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Sarfraz Ahmed

Even the stars have turned cold

Without your love to have and to hold

Without the warmth of your embrace

A vacant smile is all that’s left

There is no look of love upon your face.

The bust of colours

The sunset and sunrise

Ignites a flame

Your poured magic

Into my veins

Hit me

Time and time again.

You left a dent in my heart

In all the right places

A wound so precise

Without you

Even the stars 

Have frosted over

Inflamed cold as ice.



Kathy Jo Bryant

United States

Look to the sky

The golden horizon

Expect a better day

The failures you've had

Are in the past

Don't stay under clouds of gray

Look to the sky

So full of bright stars

Just be a star, you may

Another might see

Your shining rays

And in your sweet glow they'll stay!



Martina Robles Gallegos

California, United States


Whenever every door seems to close, look to the sky for light.

Whenever your spirits hit too low, remember to look up to the sky

for motivation. The beautiful blue will brighten your day.

Look to the sky when hope feels like it's fading away.

When your dreams seem to dim your path, look to the sky for stars 

to shine brightly on them again.

Whenever faith wanes, look to the sky for the moon to brighten it anew.

Whenever sadness waxes in your heart, look to the sky for meteor showers 

to bring happiness back from the heavens and into your life.

Look to the sky and let the rain pour down on your wanting body.

Look to the sky and let the sun warm your courage.

Look to the sky and grasp the moonlight. 

Look to the sky and let the stars lead the way to wisdom.

Remember, nothing is too low that can't be risen, and nothing is too high 

that can't be lowered.



Duane Anderson

Nebraska, United States

Clouds overhead,

floating by,

dressed all in white,

highlighted by a blue-sky.

They are the movie of the day

as they slowly pass by.

I keep watching,

not wanting to miss the ending

when the sky becomes too dark

and disappears into night,

waiting for a second viewing

as I replay them in my dreams.



David Dephy

New York, United States

Silence tomorrow, but tonight, the sky is clear, 

no wind, nothing, the stars shine, see that?

Still, the song echoes, you know a song enough 

to drown the notes in silence as the seeds.


Warm breeze appears, as the answer to a prayer, 

this morning. Maiden Lane drifts on the rays

in lower Manhattan. See the man in the street? 

That’s me, who still believes everything is 

in many ways our breath. Yet he still turns his breath 

into a prayer, and dawn, that embraces him, right there, 

remembers that second, when he was a kid, 

standing alone in front of the man with the machine gun, 

and closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and made 

his first wish looking right into the heart 

of his own future.



Kenny Likis

Massachusetts, United States

The problem starts with my tongue.

It wants to say what my eyes think 

they see when my eyes cannot speak.

It wonders at the weight of it, the sum.

What about the poplars? Did they birth 

the blues? An anaconda has it easier.

Or a white cockatoo in a gold-plated cage.

We search for omens in crossword puzzles

we solve al dente with a redbrick abacus.

The sound of the surf argues for a retrial.

The salty sea air feigns steamed cabbage.

In the night sky shine haibun monks  

on three continents get drunk explicating.



Jonathan Ukah

United Kingdom


When the seagulls come feasting
With squawking, crowing, screaming,
I hold a full-minted loaf in my hands
My stomach shrieking, squealing;
My mother’s eyes twisted with pain
When she sees the seagulls feasting.

When the seagulls come feasting,
The sky turns a searing, blind eye,
And blind billows the western wind
That brings the band of seagulls to me;
My mother’s eyes twisted with sorrow
When she sees the seagulls feasting.

When the seagulls come feasting
My blood runs cold; my heart bleeds
And dry run my hands to my head
Where the crumbs go crumbling;
The day the seagulls come feasting
Cold is the ground and colder the sky.

I sit on the ragged cleft of a rock
Where the waves haul me into the sea,
Over the precipice of a half-chopped dam
I sit alone and look to the silent sky,
The day the seagulls come feasting
Is the day the sky abandons me.



