Kassie J Runyan 

Division so thick I can taste it

like a stew

that my grandmother used to make


Our hope is betrayed

by bullets

working through flesh and bone


He made the waves

as he shouted

and spit hatred into the air


We’re spiraling into a deep dark hole

with no option…

but to lift our heads and climb


Shake off those shoulders

from the weight of the world

letting it drop into the scorched earth


Raise those worn out arms

and stand ready to fight back the dark

with light



Emalisa Rose

United States

The awning, the same; red and

white gingham, a bit worn through

the years. Under its giant umbrella,

a medley of God’s greatest greens,

sharing the blue checkered tablecloth

with a rainbow of vegetables.

Sometimes, some samples of jams

that she’s made. Last Spring, she

put out some pies and the white

wicker baskets for sale, that were

wove by the seniors in centers.

I wait for Marlena, after the long

northeast Winter. I’d drive down

route 9, by the few farms that remain

through the flatlines of February, save

for some remnants of old jack-o-lanterns,

unfit for the crows anymore.

It’s June 21st, without sight of that

wood weathered table. And I worry. She’s 

getting on with the years. Same thing

occurred several Summers ago. I need

her to be here; her and that white sugar

corn that I love.



Mel Haagman

Today I feel lonely, aloof and unheard,

Living in a world that can be so absurd

Today I feel mopey I don’t want to be,

And I’m not liking much about me.

Today I feel angry, powerless and sad,

Focusing only on all that is bad.

Today I feel like just hiding away,

And I haven’t much left I want to say.

Today I feel and I don’t want to feel,

I want to block out all that’s real.

Today I feel, I’ve lost my head,

And I just want to be in bed.

Today I feel this negative way,

But tomorrow, I know, I’ll be okay.


Claudette Martinez




I lay your laughter in my memory vault,
I drape your smile like a silk veil across my brain, 

soft to touch and paper thin.

I place them so that I can reach them easily.

And when the waves of grief threaten to drown me,

I reach for them.

and they pull me to the surface, 

saving me over and over again.



Kassie J Runyan

She slept in her car, they all knew.

But no one ever invited her in.


She cried herself to sleep most nights with her head

buried in the back seat of her worn out car

that smelled heavily of stale cigarettes and Everclear.


She couldn’t go home, she knew.

She had burnt that bridge already

when her mother called her a stranger

and she couldn’t admit that she was a stranger to herself.


She washed her hair in the sinks at the school before her

classmates came, happy and smiling.

What college kids should be.

She took her seat and smiled back hoping they didn’t notice her coming from the bathroom.


She learned they had always seen her when she heard

them laughing. The eyes darting towards her

as she ran to her car, tears burning streaks on her face.

She drove to a hidden stream to watch the water

flowing to match her tears and she imagined falling in

and sinking to the bottom of that cool water.


She didn’t fall though, not yet.

Even as she dreamt of monsters in the night

and tears flowed even in her sleep.

Huddled in her little red car

that was parked blocks from her home

as strangers walked by and thought ‘poor girl’

but no one invited her in.


Years later those same people would sit

at their table, coffee in hand.

and think of that girl huddled in her little red car.

They would tell their friends about her

whenever someone mentioned the plight of the homeless. Becoming a story to show value

and ending it with a far away glance,

“I wonder what became of her.”



Dan Brook

United States


as I sit in thin-walled protection

            against the dense fog that blankets

            the island,

                                    water in the freezer

            slowly turns into cold cubes

            in its never ending metamorphosis-


as I lay (and lie) naked to the world

            in shorts and a shirt

                        playing solitaire

                        baby crying

                        All others sleeping,

                                                I start up

            not knowing if I was dreaming

            or thinking or not-


as I rest on the sand

            watching the waves

            of the Great Puddle

            seduce me,

            closing my eyes

            listening to the open Ocean

            proudly singing

            its thunderous song,

                                                I sing

            my own inaudible, laudable,

            bubble song-

as I eat up the vegetable world

            with its zucchini and carrots

            and rainbow loom

            with microcosmic music,

                                                life grows

            inside of me

            like a picture portrait

            of the fantastic photogenic Earth-


as I breathe in the clouds

            surrounding the sun

            and spit into the wind,

            eat the pie in the sky,

            and squint my eyes

            to twinkle the little stars,

                                                the jealous moon

            brags of its beauty-


as I sleep on the ground,

            in my self-designed cage,

            with its screens for summer,

            and its walls for winter,


            feel the fatal future,

            of past people,

            inside of Me,

            setting up for the show-


as I’m living and dying,

            all alone,

                                    I think of you,

and I smile=



Mel Haagman

Hold your tongue
It can’t be undone…
Things slip out quick,

And the words, they stick.

