A Poem by Kristin Roahrig

THUNDER RUMBLES SWEETLY

Thunder rumbles sweetly

A familiar grumble like the sound of an empty beat

A comfort, knowing the familiar signs

that can bring a harshness or a cure, depending on the timing

to lull me into a sleep

One where my eyes close while I rest as the thunder weeps

The water runs- formed from our sweat

The sky, already changed to gray blends with the clouds, neither able to be seen

They wrap around me- invisible- letting me dream

A sleep that never let me gain rest

Soon enough the storm passes, leaving behind a solitude

Leaving a musky sun in it’s wake that changes the leaves to a languid green

Like the tone of my own body in the glare of dimmed lights

I rub my hands down the newly shaved legs beside me,

skin a greenish tinge that dims against the dark covers crumpled up beside us

Laying quietly after the thunder

After the rumbles that sweetly took the sky, leaving all rest sundered

 

 

 

 

Kristin Roahrig's poetry and stories have appeared in local and regional publications. Her poem, "Dance of the Drums" won the Melba Geoffrey Memorial Poetry contest in 2010. She is also the author of several plays and lives in Indiana.

Two Poems by Adukuri Jagannath Rao

Lake

this side of lake is colors in evening

of hordes of birds around the rocks

rocks are their colors, birds’ colors

paddling and resting before paddling

flying away from them,and to them

the ripple is colors of spinning sky

tree shadows , green on blue, black

and dense in the core, gray to ring

rocks are birds flying low in the sky

the sky is lake ,white cotton cloud

lake silent in tree like summer sky

tree is stuck in the blue sky of lake

lake is left holding the baby of tree

the rocks paddle , fly away as birds

low flying birds of sky around birds

of white hovering on trembling lake

the lake trembles in blue of the sky

On the other lake is an orange fruit

trapped in the distant birds of rocks

its skin peeled away as sheet of gold

its birds fly from rocks to apartments

the houses fall into a trembling lake

lake left holding the baby of houses.

rocks rest and fly to the other rocks

birds paddle to rocks that do not fly

they fly in lake that has turned sky

the sky is now trembling in the lake

the sky is eating up the orange fruit.

 

 

 

 

Larvae

From trees, on a gentle wind from the hills

A new light shall fall on the fluff of marigold

Its petals scattered for bees to tempt smells

On antenna of viscous honey, pollen of love.

The larvae are growing as luminescent dust

In beams of light that travel down from the roof

In chinks of old tiles, awaiting their change

After the moss turns on them black in sun

When new tiles will replace them, by workers

Sitting on the roof as if they are sky-birds.

The larvae are growing in white water- clouds

Hoarding river and sea for tomorrow’s festival

When they will be beating tin-roofs like drum

And send down snakes of water to our ground

Pushing dried flowers down their corrugations

Of light dust and snowflakes the larvae will grow

Till evening when they will vanish in our pages.

 

 

Adukuri Jagannath Rao is a retired banker who lives in Hyderabad, India.  His poetry can be found at http://adukurispoetry.blogdrive.com

 

 

 

 

A Poem by Agholor Leonard Obiaderi

A TALE TOLD BY A TREE

 

Winter has a red throat and

a black eye ring.

Ice flakes

 

season pale red blood

courses down with sap

thoroughfares of many tree rings

forcing my beauty to drift

 

in the snow. Bark cracked,

lips broken by the kiss of

frost.

 

Ice my veins, scanty leafy

tresses frozen by gusts of chilly

wind cruel harbinger of black eyes.

 

My femininity flees to hide

until spring

comes. I shed black

eye rings, discard mourning.

 

In Spring, I stretch

into colourful attires. Pink lipstick,

eyelashes of

green envy.

 

Summer;

I heal. Cracked bark seals

the bloodied wounds .

The magic of sunny fingers

calms me down to my

roots.

 

My flowers blossom, attract

bees in search of romance.

 

Autumn

comes message of leaves

falling. Each note holds

 

another winter

of red throats and black

eye rings. 

 

 

 

 

AGHOLOR LEONARD OBIADERI lives in Delta State, Nigeria. He holds a Bachelor's degree in the English Language. He loves poetry, crime novels and wrestling videos. His poems have been published in UptheStairCase Quarterly; Barnwood International Magazine; and Pyrokinection.

e-mail; obiaderi@yahoo.com  

A Poem by William G. Davies, Jr.

The Lewistown Narrows

 

The sun unzips

Along the uneven teeth

Of the pines

Before folding

Into a ruck

Of umber,

Stirring crows

From their huts

To speckle

The sapphire sky.

 

 

 

The writer has been happily married for 38 years and lives in a valley of birdsong and wildflowers.

He has published in Jellyfish Whispers, The Cortland Review, The Wilderness House Review,

The Blue Lyra Review and others.

He eats PBJ sandwiches everyday for lunch!

A Poem by Janet Rice Carnahan

EMPTY WELL

 

Bottom,

Dwelling space,

 

Echo into the night,

Begging,

 

For fullness to come,

Silent if needed,

 

Stir the stars,

Into action,

 

Prepare,

To overflow,

 

Once heard,

Through cloudy mist,

 

Doubting the downpour,

May chase,

 

Pounding potential,

Deep underground,

 

Afraid to sound,

The call again,

 

Despite all,

Whistle,

 

See if rain,

Drizzles, drips,

 

Wind whips the sea,

Snow melts fast enough,

 

Perhaps just the dew,

Of a million flowers,

 

Will, at least, cover,

The empty depth,

 

Never to drain out,

Needlessly . . .

 

 

Again!

 

 

 

Janet Rice Carnahan lives in Laguna Beach, California, among artists, photographers and writers and all who enjoy the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean. Born on the northern California coast, she’s inspired by the sea, a joy shared with her husband, adult children, family and friends. Janet’s published work includes a cover photo, caption and poems in an anthology, “Prompted: An International Collection of Poems”, December 2011. More recently, her poems were published in, “Pyrokinection”, “Jellyfish Whispers”, “The Camel Saloon”, “The Mind[less] Muse” and “Three Line Poetry”.

A Poem by Andrew J. Stone

A Lane with Poplars

 

(after Vincent van Gogh, 1885)

 

decaying

pumpkin-color

leaves litter

the dusk-

dry grass

 

they are the

impressionists

brush, painting

their canvas

like a withered

Van Gogh

 

 

 

Andrew J. Stone is a nineteen-year-old dissident attending Seattle Pacific University. His poems can be found here or there, but most recently, at Aberration Labyrinth. His debut chapbook of poetry, "Teenage Angst & the Ekphrastic Exercise," is forthcoming from Collective Banter Press. He dwells in the graveyard from time-to-time: http://andrewjstone.blogspot.com/

A Poem by Laura Winton

Autumn

 

Listen how feathers

borrow the wind from trees how they

steal breath from the candle dreaming

of light off the glass. Feel your hands

on the cookie you read

it like a braille book, explore the

texture see how they

taste on your

fingertips.

 

 

Laura Winton, aka Fluffy Singler is a writer and performer currently living in Minneapolis . She has been writing for more than 25 years and her poetry has been published and performed around the world. She has performed her experimental poetry at the Bowery Poetry Club, the Nuyorican Poet’s Café, and Bar 13 in New York , the Green Mill and Trace Bar in Chicago and at dozens of venues in the Twin Cities. She published Karawane: or, the Temporary Death of the Bruitist, a journal devoted to experimental writers who perform their work, for roughly 10 years. She loves Surrealism and Dada and believes that the Surrealist goal of the liberation of the imagination is the most political act that a writer can perform.