Category: Uncategorized

Genre – Philosophical

Cycle of Repercussions
by Floyd Robert-Maduekwe

Noise erupts as the new inferno
A rapidly spreading disease
Crippling major cities around the world.
Wildly increasing in number
How many of them do not sleep?
This is a major symptom
He knew why the monks moved to the wild,
they weren’t going to risk getting infected.
He is numb to it until…
Sitting on the grass, frolicking excitedly,
they were still swimming in the amniotic fluid.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
three blocks away.
The frolicking continues uninterrupted
No flinch, no startle, they are not scared.
Every shuteye moment now includes this scene
He can’t rest.
He can’t hide.
He can’t escape.
He stops talking altogether.

She is scouring the aisles passively
Sucked into the exciting dullness- every ounce of her energy until
she happens upon dem bottles
Sleek, fashionable, trendy
But absolutely overpriced
What does the price say?
What sort…

Genre: Growing Pains
Easter Monday
by Mary E. Latela @LatelaMary

I wore my new pink coat, silk, princess-style,
lined with satin and crinoline, to school.
Fifth grader, I pretended my brother,
who also walked, was a stranger,
And he pretended not to know me either.

From the left, a mighty little neighbor boy
rushed out like a little rebellious skunk
and he pulled on my coat,
tore the crinoline, pulled on the hem, delicately stitched.
Kids gathered, some laughing, and I assumed they were mocking me.
Finally, the mother came out and shouted,
“Harold! Come in now! Don’t you bother that girl!”
He slumped away. My brother said nothing.
Just as I could feel my breath again, relieved that the assault was over,
I walked into school and my teacher saw me,
asked me what happened …. the only word I could utter was “boy.”
Nosy Peggy filled in the details.

Genre: Friendship, Relationship

MONET by Caroline Clemens

Another time another place,
I’d gather in the garden.

We’d speak of letters written.
How time is short, our thoughts numerous.

He’d sip. I’d sip. We’d share despair.
Our obsessions by the yard, on and on,
A solitaire, mindful existence, intriguing.

Realism … defined, perception expressed,
Monet the artist, romanticism and freedom.

We’d share the wine; I’d ask the??
He’d tell me about independence, his struggle,
To be himself, absorbed in context.

Camille and many femmes …
Paint me, paint me, to see what you see,
That would brighten and open my eyes.

We would sit for a bit, touch glass
Toasting art in the garden, relaxed.

Then we’d take the train, 1877,
And jump right into the station.

And go to the sea, where I would see,
The colors and expressions in his impressions.

But I shall never forget the time
My note…