I saw the tracks of angels on the earth…



Dianalee Velie

New Hampshire, United States

The glowing, sandy footprints stopped midway

to the Red Sea.  Disappeared into azure sky.

Bikini clad women cried.

Muscle-toned body builders stared 


Children laughed and danced.

The elderly prayed.

Frolicking above the foamy waves

cherubs sang a psalm of peace.

Seraphim rejoiced with trumpets

as the footprints crystalized into pink stone,

signaling the beginning and the end,

the start and the finish, immortalizing

a lasting peace for eternity.



Marianne Tefft

Sint Maarten


I am the constellations

That rise with you

When your voice calls to me

From your dreamless night

I am your summer trio

Your harp your swan your eagle

When you crave melodies 

That soar on midnight wings

I am your bright dolphin

Who rides eternal waves

To soothe your mind

With her indelible smile

I am your moonlit crab

Who sheds her own solitude

To pierce the mighty shell

That once held your heart

I am the constellations

That delight your eyes

When my voice replies to you

From my sleepless night



D.R. James

Michigan, United States


Just out of Minneapolis-St. Paul we seemed

briefly to stall as if to shadow

all those wispies drifting below.

The mazes of cul-de-sacs had given way

to assorted squares of barren fields,

their whiskered homesteads glued

to odd corners like stamps, wide ribbon

slipping backward and away, silent terrain

under a lazy canoe. Now the sun

has cast a gray ghost of our plane

down and to my right, framed it within

the awkward porthole, its sliding shade,

an unaccountable halo of rainbow—

and this ridiculous filigree of angels,

filmy leagues camouflaged in ether,

special recruits that mingle and network

like secret agents: the FBI of the sky.

But when we soon tilt and ascend

to the high status toward Denver, I know

all this silliness will vanish, angels fading,

becoming the thin air, and these fields will retreat

to compose vast sheets of stamps, re-impose

perspective, that inevitable severance

from everything that’s then re-imaginable.

—first published in Ruminate



Thomas Piekarski

California, United States


Cloistered in my lonely room

with undefinable smells hovering

the phantom bride and groom quit

which peppers me with gloom.

Shadows are randy, no music,

and whir of ceiling fan a bore.

I get a knock on the door,

it’s a maintenance man

come to check my smoke alarm.

His duty to comply with statutes

so this inspection is thorough, dull

enough to make an elephant snore.

News on the net a little scary,

our ecosystem in jeopardy of collapse.

I channel attention to the view outside,

construction of a new strip mall:

the builders have best intentions,

allow for simple access and egress.

I whirl in luxurious dreamscape,

a path out of my lethargy like

zipping through worm holes in space

past galaxies in the blink of an eye.

Screech of brakes and a loud crash

when cars collide and windows rattle.

Strength emerges and bold as an eagle

swooping down on unsuspecting prey

despite absence of Mont Blanc

or any such pinnacle I’d scale

I set a goal to live carefree 

like a pollywog in an infinite sea.

Yet that would never pass muster

with modern quantum theory

nor alchemical wizardry.

“Hang it all” I mutter, “think 

I’ll pack my bags, ditch this place

and head for Mount Olympus.”


Pankhuri Sinha


A plane flying to NY

The big apple, got diverted

To london, the imperial city

Though all theories of neo-colonialism

point fingers at America! The big

M! But listen up, let's not digress

A plane flying to Japan

Flew directionless

For 7 hours, god knows why?

Flights from india

To Saudi and other places?

Diverted ! What the hell happened?

Sky traffic jam?

But that's not the only reason

To look to the sky!


As it is, everyday, we look

At the sky, casually, even

Deliberately, sky is infinite!

Limitlessness is the sky

That place to soar high!

Raise our spirits to float and fly!

But its so much more than that!

The sky is blue and pink and

Red and yellow, and we can't stop

Looking at the horizon!

Where the sun sets and rises and beyond!


In the sky is the other hemisphere

Where the night is the day!

Day is night!

Completing a circle!

Of unchangeable constant!


