THE HANDMAID POEMS by Juned Subhan
The Handmaid I
for Margaret Atwood
Behind my veil, it’s the gush of flowers Inoticed first in The Wife’s domed greenhouse:deep-red tulips yawning open like
the famished, orchid mouths of children. In
her night-blue satin gown, honey-blonde curls...
AROUND THE BEND by Peter A. Witt
She’s Gone
She left me when the sun’s warmthwas just peeking through my window,when the first cardinal could hold inhis daybreak song no more, when the smellof dark roast wafted up the stairwell,invading my lonely...
REFLECTION by Dennis Herrell
Reasoning
Reasoning saysWe all have to dieYou sayIt’s a step to foreverI sayHeaven is highAnd I am earth.
Reflection
Two images remaineddistilled from some human show.
A black man hanging from an oak,body limp, head tilted left,devout crowd...
NEIGHBOURS by Erin Jamieson
Neighbours
while everyone sleepsunder milky moonlightstars coat my eyelashesbody is more than shadowshadows won’t overtakemy mind- trapped ina studio apartment withone filmy window
balcony light flickersmy neighbour must be awakemust have a mind like mineor perhaps...
BATHING BEAUTY by Sandra Kolankiewicz
Archeology
Two old men with trowels and a permitdig a strategic trench from just beyondthe base of the tulip poplar to theedge of the mound, where an old etching nowsuggests something lies undiscovered. Theyoften spent...
GRAVITY by Miranda Clarity
HAUNTED ONE
I sleep with fairieswhile dreamingthe truthof my soul,eyes closed,staring.Magic within,rooted inside;scarce without;abundant,once I am found.Outside, the darkhaunts mebut inside mind’s eye,light of truthaboundsand…darkness becomesthe haunted one.
EMPTY AGAIN
grief grips my eyesspills rain down my...
VICTORY PARTY by Ted Millar
I Accept
I've been carrying around questions
for the treatment facility in...
OLD EDITH by Kay Lesley Reeves
Old Edith.
Blind old Edith is planting her garden
With seeds she will never see grow.
She fumbles in the packet,
Her gnarled arthritic fingers
Struggling to grasp them
Then place them in a row.
Maybe next summer
She'll smell their sweet...
HOPE by Tanya Fillbrook
Solitude
What is this body but stone, frozen; I think of cotton candy clouds above this roof of no escape.The front door looks worse where grubby hands opened it up wide like blooming spring flowers...