You can’t take it back,

Once things have been said,

They become entrenched

Stuck inside of your head.

Those true micro-thoughts,

That come from the id, 

That are best to let pass

Should have kept on the lid.

Hold your tongue

It can’t be undone

Now isn’t the time to spout, 

And let that anger slip out.

Those who shout the loudest

Aren’t always struggling more,

And the words can cause damage

Shattering the recipients core.

Hold your tongue

It can’t be undone

The anger will fade, 

Don’t release the shade.

Reflect for a second,

That, you won’t regret

Because angry words

They are hard to forget .



Mohamed El Houssaini



Never be devoured by the past
There will be nothing to last
Mournful or gleeful
When thinking about it
Nothing will change at all
Look at the future with a big smile
Like a small bird
Getting out of its nest to fly
Don't wait for people to give you flowers
Enjoy the bitterness of an oleander
And let them be surprised and wonder
How can you endure it with no hinderer
Sow your flowers wisely
Don’t Think you gonna do it easily
The future is always near
Don't lie on your bed and snore
Do as much as you
To take yourself to the next floor
Difficulties will always impede your way
But your desire must be strong enough
To put them away 



Robert Baker

United Kingdom


Rejection letters gather like junk mail;
I add the latest “Hell No!” to the stack.
Progress is made when you refuse to fail.
Like Arnie always says, “I will be back!”
I’m gonna be an author, just you wait,
and not the kind who’s famous when he’s dead.
Before this year is done, I’ll celebrate
as critics see my books are getting read.
Someday my books will sell across the Earth.
How dare they claim my prose is nondescript?
They simply fail to comprehend the worth
concealed within my dazzling manuscript.
Right now, I have a huge rejection pile.
One day, I’ll write a book that’s more their style.



Kassie J Runyan

I stand here

a testimony in stretch pants

that don’t stretch quite so far.

I stand here

skin growing pale

with a lack of sunlight.

I stand here

a tiny person

in a tiny box

in a great big city

on a large piece of land

on a large planet.

I watch the world.



I stand here.

Fires burn on the other side

of the windowpane.

On the other side

of the world.

People die and I testify

with a pencil in hand.

I fight…

with words.

I stretch my slippered toes

and look out the window.

Tiny cars slowly sliding

through the narrow tunnel

that guides them underground.

Why do they wait?

I stand here

blood boiling

wanting to scream.

Wanting to laugh.

Wanting to find a voice

and lift my fist.

I stand here

wanting the fear to end

to go outside

and feel the sun on my face

and the MARCH in my step.

My toes wiggle

ready to move

fingers caressing the windowpane.

I stand here



RC James

United States


Out on a limb where whispers grow 
I’m twisted in pursuit of your shadow 
the wind drives me from here and gone, 
your memory feeds my delusions. 
I sang every song in your litany, 
walked every corridor of your escape, 
there’s nothing I can do, you’re inside 
that cave of promises I have no entry to. 
The midnight train arrives with some relief, 
a promise held high above the fray, 
I’ve lost contact with every rumor of you, 
down the last alleyway I go. 
When you cradle a bouquet of solutions, 
forget about me, follow through on wings 
the dream provided you; in faded white gloves 
hold onto escape, then make your way back to me. 



Mel Haagman

The beloved Creme Egg,

Diminishing each year in size,

I picked one up the other day,

And couldn’t believe my eyes! 

Is it me that’s getting bigger?

I pondered, as my hands grasped the treat,

Is this the hint to put it back,

And pick something healthier to eat?

But instead I bought two,

To make up for the injustice that I felt,

I put them in my pocket,

And prayed they wouldn’t melt.

I got home and peeled the foil,

And I took a mighty bite,

Surely these can’t be the cause,

Of my jeans being too tight?



Rosanna Wilbur



Illuminating the night 

you surpass the masses. 

Your brilliance begins. 

Dancing with wonder, dancing with fear, moving in anticipation but not knowing why. 

