The lines cast off
we glide through still water
and water lily leaves.
We slip past sailboats
held fast to docks
by tendrils of black or white
blue or red – lines like thoughts
knotted, tethered to dust
and ashes and borders
crossed – into a watery portal.
We venture into the other
world beyond safe harbour
and sense some things
have forever changed.
Kathryn MacDonald is the author of A Breeze You Whisper (poems, 2011), Calla & Édourd (fiction, 2009), and The Farm & City Cookbook (1994). She publishes freelance arts articles and writes “Eclectic Reviews” on her website: https://KathrynMacDonald.com. She is a past-editor of Key to Kingston magazine and previously on the editorial staff of Harrowsmith and Equinox magazines.
It’s the first really hot day of July.
I am stretched out on my orange
parrot beach towel on a neon pink
lounger; you are sprawled
in your electric blue canvas chair.
of coconut lotion, we are
slowly turning red, encased
in glistening layers of sweat.
The purple petunias
are wilting, petals spread wide,
the white rose quivering
suspended in its glowing web
is a tiny angel made of light.
the shadows are brightening,
reflecting a wash of cobalt blue sky.
We are not used to the heavens
becoming so much a part of us,
all of us opening, opening
even though it’s almost too much
Lucy Whitehead writes haiku and poetry. Her haiku have been published widely in various international journals and anthologies, and her poetry has appeared in Barren Magazine, Black Bough Poetry, Burning House Press, Mookychick Magazine, and Twist in Time Literary Magazine. Her Twitter handle is @blueirispoetry.
Like the nagging tug
of tiny insistent fingers
on my sleeve,
or withered hands
on a wooden spoon
stirring a simmering cauldron
restless bubbles bursting.
The bowl is washed clean,
I checked for spots,
yet my sponge
could have moved
in more graceful circles
across its surface.
Sighing as I walk
with measured steps,
wads of chewing gum
black with age.
My sock bunches,
a misplaced seam
rubs my toes.
I stop to adjust it,
reach down to find
I’m not wearing socks.
Just my naked feet
inside old tennis shoes
with worn out soles.
Brian Rihlmann was born in New Jersey and currently resides in Reno, Nevada. He writes free verse poetry, much of it on the confessional side. He has been published in Blognostics, Red Eft Review, Spillwords, Synchronized Chaos, Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review, and others.
The Brink Of God
I tremble at the brink of God.
He beckons from the deep dangerous pool
split before my feet.
My feet wait.
Nothing hollow here, it brims with glory.
God is as aware as I of my pounding pulse.
God smiles gently and the pool of love
parts in silk ripples that lap at my toes
and pull at my heart.
A sigh shudders soft against my breast.
I will wait here just a mute moment, Lord.
Unsure where to step or when to breathe
for fear of shattering this space.
Peggy Yusko has been writing and revising poetry for years, but is just beginning to submit some work to publishers.
How It Is
~ Galway Bay, 2019
What passes here—unseen
until the noon sky opens
up to an uncharted sea
Cumulus clouds suit
a restless crowd, sailing
over an endless beach
that’s eclipsed by
a horizon veering North
into fog’s cold
Vacuum of faith, seized
by a current of wind, exposes
each thing becoming itself
before vanishing to nothing
Like us, learning to look below
the watery mirror of who we are—
before there is no sea, or beach,
or ancient rocks to stand on
M.J. Iuppa ‘s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017).For the past 30 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
Radiant art thou Life
Radiant art thou Life
With living me
Would that my i
Would let your radiance
© Irina Kuzminsky
Irina Kuzminsky is a widely published poet and writer; she is also a dancer, singer and composer, who has combined a life in the arts with a rigorous academic background including a doctorate from Oxford. Her passion has long been a quest for the feminine faces of the Divine across spiritual traditions https://irinushka.net
Acrostic for Simone Weil
Philosopher, Political Activist, Mystic
1909 – 1943
Saint. Sinner. What
Insanity, my friends, still trying to wrest
Meaning from moribund
Orthodoxy. I’m beyond contradiction
Now. Beyond detachment, beyond the desire for
Extinction. But not beyond
Waiting, not while you steep yourselves in
Evil. By you, I’m ultimately
Imprisoned. Waiting with God whose
Love is absolute affliction.
Note: French philosopher, political activist, mystic, Simone Weil refused baptism, on the grounds that “God does not want me in the Church.”
Maryanne Hannan has published poetry in Magma, Stand, Oxford Review and elsewhere. Her first book, Rocking Like It’s All Intermezzo: 21st Century Psalm Responsorials, will be published by Wipf and Stock (2019). She lives in upstate New York, USA. Her website is www.mhannan.com.
the circle goes on
we find our way on paths we
never imagined to widen
with pieces of now
as thoughts fall through
all the days
far and forgotten
stars of long ago
then leaving that behind
these half written poems
ideas on the way
to some unknown
dissolve into wind
Antoni Ooto is a poet, flash fiction writer and abstract expressionist artist.
After years of reading/studying many poets, he found his voice, and has had works published in Burning House Press, Amethyst Review, Pilcrow & Dagger, Red Eft Review, Young Ravens Literary Review, and many others.
Antoni lives and works in upstate New York with his wife, writer/storyteller Judy DeCroce.
Paraphrases of the past invite me
to a buffet of deserts. I rebuff the
offer. Gilded delineation in aphotic
sequences may have visual grace
but speculative episodes aren’t for
me. I seek no mid-term exam. Each
sunrise-to-sunset I test myself. My
Faith requires no visa. It carries me
Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three books of poetry. His poems are in venues around the world: A Restricted View From Under The Hedge, Pantry Ink, Bonnie’s Crew, Morphrog 16, Mad Swirl, The Penwood Review, Faith Hope & Fiction, Communion Arts Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.
O Gúruji, born under Jupiter,
they called you Lion of Poona,
the Michelangelo of Yoga, fierce.
A sickly child, you almost died—
Typhoid, Malaria, TB.
But you were born of fire.
Beaten into yoga by your guru—
you survived. He sent you off to teach.
You called out the yoga mystics,
How can you know God if you don’t know
your own big toe? You challenged us to breathe
through every cell, be the One who sees.
Guided by Patánjali, you strove—
honed your sword, cut through, unyoked the Soul.
In Memoriam: B.K.S. Iyéngar, India (12/14/1918 – 8/20/2014)
John W. Steele is a psychologist, yoga teacher and graduate of the MFA Poetry Program at Western Colorado University, where he studied with Julie Kane, Ernest Hilbert and David Rothman. His poetry has appeared in Amethyst Review, Boulder Weekly, Blue Unicorn, The Lyric, Society of Classical Poets and Verse-Virtual. One of his poems was nominated for a 2017 Pushcart prize, another won The Lyric’s 2017 Fall Quarterly Award.