Tag Archives: Poetry

Eyes holding storms.

By Lotté Jean Elliott

beautiful ravens
pillage this profanity, the venom in my arteries
bleeding out like soundtracks to soulless villains
scars on the organs, wounded openings
an open port, a haven of injury ready for careless remarks
i’m in a tender spot

i feel the acid radiating away the pained thoughts
but i’m nothing but a thought in the air
please, when will i heal
i want to feel secure, a safe haven
when will my body become my own again
not powered by broken beings.


Lotté Jean Elliott is a writer based in Northern England. She is the published author of a fiction novel, THE DAMNED SOCIETY, poetry collections LETTERS TO JUPITER and NIGHTS IN THE SNOW GARDEN and an upcoming screenwriter. She has works featured in Literary Mark, Brave Voices Magazine, Sledgehammerlit and BBC Newcastle.

Jules

By Susan Miller

 Jules was sinking
and no one really got that.
They’d say hey, how goes it,
what’s up, catch you soon.
She took the 38B in the a.m.;
you could set your watch on that.
You’d see her at the bus stop
in rainbow-colored rain boots,
pink slicker, flowered skirt.
Ear buds dangling between
stringy locks, smudged eyeliner
hiding slits that stared
at ants on the ground.

 You didn’t see scab-pocked
arms where a razor dug in deep
the night before. Or fingernails
that gripped the green lunch bucket,
nibbled into broken skin.
You didn’t hear the rattle
in her head on the dark days
or pay attention when she
crossed the street seven times.

Jules was just always there
standing near the weeds
waiting, waiting for the 38B.
She was always going somewhere,
the girl who was going nowhere.


Susan Miller is an editor/reporter for USA TODAY newspaper who enjoys creative writing as a hobby. Her poetry has appeared in several publications, including Whimsical Poet, The Dillydoun Review, Gemini Magazine, Common Ground Review, Months to Years, Under the Bridges of America, Sandy Paws and the Arlington Anthology. She had a short story published in Beach Life.

cough drop

By Catie Wiley

i hold fear under my tongue like a lozenge.
that sharp cherry taste lingers, tingles
all menthol and memory.

it sweats. coating my throat
and coloring my pharynx 
with permanent marker.

every inhale reminds me,
every exhale reminds me,
of something
i don’t want to remember.


Catie Wiley is a lesbian writer from Maryland. She’s a contributing editor for Story Magazine and a poetry reader for the winnow magazine. Her work appears in Stone of Madness Press, Wrongdoing Magazine, and warning lines magazine, among others. Find her on Twitter or at catiewiley.wordpress.com.

A Question and an Answer

By S. T. Brant

How do you write? How can you think? How can you be free? There is no way…

You’re looking for no place. You have come about in an age where angels are dead,

all stars dying. 

Dwindling instead of burning, 

meaning without Meaning.

Bonaventura didn’t claim the self was god,

though I wish he did.

He said the self can become- can join god. 

The self can never be lost,

it can always be augmented. 

All things lead back to center; 

all can be absorbed, 

all leads up.

There is no distinction between lost and found; 

The self is always journeying,

so if it’s lost it’s on its way;

if it’s sure of itself, it should keep the path.

The journey never wavers from the soul’s circumference. 


S. T. Brant is a teacher from Las Vegas. Pubs in/coming from EcoTheo, Timber, Door is a Jar, Santa Clara Review, Rain Taxi, New South, Green Mountains Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Ekstasis, 8 Poems, a few others. You can find him on Twitter or Instagram

applesauce

By Catie Wiley

when you say you love me, 
my ears are full 
of applesauce. 
i hear the sounds but 
never 
the meaning behind them.

every day, i try 
to shake the applesauce 
out.
i try and i try and i try, 
but it’s no use. 
i can’t use a q-tip. 
no spoons allowed. 
a fork would never work, 
too much risk, 
and i’ve never wanted an ear piercing 
anyway.

you say you love me and i want to ask you 
to write it down. in pen, not pencil. 
hell, a sharpie would be better. 
write it down so I know 
i’m not imagining it. 
write it down so 
i can hold it in my hands.
write it down. 
the muffle will linger.


