Deep Poetry

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Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

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“We want to hear ‘emergent voices,’” they say.
“But I am not one,” I reply.
“Rather, I am a ‘submergent voice.’
Slowly I sink deeper and deeper into the hard dark water,
leaving above me a bread-crumb trail of bubbles --


until I am entirely submerged
under the solid weight of solitude.
All I want is for someone else
to hear me when I scream.”

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Last summer I began writing again after a 30-year hiatus. I have since had several poems and short stories published, including in Leaves of Ink.

A Single Burning Flame

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Contributor: Jane Briganti

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Why do I hear their voices
Why do I feel their pain
Why for unknown people
Do I cry a storm of rain

I often wonder why
Do others feel the same
I feel I'm all alone
A single burning flame

Am I being called upon
by powers up above
Is my journey in life
healing others with my love

Searching for an answer
I close my eyes at night
My flame is fading out
until the morning's light

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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.

Netflix & Chill

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Contributor: Todd Mercer

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You are cordially invited to my crib for Netflix and chill.
I will be there for ya, critiquing subtle plot holes
implementing the Tickle Party Strategy,
because it’s proven effective in tight spaces
on lackadaisical February Saturdays.
Adult beverages will be on hand and whatnot,
if indeed you’re one who digs the Whatnot. Partakes?
Whatever the kids are saying re: the whack-tobac these days.
Massages are free of charge. At heart I’m a helper,
So I’m at my best when helping others. My down covers
are warm while it’s sleeting out of doors.

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Todd Mercer was nominated for Best of the Net in 2018. Recent work appears in: Dime Show Review, The Lake and Star 82 Review.

But, I Thought –

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Contributor: JD DeHart

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…poetry had to rhyme.
Not all the time.
(chuckle, chuckle,

…poetry had to be true.
Someone made all that up.

Why, I could write a poem
about a man with an axe and
a large blue ox. Happens more
than you might think.

…poetry had to be chained.

Poetry can break the bonds
and form. Poetry
can do whatever the hell it

Poetry is that kid at the store
you simultaneously love and want
to punish for misbehavior.

Poetry is spoiled, lovely, crude, erudite,
evocative and numbing,

the only
way to capture
the loss, the pathos,
the perfection

we feel on this lonely
and bustling path.

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My book of poems, A Five-Year Journey, has recently been published by Dreaming Big Publications.


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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.


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