One day little spark you will glean 

what makes your light so keen. 

Spectrums of colour aflight, 

shades of missed chances, 

your radiant spirit wins. 

Painting with wonder, painting with fear, turning with anticipation and quite certain why. 

For now little beam, forge ahead for that peek, at the two who made you so unique.



Ken Gosse

United States

Nihilistically begun, his knock-knock joke was not for fun. “Who’s there?” The bait caught one.

“Nothingness.” “Nothingness who?” A pause, expecting more.

“Who’s there? Who’s knocking at my door?”

The necromancer,

sans answer,






David Dephy

United States


I dreamt of us. I awoke this night and went to the door. 

I was alone. I opened the door. The shadows were the fragments of hope, 

the shadows— as the words spoken in sleep. 

I dreamt of us, and now, having lived a century apart from you,

experienced the emptiness, or calmness of thoughts as the lights of 

streetlamps out there and our laugh, hands and breathe, 

found they were fumbling at our fingers, and speech and time. 

Shuffling to the outdoor, I felt I had left myself here alone, 

in the twilight, where patiently we waited, and did not blame each other, 

as if we saw a rainbow without rain, right there. I dreamt of us.

As the sightless with fingers searches for rays and as worn fresco 

by prayer's friction. Each word, the heart of silence.



James Dean Rivera

United States


I anticipate myself marrying you,

I’m in a black tux you in a white dress,

Walking down the aisle and saying our I do's,

We are finally getting married! Yes Yes Yes! 

Eloping in Greece,

Just the two of us,

Being married will be a breeze,

Both of us so in love.

To build more of a life together and travel,

Spain, Mexico, Portugal, London,

Even go to Saudi Arabia and ride a camel,

And the adventures won’t come undone. 

We will have generational wealth extended to our children,

They too will indulge in our adventures,

No matter where or when,

And they will have their own business ventures. 

But the most important thing I anticipate,

Is us growing old together,

And that part will be great,

We will have a love that lasts forever! 



Michael Ball

United States


I perched for years waiting

waiting for you to say I love you

back to me, just once (or hourly).

You did at last.

When I asked with a coy smile

Did I ever tell you I love you.

Then simply said, “I love you.”

You at last stunned me 

with “I love you.”

…for the very first time.

I could die here and now

quite happily.



Allan Lake



On the small Pacific island of Tanna, 

where many believe Prince Philip 

the only son of their mountain god –  

such excitement!

Never mind 16,000 km to England or 

that Philip was born in Greece, home 

of many frisky gods. Fact: gods and 

their kids are not bound by natural law

like us. Phil, who ‘retired’ at age 95, 

is expected to reappear on Tanna 

at any moment.

Tannese disciples have awaited his return

since 1974 when he flew in, with his woman,

for a brief stop. They believe when he returns 

everything will be exceedingly good. 

People won't get sick and the yam crop 

won't ever fail. After all, paradise on Tanna 

has been earned via prayer directed to Phil 

and they even sent him a pig-killing club,

a symbol of their faith in his prowess.

Disclosure: While a member of a certain religion,

(aren’t they all?) I was asked to go to Tanna

as a missionary but declined. Who knows, 

I might have converted them to a humorless

muddle-eastern god or conversely become 

a follower of the wise-cracking Duke/Prince. 

In the end my long dead messiah and I fell 

out and now I have a hunch that Phil, 

that son of a god, may be too frail to return 

or has lost sight of divine duty and the yams 

of Tanna may have to grow all on their own.



Kevin Book-Satterlee



i meander among archives stacked along walls

stained of tobacco and saharan dust

my bicycle left to the corner in the quiet hall

i skip and shuffle the silent room open only

to the courtyard sounds of quietude

deep inhale of salt from dry breezes

and pages opening for the first time in decades

sand and grit flitter from parcels intoned in verse

unread and unspoken for generations

scripts as stiltedly translated lyrics in western tongue

i could not pronounce such a calligraphy albeit poetic

those dialects lost to the winds of fleeting nazarí

their whistle follows the wind in trembling pines

their whisper in autumn leaves on aging trees

songs in percussion of rain between portico arches

and my bicycle sheltered as I watch their words dance



Rebecca Kenny

United Kingdom


It's that moment, isn't it. When you

Edge in closer, your breath on mine,

Eyes locked and the air loaded - there is

Static, needles in my lower lip, chin

Numb to all but the touch of your thumb

As your lips part mine. A tilt of the head,

A perfect 30 degrees to match my own

Sway, we are still, yet dancing.

