10 kids.
The next time she invites guests

he wants to be told at dawn.
Biff plans to skip feeding the pit bulls
and introduce them to her guests.

- - -
Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

Time Is Surely Of The Essence

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Contributor: Prince A. McNally

- -
of wasted time

Lay silently at rest
upon trillions of
micro increments

Littered with the stark
of uncherished

Where the hands of time
were indiscriminately ignored

As if...
time itself
were an

fertile resource
entitled at birth

readily harnessed
like a horse to a carriage
or so the ego's disillusioned
sense of self
would have us believe

For man seeks to defy
the mathematical
principles of logic
and natural progression.

His God complex
often compels him
to challenge the
universal law
of gravity,

And yet,
he has always managed to fail.

Contrary to popular belief...

time cannot be
nor even managed.

We can only hope
to manage ourselves
within the space
time allows us,
before we, ourselves
must return to the stars

And thus,
time is most precious
and surely of the essence

For we,
are surely
running out


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Chaotic Beauty

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Contributor: E.S. Wynn

- -
A pair of planets
sluicing through stardust
to catch, to grind into orbits
to catch, to become
to spin into fiery,
rotating binary
where we turn,
turn at last
turn only to orbit
each other
as one.

I was a ruin when we met
At war with myself and weeping toxic
I saw your battles, your scars
echoes of mine, echoes of pain
of the kinds of exchanges
that could lay waste
to whole continents
to planet-spanning nations
excise entire cultures
from the chaotic beauty
of your shining surface.

I saw your wars,
you saw mine
and in the echoes,
the exchanges,
we saw reasons for truce
for embracing soothing solace
reasons to cool the guns
we'd been aiming at ourselves
and others
reasons to dance arm in arm
in sun, in rain
rotate on
as a pair of planets
finally ready
to live together
to share an orbit
to share an orbit
with each other.

- - -
E.S. Wynn is the author of over sixty books in print and is the chief editor of Thunderune Publishing. This poem is one of many featured in the book titled "Trans Physical Dynamics"

Canticle For Desmond

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Contributor: Lyla Sommersby

- -
How sweet the sunrise
when I kiss her
when I caress the soft light
that plays golden
through her hair
when I whisper her name
and the taste of it
is sweet and smooth
and flows

I remember when your name
was that easy to say.

I remember
and I marvel
at the way
the sweet has turned to sour
the softness turned to rocks
rocks and glass.

- - -
I am a student in Miami, Florida. Painting is my other love. My first book, Sketches of Someone, is available through Thunderune Publishing.

Holy Holy Holy

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Contributor: M Spear

- -
What happened to the angel
mouth verses
my childhood sense of believing
a cloud like vision

It was replaced
by the warnings of television
seedy conversations
dot matrix real world living

What happened to the holy
one inside me
with wisdom and kindness
he spoke

All I have is the scooped out
place where peace used to be
waking with the taste
of mortality in my mouth.

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