Contributor: Iana Delapaz

- -
One rides, bow in hand
and a crown upon his head,
his aim to conquer.

Another appears,
with the power to wage war
and a fiery steed.

Yet a third comes by,
a pair of scales in his grip;
hunger plagues the earth.

Atop a pale horse,
the last rider approaches,
and Death is his name.


- - -
Iana Delapaz is a lover of all things hamster and is the owner of one named Sachi. Her favorite color is blue but she owns a lot of pink items. To combat boredom, she enjoys doodling and singing while playing her ukulele.

Contributor: Donal Mahoney

- -
Young monk
and old monk
in the orchard
picking peaches,
sunny and plump,
ready for canning.

Carrying bushels
to the wagon cart,
the young monk
asks the old monk
what to look out for
when growing old.

The old monk
pauses and says
not much.
Life stays the same
for the most part.
Monks work and pray
but an old monk
works slower and
prays faster.

But not to worry,
the old monk advises.
He admits he's
going deaf
but that's just
an inconvenience
since God uses
sign language.
Peaches like these
have no need to talk.


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

Contributor: Claire

- -
Growing up, I loved the color of seafoam green-defined as:
the color of water, except in a visible form.

The beautiful, Pacific waves and the memories made
in the ocean, brings me nostalgia of the fun times I had.

I was raised up with water, it became my third parent
always with me, and my second sibling.

Seafoam green reminds me of the first few times I went swimming
and I pretended to have powers like Poseidon;

Reminds me of when I was still scared of drowning, and placed
all my faith in the lifeguard jackets that helped me stay afloat.

Reminds me of the times I spent, sportively spraying water-guns
with my neighborhood friends in the hot, summer afternoons.

Or when I helped my anxious three year-old preschool students
slide down miniature water slides at church.

Or when my mother, sister and I
dunked our cold feet in a tub of hot water.

Or when my family visited Zion National Park, to rest our feet
in the refreshing rivers, and where I realized the environmentalist in me.

Growing up, I loved the color of my choice, seafoam green,
which was influenced through my interconnection with water.


- - -
Claire finds joy in actively voicing her opinions that challenge the societal norm. Mother nature never ceases to leave Claire breathless. She wishes most for time to stop when she spends time with her friends.

Contributor: Janea Dominique

- -
New Holiday

We put up the tree
cheer gives way to a silence-
but our star is gone.

Morphe

A small fluffy brush,
brown colors blend and sparkle-
one finished eye pops.

Home

Unwanted tears fall,
the cold air bites at my cheek-
its warm in her arms.

Camp Counselor

Tomato red skin
kids running through the sprinklers,
nothing beats my job.

Runners

Salty, soft and pink,
came so far on your journey-
don’t die young salmon.


- - -
Janea Dominique is an adrenaline junkie who sneaks into abandoned asylums and rides dirt bikes in the desert. She also is a homebody, often curled up on the couch with a cup of tea in her lap and a Disney film playing on the TV.

Contributor: Christie Kim

- -
How many times must you be reminded to hurry up?
Mom’s car is gone.
She drove off,
without you.
Don’t you dare make that pouty face.
She doesn’t hate you.
Yes, your sister is with her;
don’t read into it.
She doesn’t love her more.
She doesn’t hate you.
Calm yourself and dial your mother now,
there’s a reason she gave you that phone.
She just forgot you.
Although you’re baffled,
don’t show your tears
because there are bigger things in life,
to cry about.
Just let it pass;
it’ll become a moment to laugh about,
later on.
What are you waiting for?
Quit stalling and call mom,
now.
I promise,
she doesn’t hate you.


- - -
Christie Kim thinks that the sun will make her taller. She stands outside hoping for inches, but only comes home as red as a tomato. She needs to realize that photosynthesis isn’t her forte.

Contributor: Joanna M. Weston

- -
the time when cars pause longer at stop signs
cats are a glide of shadow by the fence
and I wait wait for darkness

in which I can hunt new wisdoms
that rise and drift into knowledge
become words I will try out over coffee
next morning and wonder if what I learned
during the half-light of yesterday
is truth or imagination to be painted on canvas
or written into a poem though I would lose
the inflow of mist and the half-seen owl that blinks
while I pass as a spectre among street lights


- - -
JOANNA M. WESTON. Has had poetry etc. published for twenty-plus years. Her middle-reader, ‘Those Blue Shoes', published by Clarity House Press; and poetry, ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, 2016.

Contributor: Donal Mahoney

- -
I saw Mr. Neery,
ninety if a day,
wobbly on his walker

on his way to Sunday Mass.
He won't accept a ride,
insists on walking.

He's easy to spot,
a St. Louis Cardinals fan
in a bright red jacket

and a Cardinals cap
that halts a hurricane
of snowy hair.

It's his first Mass
since burying his wife
a month ago when

someone lent him
a black suit to wear.
Now he's in red again,

a sign of hope,
even if he's bent over,
his humped back a

question mark growing.
But he's no different now
than he was before.

He still comes to Mass
like everyone else
looking for the answer

and to pray for the Cardinals
who play the Mets
at 1 o'clock this afternoon.


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

Contributor: Patricia Santillan

- -
I am a midnight blue of the lost hour,
a company to those that can’t sleep.

I am a sunny yellow of the afternoon,
the energy for those that need it.

Arms that are used for close embraces with another
can also push them far away.

Ears that are used for listening to the beauty of songs
can also hear the terrifying screams of anger.

Eyes that are opened wide to look for wonder
can also be closed to stop cries.

Just like Pandora’s Box, I keep my evils locked away.
However, someone will eventually open them up.

A person who is calm and collected
can also be an irrational radical.

A person who is full of innocence
can also be corrupted by sin.

I am a midnight blue of the found hour,
helping the sleepless into their slumber.

I am a sunny yellow of the afternoon,
burning those under my rays.


- - -
Patricia Santillan speaks multiple languages. She is a lover of Greek mythology because there has to be more than what she learned in Catholic school. Her last publication can be found in the Anthology of Poetry by Young Americans from when she was nine.

Contributor: John Dorn

- -
Silver solvent
to make everything better
with black hair
black nails
strong hands
wet sex
and a moan
to curl toes

I could forget so much
wash away my many woes
with an evening between your thighs
trace your tattoos
with lines of mingled me
and you
until we become one
again
and again.


- - -

Contributor: Stacy Maddox

- -
In the quiet moments
Buried in the depths of darkness
You are right there beside me
Surrounding my every sense
Whispering your truths from lover's lips

My soul is at peace with yours
Reassured of the promises made
From the man who cradles this heart
Never to let it slip away and break
I have needed you for so long

You speak my very name
It is the sweetest sound
Of love I have ever known
A fire burning so brightly
The beacon to call home

One with you, in harmony
Feeling your presence on the wind
Taking me higher and higher
I close my eyes and I am there
Wrapped inside your golden wings

You are all that I know
Taking me to those places
That only dreamers have seen
A song playing low and slow
Collected in the memories of our story

In the quiet moments...


- - -
Stacy Maddox lives, dreams, tends her gardens and writes in the fast-paced city of Lawrence, KS, USA. Indulging her time in the outdoors, connecting with nature, walking the Kansas River trails and discovering new photo opportunities, is one of her greatest pleasures in life. Stacy has been published in over 25 books, print and online magazines and websites.