My body sings its own song of longing,

My skin ablaze with the gentle irritation of

Desire; there is an itch of a sort that I

Need you to satiate, deep within me,

And the anticipation

After the city air hits us in the face

Your fingers lost in the hair at the nape

Of my neck as you explore me further

And neither of us aware of the existence

Of anybody else -

Of walking down to your basement flat

Slightly drunk, hands gripping the banister

Knowing that in minutes you will be bare

And so will I

Is almost too much to take





Julie A. Dickson

United States


A journey begins, mind opens

on a quest to collect information,

vast as a philosophical lecture

or a finite mathematical equation.


A lecture hall fills with brilliant

young faces, or zoom screen array

all prepared for a day of study.


Note taking, recipe for success,

like cake baking, measured milestones,

notes for exams or essays, instructor

travels through knowledge imparted,


ground yet uncharted, all will be clear

in plans for future, major decision,

later in position to deliver thesis,

path is forged, like blacksmith shapes

iron ore, artistic endeavors, college

student weathers in the rising sun.



Kathleen Chamberlin

United States


Wrap me in the warmth of your smile 

Shelter me beneath your loving eyes 

Whisper my name into the restless wind

Hold me safe against the darkening skies.

Lift me up with your soulful song

Play your guitar and stroke the strings 

Keep me hopeful when the night seems long

Caress my check as chill wintry blasts 

Pierce the windows of my heart 

Wrap me in love's strong embrace 

Throughout this night 

Throughout all time and space.



Amanda Jane Bayliss

United Kingdom


Life is a game of Jenga


One right move


Could strengthen your structure

Make you stronger.


One wrong decision

Could make you wobble

Weaken your structure

CRASH! You down to the ground.

Will you, or another

Collect the bricks

Rebuild and

Start again?



Pick up the gravel

Sling it in the box?


Never, to be played again.


Life is a game of Jenga.



Matt Cummings & Justine Nichole

United States

"Watching you, no one was near

All lonely, my Dear

Lights on you

My lovely darling

Dancing your heart out for anyone to see

The scene of the lonely queen

Dancing with her shadows

Shades of rainbow burst forth

As you dance, we locked eyes

My heart melted, letting me know

You need me now

I pranced to you

We linked together, people joined us

Magically proactive, combustible reaction

As our night fades away into sweetness

The spotlight was on us, fireworks

You melted away with me, they see us

Your body and mine, our loving eyes

No fight against time under intense light

We got lost in the moment, felt like hours

Swaying to the rhythm

Of the musical chimes

Whirled and twirled

To the rhythmic rhymes

No words between us, only emotions were spoken 

There was a beginning, an end

Thank You, my friend

For joining me in expression

We danced in perfect harmony

As if we were one, you and me

How beautiful, the impression


I started in deflection of introspection 

But you, came along and saved me 

A wonderful distraction from our demons inside 

When you came to me, my thoughts did subside

Once a lonely night, now so full of life

And when it had ended

Such a colorful sight,

Rainbows in all directions

Your hand and mine

Wrapped up in time

What a magical scene

Just you and me, king and queen”



Alan Bedworth

United Kingdom


A sense of anticipation draws near.

The light is starting to shine.

With it a belief that things will

be just fine.


The beginning of a new dawn

is encroaching on us with hope

for the future for everyone.

Keeping us safe from any harm.

As things slowly open

and  health is not an issue anymore.

Plans preparing for a holiday

Will  give us a goal.


Smiling faces will appear the normal.

When meeting and  being sociable.

Positivity is the message with

anticipation for a new life.



