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Contributor: Michael Seeger

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Today I felt glad
The sun rose on our quiet neighborhood.
Hummingbirds came visiting the feeders
All filled with nectar —like the words your lips
Held, and continue to hold, for me.
Whatever pain I was feeling was not felt
Bending down in the yard to pull a weed
Without anger, or jealousy —just
The feeling that everything was alright.

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Michael lives with his lovely wife, Catherine, and still-precocious 16 year-old daughter, Jenetta, in a house owned by a magnificent Maine Coon (Jill) and two high-spirited Chihuahuas (Coco and Blue). He is an educator (like his wife) residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California.

Lets All Go To The Moon

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Contributor: H.L. Dowless

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We once sang a sweet song
in the merry month of June,
“Oh Come With Me To The
Valley Of The Moon!”

We shall travel about in clothes
of golden sand,
if you will just give me your
precious little hand.
Oh come now,
lets go to the moon!

In those shaded craters
we shall forever swing
from a beautiful hand stitched
hammock that I thought to bring!
Can you come with me to the valley
of the moon?

In the sands of shinning gold
we'll all happily dance,
where only sun beams
and angels have pranced!

We will sit about
in the cool shade and shadows,
eating manna from the fairies
in the valleys!
Oh please now,
do come to the moon!

Oh...can you see...there..,
my dear child, oh look!
Where the old man's left eye is
we will be!
All of us forever merry,
like a portrait in a book!
Oh please now,
lets go to the moon!

Yes you, yes me,
all of us and the whole family,
do come now,
lets go away soon!

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The author is a thirty year veteran writer. He also teaches ESL offshore, and does whatever he can find that he enjoys doing when stateside.

The Sun

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Contributor: Bruce Levine

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The sun is just burning off
The morning mist as it
Pierces the leaves of the trees
Casting a wakening glow
On the landscape
Bringing warmth to the day
And to the hearts of lovers
After the cool and restful night

The day has begun
The smells of coffee
And breakfast permeates
The air as life is

Joyous surroundings
Fill the souls as the sun
Fills the sky
Lighting the way
To work and to play
And love engulfs
The lovers who
Bask in the glow
Of the sun
And their love

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Bruce Levine, a native Manhattanite, has spent his life as a writer of fiction and poetry and as a music and theatre professional. His literary catalogue includes four novels, short stories, humorous sketches, flash fiction, poetry, essays, magazine articles and a screenplay His works are published in over twenty-five on-line and print journals, over twenty books, his shows have been produced in New York and around the country and he’s the author of the novellas Reinvented and An Accidental Journey. His work is dedicated to the loving memory of his wife, dancer/actress, Lydia Franklin.

Fingertip Dreams Between Life & Death

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Contributor: James D. Casey IV

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How many
do you think
you'll have?

How many
will you

stretch my arms
as far apart as
can go.

bring the tips
of my index fingers

I imagine
that expanse as
my life
my death.

Meeting together
in the middle,
as my fingers
I remember.

I remember,
that dreams
are things
that can be
into fruition.

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James D. Casey IV is the author of six poetry books, and founder/editor-in-chief of Cajun Mutt Press. His work has also been published by small press venues and literary magazines including Mad Swirl, Zombie Logic Review, Oddball Magazine, Clockwise Cat, and several others.
Links to his books and other projects can be found here:

Of Yearning

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Contributor: Ken Allan Dronsfield

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In a lifetime full of yearning
through which came wishing, dreaming
within many splendid, unquiet enthusiasms
an echo murmured back the word, 'ardor!'
I was needy and you solicitous,
my mind always straying to paradoxes.
Instead I uncovered the devotion,
the perkiness brought such euphoria
and so I screamed, 'Is that a need?'
Mattering and assaultive within theodicy
Urging and purging within my slyness,
my shyness or otherness, I could not
awaken! Tossing its ghost into all desire,
'It's that barrenness,' I muttered
Quirkingly back into my memories
craving the eccentric, eclectic fantasy
the yearning essential evanescence
an evolutionist laughed in retort.
'It's that piety,' I whispered.
The saintliness simply smiled.

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Ken Allan Dronsfield is a poet. He loves writing, thunderstorms, and spending time with his cats Willa, Turbo and Yumpy. He lives for the day, and believes in Mermaids.

Protect The Sapling

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Contributor: Sheshu Babu

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Strong communal
Gender hatred
A seed of Love
Was sown

Its roots
The vicious
Spiteful ground

The sapling
Is now growing


Provide it pure air
Assist with care
Supply clean water
Minerals to withstand
Any adverse circumstance with dare

The sapling
Would spread
Its branches of harmony
Bearing fruits of Love
And compassion
To be enjoyed
by future generations

Survivor of honour killing gives birth on wedding anniversary, January 31, 2019 [linked here]

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The writer from anywhere and everywhere , supports any one working without fear and anger.


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Contributor: Michael Seeger

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for Edgar A. Poe

In virtuosic gothic rhyme
And chilling words felt to the bone
You blossomed in a darkened time —

Then left us while still in your prime
A mystery that’s still unknown.
In virtuosic gothic rhyme

And tintinnabulating chime
(Of course, a full moon always shone),
You blossomed in a darkened time —

Though you were hardly paid a dime
for writing what is now well-known —
In virtuosic gothic rhyme!

Now there’s a flowering creeping vine
That twines above your grave’s headstone
And blossoms in a darkened time.

In shadowed beauty, words sublime —
All you loved you loved alone —
In virtuosic gothic rhyme
You blossomed in a darkened time.

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Michael lives with his lovely wife, Catherine, and still-precocious 16 year-old daughter, Jenetta, in a house owned by a magnificent Maine Coon (Jill) and two high-spirited Chihuahuas (Coco and Blue). He is an educator (like his wife) residing in the Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California.

The Whirlwind

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Contributor: Bruce Mundhenke

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The whirlwind came in winter,
Wreaked havoc on our town,
Destroyed houses and uprooted trees,
Scattered possessions around,
Silenced TVs and radios,
Put many in the dark,
Injured many people,
Though no one lost their life,
Humbled both the rich and poor,
And caused many to feel compassion,
Felt compelled to help others in need,
The contents of medicine cabinets,
Scattered all over town,
Strong trees snapped or uprooted,
Roofing shingles on roads and in yards,
Chainsaws were heard for days,
Along with noise that hammers made,
The sight of crews working
To restore the power,
Replacing power lines and poles,
The helping hands of relief workers,
Who volunteered their help,
Kindness among the rubble,
In the wake of the whirlwind.

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Bruce Mundhenke lives in a small town that was visited by a tornado on December 1, 2018.

Song of Mourning

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Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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Dedicated to Rebecca Pitman

Sing out the dark.
Sing out the sadness.
Sing out the fear
of being alone.

Sing out the pain.
Sing out the heartbreak.
Sing out for weeping
soon to be done.

Sing for the light
to shine down upon you.
Sing for a peace
to soothe your soul.

Sing for the day
when you look up above you
to see the sun shining
and all the clouds gone.

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I began writing poetry again last spring after a 30-year hiatus. This poem was written for my daughter, Rebecca, after her husband, Kevin Nagle, died on 11/26/18.


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Contributor: Jane Briganti

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Deep inside his mind
hide secrets to his soul
Does she hold the key
can she make him whole

Buried are the pains
he speaks not of the past
Can he heal himself
or are his pains too vast

Will her love save him
find him peace of mind
or will he dwindle deeper
so the truth she'll never find

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A Native New Yorker, she's been writing poetry for as long as she can remember. Her writing expresses her thoughts and emotions.


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