Catie Wiley is a lesbian writer from Maryland. She’s a contributing editor for Story Magazine and a poetry reader for the winnow magazine. Her work appears in Stone of Madness Press, Wrongdoing Magazine, and warning lines magazine, among others. Find her on Twitter or at catiewiley.wordpress.com.

Defense of Wonder

By S. T. Brant

What is there worth Wondering if all’s inclined against it;
If all’s determined to destroy the wonder and amazement
Innate in us: If the world to wonder at defies our wondering,
Is our natural sense of wonder not an antagonist to Nature
And to god that we are stubborn devils in the pit wasting
Mystic powers pouting, O earthly interpreter of heaven? 
O align with Bonaventure, with our grandest saints-

the path to what’s worth terming god
is through the world that hopes we discover 
in it the wonder that reaches for it; 

it is our worldly robes that obstructs
our heart’s wonder from touching
the wonder in the lowly stones.

Wonder wants to wander and wants wonder.


S. T. Brant is a teacher from Las Vegas. Pubs in/coming from EcoTheo, Timber, Door is a Jar, Santa Clara Review, Rain Taxi, New South, Green Mountains Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Ekstasis, 8 Poems, a few others. You can find him on Twitter or Instagram

Love as Job

By S.T. Brant

Love never rests. It moves, in Death, you to and fro

over glades, dells, the moor,

Deserts, what land there is to trespass; loves do so

hand in hand. Death

Is the wind that chills the living’s skin, but lovers

are not disquieted,

They amble in the weather as though all is sunshine

always and nosegays

Lined created. They may. For those that stroll the earth

contented in eternity;

Sleepless through the legion sorrows fought off

in life; to ramble

With amorous, undefeated spirits in rumored darkness,

though their spirits’ armor,

Its dents and scars and cavities from life’s swords show:

Love moves them all

The more on and on and on past the power their gravestones.


S. T. Brant is a teacher from Las Vegas. Pubs in/coming from EcoTheo, Timber, Door is a Jar, Santa Clara Review, Rain Taxi, New South, Green Mountains Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Ekstasis, 8 Poems, a few others. You can find him on Twitter or Instagram

Eros in Eden

By S.T. Brant

So Dante hears Francesca 
Say the hurricane is worth
The hell for Paolo.
Dante says that any hell 
Is worth Francesca,
There is no sin in love, 
God’s in error. So he fainted
On the bluff before the storm,
Blacked out with the doubt
That in wretched coterie
Could seat him there.

So I’ve stumbled on the Tree of Love,
Its leaves drop the lessons of our literature.


S. T. Brant is a teacher from Las Vegas. Pubs in/coming from EcoTheo, Timber, Door is a Jar, Santa Clara Review, Rain Taxi, New South, Green Mountains Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Ekstasis, 8 Poems, a few others. You can find him on Twitter or Instagram.

midwest america part two

By Emma Geller

next morning 
they found our bodies
by the lake.

we were turned 
away from each other, 
backs staring at the shore. 

you wanted to 
break my heart
& i refused

by the water.

we ended up 
just like we started. 

the final scene,
in the film of our life,
it wasn’t heartbreaking, 
but not a happy ending either.


Emma Geller is a poet, singer, and actress from Boston, MA. Her poetry has been featured in various publications, including Quillkeeper’s Press, Honeyfire Literary Magazine and Calliope’s Eyelash. You can find out more about Emma on Instagram at em_me_line.

flash

By Emma Geller

you called me 
a lightning bolt
in a bottle,
i was all 

electric light.
against the background
of the mountains, 

electric light 
against the sky.

silent instead, i shocked you
with my smile, eyes wide,
running away, stopping 
for no one. 

when i left, 
you didn’t know
i was still there, 
next to you,

I had become
your shadow
of smoke, 
your burnout.


Emma Geller is a poet, singer, and actress from Boston, MA. Her poetry has been featured in various publications, including Quillkeeper’s Press, Honeyfire Literary Magazine and Calliope’s Eyelash. You can find out more about Emma on Instagram at em_me_line.