Abdullahi Shaibu


They say to me what she is worth:

I say 

She is a jewel 

Who has power that amaze men

Like a necklace handcrafted with gold

Who seeks respect rather than luxury

Virtuous in her that can never fade

With a fertile womb which the earth relies on

But this are deemed to trash by others,

the society blames her for showing her pretty wings

what an overpowering sorrow

with a heart made of gold

a woman valued far beyond the mountain of doubts

with firm believer 

I believe she is worthy



Annette Tarpley

United States

She walked along the beach, her feet sinking in the sand

Missing her lover, who had gone to another land

She had watched his ship, as it sailed into the sunset

Reminiscing of their last kiss, her lips still burning yet

With his fingers he had traced, the contours of her face

She was dressed in white, her wedding gown edged in lace

Their love was fresh and new, sealed with wedding rings

Signifying their love, looking forward to what the future brings

Although it seems like yesterday, it was a fortnight he’d gone

He had kissed her goodbye, and said, my darling I won’t be long

She could almost feel his breath, in the cool fall Seabreeze

She walked along the shoreline, and sighed without care and ease

She wrapped her arms around her, to ward off the chill in the air

She stumbled upon an object, she found a bottle laying there

She saw a piece of paper within, the bottle it was curled

She thought of it as a treasure, like an oyster that contained a pearl

She opened up the bottle, and withdrew the paper within

She saw writing on the parchment, was intruding upon it a sin

My darling, we have been sailing for a week, the ship hit something hard

I’m writing you this letter, then into the ocean I will discard

A rescue is not eminent, for no other ships are around

Unlikely I’ll swim to safety, we are far away from ground 

I want you to know, death will not contain my love

I’ll be watching over you, your angel sent from above

Do not shed tears and weep for me, for I will always be near 

Please go on with your life, you will find another who is dear

I only ask, you never forget, the magic that we shared

The love, laughter and passion, most important how we cared

When you close your eyes at night, feel my arms around you tight

Leave your window open, for I am the star in the sky that’s bright




Sonia Pal

United Kingdom

I thought –I closed my pen

For no more writing poetry

Since your advent had snapped all

That pain , the separation pinched.

Ecstatic I felt,

Got relaxed of the stagnant state and

Felt resurrected as if in the pre-dawn lonely elate

The rippling smile on your lips

As if to dive deep in the depth of your eyes

So was the new sight

As a newborn child blinks its delight

Just like that kid

I tried to open the closed fist

As if to realize the lucky mist

Lo! The same spectacle reappeared

Of which I remained often-scared

And often prayed

With folded hands and covered head

To help me better my destiny instead


So has the fist unclasped again

And I have to write a poem again

Once again to realize and requite

The pangs of love-sickness

The pains of separation

How dolefully I invoke “SHIV” again

And feel bemoaned with my single self// soleself

I thought –I closed my pen



Evie Groch

United States


A dance is a dance

but Flamenco is spirit in flame,

arched spine of strength

spreads shivers to stomping feet,

fingers caress castanets,

pulse out codes that hypnotize

with staccato rhythms

yet preserve a delicate beckoning

to engage in a rendezvous.


Petticoats of white foam

accent the illusive hem of a

dress sewn to entice the romance

out of the underground and into which

a body is poured ounce by ounce

to move to the wails and claps 

of the cante flamenco.

A pericón behind which to hide her face,

a peineta to crown her head,

an unchained force that claims the stage.

A dance is a dance

but Flamenco is raw, unrobed romance.




Brian Alvarado

United States


engorge yourself 

in a narrow, hollowed, 

harrowing harbinger 

of the pebbled unknown:


where do your nerves taper away?

do they derail themselves 

off into milky granite,  

or do they find themselves 


in the mossy, bristled, over-tow? 


the creak grows wider beneath-

it goldens to beautiful again.


a silken, guided missile,

sent from depths 

seemingly untrodden 

necessitate your endurance. 


how will your mere bones hold you up

in the enticing wake of calamitous fog?


anticipate better days 

from the golden crag

will have emerged

in your will to




Bill Chatfield

United States


Remember that time you fell

out of bed screaming       and I only watched

like you were a bad movie I’d seen

too many times/

that’s what I mean.


I wanted to capture

this morning’s sun

in the periphery

                     of my right eye

and give it to you as penance

in anticipation of the next time

I’m there/not there.



Kathy Jo Bryant

United States


Anticipation of that day….

   Could never be compared…

To anything experienced…

   Before love had been shared…


Anticipation held my heart        

   Within it's willing hands…

And I could not release my grip…

   On all of its demands…..


A feeling of pure helplessness…

    Enclosed my heart and soul….

And I reached out embracing love..

    As ecstasy made me whole….


Could anything but this pure bliss…

    Repair my broken heart?

And restore the years of sadness deep…

    I'd endured from my very start?