But we must look to the sky

And not just at it, the minute

We ever trip or fall

Or dither or pause or doubt

Or regret and yes even celebrate

Because the sky

Is the most tranquil

And unending part of our




F. Kate Langan



When my son was just an infant boy

and my days were filled with him

I'd take him to the park to play

just to pass the time of day.

I'd push him in the baby swing

and this little song I'd sing:

“Look to the sky where the airplanes fly.

Down to the ground where the worms are,

over and over until he could laugh no more.



Skye Price


Peace and solitude wrapped in ink blotted stars

Rare pockets of time set aside for ourselves

Free from requests and a race to success

Midnight is reserved, unassigned, safely held

Protection and warmth gently humming from the moon

A meditative silence surrenders its spell

Closed away from the tension that daylight exudes

Stardust swirling with tomorrow’s potential

A void to fill in, a limbo - a pause

Reflect on philosophies, or dream up worlds

Focus on now, no after or before

Stare at the stars; watch your best work unfurl 

Lay your trepidation to bed

Cushion the weight of your thoughts

All is accepted at midnight

Midnight is yours.



Cathy Hollister

Tennessee, United States


golden ring on the horizon

weds night to day

under a rose-tinged cloud trellis

blessing the union

thrush, finch, chickadee join the dawn chorus

thrive, mate, feast

on the morning breeze

as if in worship to the first star

who wishes farewell to the night

and ushers in an open heart

persistent love

growing deep, seeking diamonds hiding

undiscovered, waiting for the brilliance 

bursting from the night

binding love reborn in an infant’s cry

bidding the love-lost to join

the sunrise choir of welcome

to the new day

reflected in the drops of morning dew

on each blade of grass

on asphalt streets and prison yards

on weedy lots and palace walls

green sprouts emerge through

the slough of darkness

fluid as deer running through the forest

peace and joy flood

to banish lurking shadows

the marriage of forgiveness and need

delivers the reward of mercy 

in the blazing daybreak of

love of all, in all, through all, to all,

within the sight of the morning star



Najma Naseer Bhatti

Sindh. Pakistan


Oh! Vast sky,

You are here from centuries,

Your every colour is strange,

And spectrum appears after heavy rain,

Reason of smile on every tired face,

You are shelter for homeless,

How could I define you? 

I have no words like stars,

Which represent your charm 

Moon is your ornament,

Sun is your necklace,

But instead of all that,

You are victim of all the crimes and injustices happened under you,

How you tolerate it? 

From years, you are still stable as at beginning.



Kathryn Temple


We’re tourists at the Uffizi, we don’t know much

about art so listen to the guide, it’s light versus dark,

Botticelli, Leonardo, Caravaggio, chiaroscuro

under the porticos, in the galleries, on every wall.


A madonna cradles a glowing child, all the

madonnas hold hallowed children, the mothers

sit in the dark. I am cranky, I complain, 

these women served God, where is their light?


I’m with the science guy, he’s looking for Kepler. 

We find the famous painting, smaller than imagined,

the floating face dissolves in the dark, chin buried in black, 

he wants to know, what do they have against Kepler.


Cecilia’s shining neck, suspended alit, awaits the sword,

Judith swings a tyrant’s head, blood drips. A swan lies

slick-white against Leda’s dark thigh. Bright-bodied

Hercules fights a green-dark hydra, kill it we think.


We roam from room to room, remark the light, outstare 

the dark. Painting after painting, vengeful gods, dying saints,

the medusa, one martyr too many. We’re martyred ourselves, 

we’ve sacrificed, our feet hurt, we want the exit, life not art.


Life not art, we walk the grimy streets, the air reeks, Vespas

part the crowds, we scorn designer shops and they scorn us.

People push and shove, they ignore fake David, flock to Ponte Vecchio,

look but don’t buy, complain about the heat, spit in the cobblestones.


