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 Sep 2016
Karina Norris-Veirs
Clad in the armor of war
She faces the storm
Above her roaming the sky
Her obsidian dragon of eyre
By her feet slithering fast
Her red serpent of tales
Upon her back
Lays the bow and arrows
Soaked with poisoned truth
In her hand
She carries the staff of justice
Her body is black and blue
From all the hits she's taken
****** feet and hands
From the mountains she's climbed
She is finally here
The last battle
With a stance of defiance
Whispers into the storm
*"I am ready...."
I am ready....I shall rise the victor..
When powers she wields
river she breaks homes
floods paddy fields

Swords of rains
swells her hurt pride
boils her veins

Vengeful she brims
breaks the lock gate
cultivator's dreams

Gone is sweet flow
in the moonlight
soft silver glow

Simmers her soul
raging red hot
she burns like coal

With inflamed tides
she devours the crop
growing on her sides

River now a curse
she wouldn't recede
without leaving scars

She can't be blamed at all
men have only ravaged her
taken her all.
 Sep 2016
Michael Blonski
I ask,
Is it more poetic
to write the most
beautiful of stanzas
devoid of any truth
or meaning?

Or, writing
from raw emotion
where beauty resides
behind the words
and ink flows
like blood and tears?
 Sep 2016
Scott F Hemingway
Heart now
wonder still
grew only
to impart
my dignity
that would
meet the
train there
together then
wandered home
with her
equity too
how she
kept virtue
and trust
yet embedded
in frills.
a heartstring with séance
 Sep 2016
Peter Piccolomini
I wrote this after reading some John Ashbery and James Cavanaugh, because well, I wanted to-- and they are different writers offering many options and feelings or no feelings at all.
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content.
We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
– James Cavanaugh

Solution to a View

What does it mean
To wander into
concrete places
or an open field
To dangle time
like the wizard of waste
something floats
all around me
and is serious
but it could be
nothing
To be selfish
And lonely
Searching
Through hills
And
unsure
of the surprises
in a melted state
over
discouragement
And
bewilderment of
why I even cared about the
View
after it rained
and after it
displayed
open access  
to death
or
a dream
or my future
noticeable and
unwanted
and unsure
chills
run through my veins
and aching bones
of the likelihood of this
memory
To these hills
hands held high
look down now on
empty streets
broken and mended
like details of a
mirror
and out of respect
for the view

©copyright 2016, Peter Piccolomini
 Sep 2016
Dark n Beautiful
Humid August Morning

Packed in my mind lies, all betrayals of my past
It shows on my face like a ****** mask
Over the passing years nothing seems to change
Not even my wore out tattoos nicknames,
I seek answer; I search for peace,
  I am caged, I am seized
 With my innermost thoughts and convictions

What’s my purpose, which one of my petals is going to fall now?
Who’ going to step in and staged an intervention?
I am caged, I am seized, I am so loving ******.
Surrounded by happiness, laughter and some forgiveness
Once again, here I am taking another summer test.

  Open bars, aged faces, cold frosty Banks beers
An islander tradition nothing changes,
not even my tattoo nicknames, Bajan Yankee
Caribbean Queen and Meany heartbreaker,

However, when the laughter fades,
and the music stop in the most romantic setting
A black heart, a broken soul, makes old memories resurfaces;
I see so much, I heard so much and
I overthink so much about worldly things

How can I not go back to the land of the flying fish?
Or where the Bank beers are four for ten
Or where the rooster wakes us up at the crack of dawn,
where humble people just smiling
and saying hello makes a different.

The annoying mosquito buzzes under the protected nets
Till I reach for a can of repellant with anger and yelled who’s next!

I‘ve heard the annoying barks of the neighbor dogs
The unsettling morning news, but nothing as soothing
As watching a black bird singing in the apple trees.
Speaking to the heart of the humans souls:
Once again I am an Island Girl

*See how the nature trees, flowers, grass grow in silence
See the stars, the moon and the sun; we need to be able to touch souls
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