O, yes, the power of love holds sway…

    It's stronger by far, than death….

And all our failings of humanness...

    Fade away with each eager breath!


Anticipating our wedding day….

    Has helped us reach our goals!

Our past we've used as steppingstones…

    As our future.. before us... unrolls!



Adrian David


True love is nothing but a mirage

one can pursue but never attain.

Your search may be eternal,

yet it always ends in vain.  


The farther you seek,

the nearer it may seem.

But when the curtains go down,

it’s all just a lucid dream.  


True love is like an illusion.

It promises you ecstasy,

until you finally realize

it’s an ephemeral fantasy.  


Enchanted by perfection,

you crave happily-ever-after tales,

only to be let down miserably.

Alas, life’s full of thorns and nails.


Despite all these obstacles,

I know you’re still on a quest.

Dear dreamer in search of true love,

I can only wish you the best.



Genevieve Ray

United Kingdom


I have always been scared, 

of a big white door.

Inside my head,

it kept things from me,

I shouldn't know.

I would anticipate,

One day, this one soul.

Would have to face,

whatever it has in store.


That quiet worry,

that little alone.

The big white door was coming,

it would swallow me whole.

The door has shrunk,

as I have grown.

Some of its secrets leaked,

some forever gone.

It still exists, of course,

tethered to my internal world.


I am no longer scared,

of a big white door.

As outside of myself,

into a bigger one,

I have walked.

Opening up life,

to have, to hold.

I live alone,

but no longer feel alone. 

The first time I locked,

my big white door.

I felt the safest I have ever felt.

Anticipating a world about to unlock,

feeling proud, safe and at home.



Kelly A Hegi

United States


it’s almost over and i am

daring to hope just

a little

caution pours into my ears urging

me to be careful to 

not hope too strongly that

would be foolishness a set-up

for devastation it drips down 

into my shoulders convincing me 

to stay low to stay

measured funny how hope can be

both threatened and threatening

a hand reaching across the chasm

bridging the remnants of the 

striping year restraint

seems silly now this is

the rainy day we’ve

been waiting for



Carol Edwards

United States


The sun is finally out; it streams into my room, blinds me off the wall;
my cats and plants bask but my feet are still frozen. This house is an ice
box, like my old one. Every November to April I wonder if I’ll ever be warm
again. Summer feels a distant memory, but the sun always turns murderous
before my birthday, makes streets into ovens. Spring is that time when the world
is tired of winter but can’t yet put the extra blankets away. It’ll be warm enough to
walk the dogs at 5 AM when the trees’ new leaves grow stale and blooms tinge brown.



Ellen Urowitz


I Can't Wait

Last week test

I honestly did my best.


I can't find out until Wednesday.

It's only Friday


I'm going to feel so stressed

I'm going to get some rest.


I'm watching movies

it's half price on Tuesday.


Writing my fears

In my pastel pink journal

well I'm starting to get

emotional tears.



DNathaniel Mulcahy

United States


spring arrives and the redwing blackbird's call

sets off the dawn chorus; 

a ripple that precedes the sunrise 

an avian musical race around the globe

a sonorous revolution

echoing our planet's own revolution 

around the sun 

rushing home 

to welcome the spring peepers

and the warmth

of hope reawakened. 



R.A. Whelan

United States


Moments are so fragile in their passing

Each of them floats as a perfect sphere

A bubble incapable of lasting

Seeming real, but then no longer here

A heartbeat is a momentary tremor

Of muscle flexing to enable life

Its rhythm the body must remember

To forget will kill as certain as a knife

And so I float uncertain as a moment

Thanking the percussion of my heart

While coping with the syncopated torment

Of questioning will it stop or start

Heart beats allow all moments of awareness

And these moments are the entire universe

We think that love resides there like an ember



Sarah Wells



The Golden Goose was bitten. 

Now, that goose is smitten.

With anticipation, of a journey.

The Golden Goose approaches with 



and courage 

as she walks towards the unknown,  

her existence 

will tell. 

she knows there is no looking back

for the Golden Goose has spread her wings 

and opened her eyes.

Powerful and majestic 

she flies.