Downcast, we hike the hill to the Piazzale, another David, a

closed basilica, we watch the sky darken over the city. A mead

moon rises above the Duomo, a few stars form bright points,

Acrux, Sirius, Cygnus, meteors and moons. Star-lit, enchanted,


we drink from the fountain, eat grapes, bread, cheese,

we are changelings, art lovers now, we review:

Botticelli, Caravaggio, chiaroscuro, beneath the 

porticos, in the galleries, on every wall.  And here.


This is the sky Leonardo loved.



Pratibha Savani

United Kingdom 


Evening begins
Night's a mystery
Wonders of stars
How many do I see?
Cool air whizzes through me
From above it shines
Milky and glowy
Can’t touch, want to
Can’t reach, want to
Following me
Just an illusion
Shadows created
Evening's ending
Night's began
I wonder around 
Hoping I’ve won


Mark Hudson

Stars, stars in the sky,

show me your significance!

The whole world walks by

with an air of indifference.

If stars are so very vital,

why can’t I see them connecting?

Who got to give them titles?

Where they inspired by their reflecting?

Adam, the first man, named the beasts,

while someone else gave the stars names.

I see a star up above in the East,

a shooting star going down in a flame.

Naming stars has already been done,

the Big Dipper and Milky way known.

No stars visible when seen by the sun,

but when moonlight glows, starlight is shown.



Shampa Saha 


Walk along to some furlong

Stop and stare the sky

Dare to dream and think extreme

To the altitude, high!


Starry nights or scorching days,

The sky is always broad.

Blue and black, never be stagned

Whether the longest road.


Walk along, if no one

Is ready to be your friend

Sky will be there, smile and stare

And reach the goal at end.


Sky the teacher, teaches to be boroad

Teaches to be bright or cloudy

Always be there , where you are

Don't feel lonely, if there is nobody!


Look at the sky, keep thoughts high

Always be happy like a lark

Luna and the sun will be there, just them, stare,

And ignore the ugly dark.



Carolyn Chilton Casas

United States


As the sun begins to set,

on the highest tips

of leafless twigs are perched

at least fifty starlings.

All facing west and trilling.


Why the sycamore today

and not the almost as tall

mulberry trees or oaks? 

The best view, perhaps,

as close as possible to heaven.

At other times I see their small bodies

strung out side by side

on the telephone wire

in the hastening dusk.


The birds remind me of beach walkers

at this time of day

stopping to face westward.

It’s as if watching this sinking globe

is a sacrament not to be missed.



Neal Whitman

California, United States

there are a billion zillion


more or less

named, thus far,

only eighty-eight


so many stars

opportunities galore

for new ones

it takes imagination

to connect the dots

and see a shape

with seven stars

a profile in outline

low on the horizon



  •   •

  •   •


looks for no trouble

squints in the light


and poetry

best seen in the dark



* from Walt Whitman, “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer”



Karuna Mistry

United Kingdom

Sunshine stricken

On patchwork clouds

We lie lazy on a

Soothing moment

Skyscape in view

Of panoramic heat

Sound of nothing

Passing us by…


Fuselage contrails

Tear up the sky

Scratchy streaks

On ruined canvas

Butcher on high

By carvery slice

Slash us back

To city life…



Gary Shulman, MS. Ed.

Virginia, United States

The thunderstorms of Arlington 

Envelope me in a soothing blanket of comfort 

I am not sure about the reason nor the why 

But I am indeed calmed by the tumultuous metamorphosing sky

Bolts of electrons seem to energize my brain

Never forgetting they can so easily bring chaos and pain

Torrents of life-giving rain drumming on my windowpane

In any other situation would certainly drive my OCD insane

So why would a storm so severe calm my senses

Soporifically hypnotize and pacify my defenses

Into the womb I seem to gladly regress

As clouds thickly gray I do love I must confess

Perhaps for just a brief moment, for an instant in time

Mother Nature’s grand majesty becomes supremely sublime

And again, I am reminded of how tiny and small

Humanity is and I profoundly recall

We are merely tenants temporarily on earth

Only here for a moment through hardship and mirth

Not trying to instill fear only trying to share

That these monstrous storms remind us to be aware

Tomorrows never promised and we might not even be here

So, thunder do bellow your basso song

And lightening bolts feel free 

To instill fear among the throng

For your anger above reminds earthlings below

To appreciate each moment and make your life-force still glow



Ellen Suzanne Urowitz


Are we talking about the sky?

