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 Apr 2016
lluvia de abril
You call, I come
- surrendering the fight-

how can one fathom life
so far from your thoughts
as pieces of the sun
- kisses wither in time-
and sieving memories soften
the fall

-you are my demise-
sweet harshness striking in calm
stripping marrows in early dawn
-yet you cannot will my will-

A paper weight holds
down the heart – and all beneath
slowly dies
-petals arched in the sun-

And yet, you call, and I, well I…
just want.
 Mar 2016
Joe Cole
My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity
 Mar 2016
CA Guilfoyle
December's child
with fire you were forged
your eyes are liquid amber poured
always I dream to kiss
your perfect lips divinely cast
the sweetness of your breath
the warmth that moves across my flesh
your hands and arms are sculpted bronze museum art
indelibly in mind when you are far
the hot of your delicious mouth
traveling gently, slowly south.
 Mar 2016
Elisa Maria Argiro
Quiet mind, immersed
in palest, warmest yellow.

Molecules within
find alignment
with infinity.

Silvery mercurial fluid
paints my bones
with gentle light.

You have come back.

Abundantly, warm salt
water envelopes me.

Even in this chair,
in this empty room.

On dry land.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
 Mar 2016
JR Potts
It felt as though the humidity itself
carried a hint of liquor as we walked
out into the night, wanting only to escape
our lives for a little.
Deep down in Vieux Carre
twisted brass clashed with a piano
running half step from the crowded clubs
on Frenchman Street.
We filled our lungs with the city
and found her to be like certain kinds
of dangerous doses--
intoxicating.

It was our second night
and the more we drank
the more I began to see glimpses
of the specters spoken of by locals.
They linger in my peripheral,
watching me with their sunken eyes.
You could faintly hear them moan,
only in defeated tones
and their collective scowl danced
in the heavy air of summer
as though it were a part from
all that jazz.

In the stranger hours of morn
I was approached by a ghost
a few blocks off Bourbon.
He offered up nothing but his ***** palms
in hopes of some false salvation.
I wrestled a dollar from my pocket
and passed it on to him,
only to watch him fruitlessly grasp at it
before it slide through his ghostly hands
to the floor below.
He looked down at the dollar
all helpless-like and he said
"It’s been slipping through my fingers
like dat for years now
and ain't nobody help’n me."

I walked from him, realizing then
why I had needed this trip,
I needed to remember all the love in my life
because the only difference between
me and the ghosts of N'awlins
was someone cared about me,
and I cared enough about them
not to destroy myself.
 Mar 2016
katie
today a dark 
sky is
   wrapping
itself around
my town,
squeezing
    all that
surrounds
in its strong
muscular
   hands, one
solitary crow
    manages
to slip free,
flies over
highways,
      streets
& trees,
I watch it
enviously as
it disappears
thinking
what I
would do
      for a pair
    of wings
Is it wrong to be serious
and somber of mien,
with downcast eyes
and a body so lean
that a ray of sunlight
making dark into day,
would find no impediment
on its straight made way.

So I live my life
not too-giggly much
but happy and content……………        
……………..my days lived as such,
that all who know me
cry “fellow well met”
and time will quiet spin on
while I live ……..no regret
after"happy and content" the next line"my days lived as such" should start with a new breath
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