A. N. Keerthana Rao



Most often amidst the chaos of life, we ANTICIPATE the sequels and ends,

completely unaware of the direction where our roads or paths might take bends,

We comprehend and ANTICIPATE the future events,

when they aren't aligned with our dreams, we often lament,

Most often, we ANTICIPATE the gestures and actions of our beloved,

expecting the same quantum of affection that we give, from the crowd,

Oh yes , anticipation is actually tincture of excitement mixed with positive expectations,

It is ~ looking forward for the best manifestations


But ANTICIPATION ceases our ability to live in the present,

let's have an idyllic life , by just relishing the aesthetics of the moment,

Its always good to plan, but NOT ANTICIPATE that things will go our way!

Its good to look forward , but not let it purloin the beauty of today!


Let life be a one-way path, just giving our best and not ANTICIPATING the rest,

Let's enjoy every second, be a pluviophile, or a nature lover or a happy soul, everyday is for sure, a fest!

Let us replace ANTICIPATE with OPTIMISTIC in the process of creating an amazing life,

nothing can hinder as long as we are IN the PRESENT while battling the strife!



Petronella Powell

United Kingdom


I wish I could anticipate change

Then maybe it wouldn’t make me go so deranged when it comes,

I can sometimes hear its tune humming in the background,

Spiraling around me,

But I’m never quite able to see when it will hit,

I could sit and wait for it,

Be in a perpetual state of fear every time I think it’s near,

Just waiting for it to happen,

For the change to be actioned,

It has to happen at some point,

Things can’t stay the same forever

However much I never want them to change,

When it happens, things feel strange

And I blame the world for it,

Even when things change just a bit,

I wish I could admit how much change scares me,

It’s because I can’t see what’s going to happen,

It pulls me out of my comfort zone,

If only I could be shown my future

Then I’d be able to anticipate change

So, when it arrives it wouldn’t make me go so deranged,

But change can be good,

I should try to just accept it

Instead of constantly trying to anticipate it,

Guess its next move,

Stop trying to remove it from my life,

It may sometimes cause so much strife 

But other times be one of the best things to have happened in my life.



Pankhuri Sinha



How is the spring 

this year, My dear?

Has the oak flowered 

in a million buds?

Does the maple tree

look green from a distance yet?

Do branches of the poplar 

laden with leafy tips

pointed like painting brushes of Paul Cezanne 

bend over the streets

and touch your shoulders 

as you walk?

Dear friends and citizens

of my beloved country

do you think I can forget 

the smell of your seasons?

The knocking of spring 

at my own doorstep 

was a joy most wonderful.

Do you think I can forget 

the elation of standing there

listening to the bees buzz

and the birds chirp?

Was it a political battle

in which you gave me up?

My beloved country 

as dear as motherland

was I just an alien to you?

My dear land of innocence and pride

I will be back to set 

our story right

for you and I 

walked hand in hand. 

Kindly, stand by

as I prepare and pack. 

Takes years and years 

to undo the hack 

they put in my life. 

But dear all 

and dear me 

I will be back! 



Bilkis Moola

South Africa


She scours the fiery sunset -
flames of wrath at the end of
a fierce day.

In anticipation, her heart ignites
a luminescent transformation
where hurt simmers to a dull ache
of drowned memories.

He was her sun -
in anticipation of a future beckoned
in prayer for days swathed
in love.

Hope swelled her heart’s passion
in anticipation for dreary days
of loss and longing to end.

Anticipation greets her forlorn self -
lonely crumbs scattered on pavements
when her eyes sealed pain
in footsteps trudging through a bewildered mass
of people thirsty -
a thirst for the death and decay
to end.

Hope filters in her gaze -
the blazing sun settles in dark skies
of nightfall’s oblivion with
the dream of anticipation nestled in a feathered pillow
of warmth
nurtured in the comfort that the anticipation of dawn
will ignite the blush of sunrise in a smile.



Carl Papa Palmer

United States


She watches the officer’s precise approach 

in her rear view mirror, 

grips the steering wheel tightly 

keeping both hands in plain sight 

at ten and two. 

Not the first time in this situation, 

she recalls emotions felt while relating 

her same prior humiliating experience 

to smug listeners. 

He slowly circles her vehicle from the back, 

around the passenger side 

to stand directly in front 

while writing on his notepad the whole time. 

He moves methodically to the driver’s door, 

taps the window, 

“Please turn off the engine 

and get out of the car, Ma’am.” 


you parallel parked perfectly. 

Here’s your license.”