I think so but don't ask me why?

Simple each time I 

meditate and look up at the bright blue clouds I cry.

Honest what would I gain if I lie?

As I look through the sky. .

I think free artwork.

The only time I have to look each day is

evening just before I cook.

If I don't spend five minutes looking

and helps me relax.

I wouldn't have enough energy to cook

I tried one and I broke an old antique glass.


Michelle Lishman

South Africa


Our love is not written in the stars

it's conveyed by the clouds

for when it rains, it makes eternity grow



To S.

Gabriella Garofalo



Please act cool, moon, don’t scream blue murder,

The first light of the morning is here,

And warped comms numb days, and diaries-

‘Cause you can’t see her desire in blue

Uncertain whether to lie with fire,

Or a distant laughter in the night,

As the only fire is hailing from candles

And maybe it’s your life to challenge it-

So don’t waste your time, soul,

Just leave, as first light cares for you

Only when you're gone, you and your rooms,

And never trust heaven’s greed,

This month too warm for winter,

Where the hair is setting ablaze

Limbs in a kiln and time

Anxiously awaits the firing of the clay,

As he’s setting up a personal exhibition:

The impervious black of the earth,

A sand that won’t get involved,

The water of dismay already seared-

Such bloody mess, sure, but don’t kid yourself

You can relight waste, the hoarded dross

Of seasons skies limbs,men who write,

And by a sad alchemy of the years

Even swear they are in love with unsayable shadows,

The unlikely splendour of a start,

Mad air from rejecting windows-

Warped comms again?

Maybe yes if once you hounded the moon, the sky

When they would haunt a spare soul,

But in the end they didn’t choose her,

‘Cause her silent dreams always skip out

After dispersing the undergrowth, the hired storm barriers,

The night standing still at cobalt corners,

And delirious colours shouting ‘no use for you’-

No need for unworthy souls, so they just discarded her.



Petrouchka Alexieva

Swinging higher and higher,

Towards the ruby-red sunset,

I see the beams of the diving sun

Deep down into the ocean horizon.

Swinging high I see above the clouds

Eagles that fly toward the endless sky

I glide on their wings and satisfy

My desires to ride.


Swinging high towards the wind

I hear all fairy tales that it whispers in my hair

I can travel with him all the way

To the Milky Way.



Michael Lee Johnson

Illinois, United States


Order me up,

no one knows

where this crypt in the sky

like a condo on the 5th floor

suite don’t sell me out

over the years;

please don’t bury me beneath 

this ground, don’t let me decay

inside my time pine casket.

Don’t let me burn to cremate

skull last to turn to ashes.

Treasure me high where no one goes,

no arms reach, stretch.

Building for the Centuries

then just let it fall.

These few precious dry bones

preserved for you, sealed in the cloud

no relocation is necessary,

no flowers need to be planted,

no dusting off that dust each year,

no sinners can reach this high.

Jesus’ heaven, Jesus’ sky.


Note:  Dedicated to the passing of beloved Katie Balaskas.



Carl “Papa” Palmer

Washington, United States

Tacoma Washington rains

a foggy mist I breathe

in cadence

with soft whispers

of Puget Sound surf

heard front row center

sitting on this sand-locked log

all to myself at Owen Beach.

Seeking similes for birds

behaving like birds

as I float a morning prayer

toward the Tahlequah ferry 

crossing for Vashon Island

from Point Defiance Park

sailing the horizon between

gray water and gray sky.



Ken Gosse

To dream an invisible dream,

To see an unseeable sight,

To bear with hope many find doubtful,

To code, till we prove it is right;

To confirm what past genius hath wrought,

To believe, then to prove the bizarre

To continue when efforts seem endless,

To seek the unseeable star.

