Desperation leads to the path of love. There is nothing magical about blood. The moonlight is my only family. They say that emotional cheating is part and parcel to becoming a loved one, and yet, nobody volunteers their soul. I dream that my brood will share my bloodline. Even though I cannot stand how you... Continue Reading →

I want to be someone other than me. I look in the mirror and my face incites enmity. Photo by Evelyn Chong on Pexels.com About the Poet: Francis DiClemente is an Emmy Award-winning filmmaker who lives in Syracuse, New York. He is the author of six poetry collections, most recently Outward Arrangements: Poems (independently published, 2021) and Dreaming... Continue Reading →

That day, my father lost his path as he tipped his lips to the sky. Clouds began to gather, thin on a distant horizon. When he lost his job, the dark threat rose beyond the Blue Ridge valley. When he sold our mountain land and fields, I could hear thunder roar in the distance. Darkness... Continue Reading →

The noises echo at night With no one else on the street. There are no streetlamps And the headlights have to do too much work. I try to interpret the signs, The sounds as best I can Because I can hardly see anything. Since I moved here I’ve forgotten much more Than I’ve learned. Since... Continue Reading →

I bathe in a whirlwind of lost leaves, and I slowly sink in brassy waves, My hopes are hidden in a corner, Through heavy clouds, today the fabric of light falls apart. I let myself be carried by the birds, wandering through the flocks, and I fly toward leadenly and dusty horizons. My broken wings... Continue Reading →

How can it be that someone I don't see, only think about sometimes, but never contact, or try to, leaves such a gap, in their final leaving. My life has not been changed. All is the same. So why the difference now that you're really in the past, when you were already part of my... Continue Reading →

(After: “Ode with a Lament” by Pablo Neruda) Such death within our heart’s chambers: the beloved lamenting under the temples’ arches, coming alive again as we call to them, desperate to make sense of their death. And we move together slowly, one step at a time toward another dance, another life, in which we would... Continue Reading →

It’s cloudy, and your moon seems smudged: silver thumb on black-blue night. I look up, knowing that you look, knowing we complete three angles: earth to star, to earth. Knowing that the much between is nothing, not to those enraptured. Not to us. Regret the time what intervenes attracts. Curse the day the world means... Continue Reading →

Cider is something That makes me long for a time That I never knew. I have known scotch and cheap bars, But not the tones in photos. Photo by Tijana Drndarski on Pexels.com About the Poet: S.F. Wright lives and teaches in New Jersey. His work has appeared in Hobart, Linden Avenue Literary Journal, and... Continue Reading →