That was our quest

To see a dark star,

In all of the wonder

It veils from afar

To fight to enlight

Without seeking applause

To be willing to strive for the right

theoretical cause

In our hopes that we’d find that it’s true

Knowing there is no rest

To the efforts which we must pursue

In this heavenly quest

And the world will be better for this

That our team, working both near and far,

Will strive, and continue in courage,

To see the unseeable star!



Nolo Segundo

Will my soul fly

When I die…

Will my soul soar

O’er the Alps,

The Rockies, the Andes,

And the Himalayas?

Will my soul see

The Aurora Borealis 


Will my soul 

Dive deep, deep

Into the oceans,

Seeing beauty

And creatures 

Unknown to

To those who

Live on dry land?

Will my soul slip 

Time’s iron hold,

Then to skip, at will,

Through the Ages, 

Back and forth

Like an unruly child,

(the dream of sages)

Knowing the faces

Of Caesar stabbed,

Of Joan of Arc burning,

Of Lincoln laughing,

Seeing too the places

Where the lions fed 

On the Christian saints,

Where soldiers died

In battles long over,

Where Hitler lied

And Jesus cried?

And will my soul then 

speed through our vast 

Universe, far faster 

than the speed of light,

faster than even thought

as it takes in billions 

of stars and trillions

of other worlds, and

begins, just begins

to feel how really 

big God is…?



Thomas A. Thrun

Wisconsin, United States

I looked skyward, and 

behold a murmuration of starlings

spun upwards, like a black funnel cloud,

swirled heavenward up from the lawn, from

where they’d found swarms of aphids to consume 

among the cutting blades of wiregrass …this all being 

outside the window of the fast-food restaurant where I, too,

sat consuming calories of my own sausage-biscuit breakfast.

Alas, the brown/black birds rose in waves, up and up, like a 

crescendo of Beethoven eighth notes on a scored page, each

keeping its own special place and space in measured 

time …a symphonic apparition, as it were, one

conducted by something (or someone?)

unseen, but yet hoped for, since 

the beginning of rhyme.

And, as fast as they’d ascended, the starlings then,

in decrescendo, descended once again, phrasing

their synchronized falling to land black

and back upon the lawn.  And I …I

thought, as I sat there, as I chewed

and swallowed the last bite of 

sustenance I could afford,

I thought softly alone to myself: 

I do not deserve this, such a gift of grace!

For, the starlings, in their annual autumn migration,

stopped me suddenly with their murmurizing!  Indeed, they

gave me great pause, as I …I now have been called upon

to be a witness to that something or someone, to all 

that is and isn’t seen, to what is and isn’t heard.

I took my plastic juice cup home to be recycled 

and glanced, as I drove out of the parking lot, for more

starlings flying up and more grace coming down.



Kenneth Stephens

California, United States


A gallows was erected on one side of a bridge,

and a law was passed whereby those crossing

 from the other side must tell why they wished

to cross. If they spoke truly, they would be allowed

to pass, if they spoke falsely, they would be hanged.

When Nathuram Godse came to the bridge he

spoke truly that he was on his way to Gandhi’s

prayer meeting, and he was allowed to pass. The

Hindu fundamentalist did go to the meeting, said

his prayers, and fired at Gandhi three times at

close range.

My train was stopped at the station

of Kurukshetra, empty at midnight. I looked out

at the full moon, which hung over this battlefield

of the Bhagavad Gita. Godse was hanged here,

where the ghosts of truth and wisdom mocked

him. A vendor went by chanting garm chai, garm

chai, hot tea, hot tea.



Julie A. Dickson

New Hampshire, United States


I have looked up to see a winter moon

between sparse remaining oak tree leaves;

a full or crescent make some lovers croon,

stars peek out from darkest sky believe


that all is calm and bright, just like the tune,

under my breath I hum as now I walk.

Path beneath my feet lit up as noon

quiet thoughts surround, no need to talk.


When chance I meet nocturnal eyes that glow,

I pause, give way since night belongs to them;

my feet are warm, though breaths cold vapor blow,

dark form moves off, resume my journey then.


With sunrise breach this night becomes the day,

moon of winter pale as fades away.



A dedication to my grandpa : Died on 27th Dec,2020.

Sonia Pal & Trisha Ram

United Kingdom

When I look up to clouds,

I’m reminded of cotton candies that we shared.

When I look at the birds,

I’m reminded how, above all the heights, you cared.

When the wind touches me,

I’m reminded of your soft gentle hands and their touch on my head.

When I see the colourful rainbow,

I’m reminded of our beautiful days spent together.

When I see the shiny  stars above at night,

I’m reminded of our ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ singing with actions  together.

When I see the full round moon,

I’m reminded of you saying ‘Ladoo’*.

When I see the sun over my head,

I’m reminded of the warmth of your love.

When the rain pours down slowly-

I cry with my silent tears, and I don’t jump now in the puddle.

When it gets dark in the evening

I know you are here to hear

That I  really miss you a lot ‘Baba’**

And  looking up to the sky NOW isn’t easy.




Ladoo*- A sweet round yellow ball-An Indian Sweet.

Baba**- Grandpa in Punjabi language.



Lakshman Bulusu

Stir in the silence from newfound exuberance 

Of seeing the light of the day after days 

Portsmouth New-Normal-based care beyond kindred 

Morning routine starting with light exercises

Breakfast with coffee, tea, egg toast, and cookies

Then sauna-based massage to revitalize

A hot lunch prepared for the palette and passion

With fries, steak, and wings to satisfaction

Always helping to savor the flavor

An evening coffee and a walk led hand in hand

Dinner with salad and chicken buffet grand

Finally, a sleep zone to entreat the senses

The cared spend their days in the shine of this new home

Each wow moment, a reflection as bright as chrome

For another new day, another new light



Lakshman Bulusu

Stir in the silence from newfound exuberance 

Of seeing the light of the day after days 

Portsmouth New-Normal-based care beyond kindred 

Morning routine starting with light exercises

Breakfast with coffee, tea, egg toast, and cookies

Then sauna-based massage to revitalize

A hot lunch prepared for the palette and passion

With fries, steak, and wings to satisfaction

Always helping to savor the flavor

An evening coffee and a walk led hand in hand

Dinner with salad and chicken buffet grand

Finally, a sleep zone to entreat the senses

The cared spend their days in the shine of this new home

Each wow moment, a reflection as bright as chrome

For another new day, another new light



Emecheta Christian


Romancing the stillness of the night,

I sit and ponder,

the moon my only companion,

as I contemplate the mysteries of the world.

The wind whispers secrets,

the stars sparkle wisdom,

the trees stand tall and proud,

as if they hold the secrets of the universe within their leaves.

I am but a speck,

in this vast and wondrous world,

yet I am filled with a sense of wonder,

as I contemplate the mysteries that surround me.

The allure of gorgeous scenery mesmerized me,

I became conscious of the power of the elements,

and the spirits in the wind,

coupled with the stunning colors in the world.

In this quiet solitude,

I can tap into something deeper,

something more profound,

A sense of significance and purpose filled me,

As I explored the depths of my thoughts and feelings,

and the wonders of the world around me.



Precious Ejim

19 Years Old

Stay inside, don't make him think twice

Make  her star, the main attraction at the bar

Beg and plead a beautiful smile 

Cause she’ll always be, a little girl

Cause she’ll always be, his little girl

1234, she’ll drink his venom and shell hit the floor

“Oh please, no more”

Don't want to face the reality

nevermind, they're hard to find

Not typical, one of a kind

Fallen angels, so beautiful

Why do they cry? 

Beautiful, why do they cry?

1234, they'll turn off the lights 

And they'll shut the door

“Please no more.” 

Don't want to face the reality

She's just as capable 

Just want to have a good time

Let her show you, everything

It takes two to tango


She will give you 

What you're searching

1234, she drinks his venom and shell hit the floor

“Oh, baby please no more.” 

Don't want to face her reality



John Muro


Day’s final hour

has been windswept

and blown out by dusk,

and a sky of ebullient

blue is now in peril as

a profusion of plum

sweeps in, spreading

like gall ink and blushing

hillsides, a cluster of

small ponds and an open

expanse of pasture,

before the gloaming

dries into an immense,

slumbering darkness

that’s gradually wakened

by the audible light of

a Zildjian-gold moon.



Kanta Roy



You wanted four walls,

to start the sky;

bagging all that you tried to install, green growling

I shout, look to the sky:

sections jumble towards our legs

the face of Venus

forms wet areas now dried and higher than what we used as our choice:

for her naval tobacco, just smoked and did despair a figure, what we started with and what should be a hard way for living in a pendant,

laughter to hatred now floating like throaty misfortune,

soon the process becomes audacious to fingers crosses

turned off the wants to wait for a relief

searching for sky high sparrows

free to fly outside,

our lookouts’ fly around doodling circles

and the Bungee jumps proudly towards a copy of etiolated tree line:

bending tees down to ground, we gotta start waiting to hear for a call

and looking to the sky,

nullity immersed in sea forks

sending her a metanoia

your car looks different from her skyline view:

your earth just a dough of happy flour in palm

screaming pain at the good night:

sky seeming infinite love.



In Memory of My Mother, Charlotte Hyatt 1930-2020


Shelly Blankman

Maryland, USA      

As far back as I can remember, clouds seemed to take her

to another place on her darkest days. We’d sit on the porch

and watch their strands drift across the sky to the rhythm

of the wind. She seemed to breathe in another place, another

time — far from the shards of a shattered life.

Age robbed her of what was left. Alzheimer's had pecked at her

brain like vultures, silencing her pain, scattering her thoughts

Into her darkness.  She’d forgotten the little joys she’d had.

Her kids. Her grandkids. Her beloved cats. Her favorite tv

shows and movies. Her brother whom she so adored.

But she never forgot about the clouds. I’d call her daily, blow

clouds through the phone, listen to her laugh as she’d blow

clouds back at me. It’s the only time she laughed anymore.

She’s been gone for years. But not  a day has passed

that I‘ve not looked to the sky, heard her laugh in the breeze,

and felt her presence among the clouds.



Koyel Mitra


How insignificant I am

in this vast world of creation!

Look to the sky-

it is so limitless and powerful.

It weeps with me

when I am doleful

in the form of rainfall.

It smiles with me

when  I am cheerful

in the form of a sunny day.

It portends a doom

when I face untoward situations

in the form of storms.

It pacifies me

when I become perturbed

after braving a storm

in the form of a clear, blue sky.

I always look to the sky-

it is my best friend ever.



Koyel Mitra


How insignificant I am

in this vast world of creation!

Look to the sky-

it is so limitless and powerful.

It weeps with me

when I am doleful

in the form of rainfall.

It smiles with me

when  I am cheerful

in the form of a sunny day.

It portends a doom

when I face untoward situations

in the form of storms.

It pacifies me

when I become perturbed

after braving a storm

in the form of a clear, blue sky.

I always look to the sky-

it is my best friend ever.



Lesley Roger Hobbs

Pacific Northwest, United States

The dark feels endless

in the Pacific Northwest -

days short 

and nights too long to avoid.

Skies grumble and grey-wash the world,

rain soaks;

I am damp for months.

Now, today, spring.

I rise before cockcrow when

hope calls me to the Puget Sound,

“Take heart” it whispers,

“day now equals night.”

 I watch a northbound

flock of geese crest the horizon.

Morning haze tendrils 

and wisps the unfamiliar sun 

sprinkles stars 

on the water, 

a dawn-dazzle catches me 

off guard – I am unaccustomed 

to holding such joy.

Who doesn’t want light

after a long winter?

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