By Isabelle Autumn it’s a warm pei evening and i am seven every pine that lines the road drips with honey yellow, the last shreds of sunlight spilling off their branches before the sun is swallowed whole my lungs flood with red gasps of dust as the car flys down the dirt path, and i stick my head out the window like a dog, feasting on the earth that coats my tongue…

By Temba Magorimbo Excerpts from a fiction novel, Off The Eagle’s Claws by Temba Magorimbo © Jack Von Sidels always remembered a fellow pilot he had been jostling and jockeying with at New Serum Airbase in Salisbury. They had flown out in formation, two Dakotas and two Canberra aircraft. Troops and equipment had been lined up on the tarmac like a disaster preparedness exercise.

By Yurii Tkachenko I approached the black forest.It is a burnt forest.Black forest closer becomes gray.I entered into their forest.I walked and thought about what ahead.It’s still the same burnt forest.But I saw a flowering tree inside.I came closer.I saw a blue fish on it.I walked around.And I was surprised.

By Alex Andy Phuong There is so much to knowAbout the beauty within an afterglow,And there could be a lot that must be doneBefore the rise of the golden sun,But in order to embark on a journeyTo hopefully become someone,A person must be able to seeWith a newfound sense of clarityWhile also being open to the possibility…

By Meerub Tariq Originally published in The Synecouth Gazette I have stood here for a century,Humming the ocean’s endless riff.I pass each day in a new reverie—I’m a lighthouse on a rocky cliff.The waves whisper me their arcana,From mighty mountains of Montana,To the endless heat of Savanna—They call me The Watcher of Kaimana.

By Bazilus Homb Originally published in All Poetry Everyday is a school day,Keep moving forward anyway,The process is trial and error,Each day you are one step closer,Stay strong when things go wrong,Never bowto the blowKeep on trying and do not lose heart,Even If everything seems to fall apart,Find a way through…

By Alan S. Kolok Alex tried to walk home via a different route nearly every night. He liked to amble along the little side streets of the city, window shopping. This evening was no different. At the corner of Merchant and Vine, a small sign caught his attention. The door to the small office was open and Alex could see someone milling about inside.

By CC Tennant When empires rise, order is created. The stars are held in place, and laws and logic dictate the actions of man. But when empires fall, that order is lost, and a certain force takes over, not one dictated by laws or logic but superstition, horror, and the mind unimaginable. These forces are darkness, all of them, and the power they hold over lost men shapes the watercourse of life in a way the civilized world of the empire grows to envy, even as it takes it final breath.

By Judy Kramer When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia. It was terrible, and it was particularly awful on Sunday nights. I don’t think I was nervous about going to school the next day, at least not consciously, as I always loved school. Whatever the reason, I just lay awake in the dark for hours. I couldn’t turn on the light and read myself to sleep, because that would wake my sister, who was sleeping peacefully and easily in the other twin bed.

By Michael Barrington It has always hovered at the edge of my thoughts, but usually I’ve been able to drown it out in a pleasant fog of caffeine. Then came a summer holiday in Mexico with my wife. Daily we lounged by the pool; she with a book, I with my laptop. One afternoon she looked up, amused, “Two people just came over to sympathize with me for having a husband who brings his work on vacation,” she said.

By Alexander Polo The orange was once ripe,The one in your basket;You’ve left it for too long,No one wants to pick it.Its layers were once godly,Its juice is deprived, constrained;What was once sweet’s now acid,Nobody wants to be drained.There were days with chances to blend,There were ways to provide what’s prized;

By Spencer Gallup I stroll throughout the forest in the fallit is a chilly but a sunny dayI go to walk to achieve a clean slate after facing quite a few busy weeks. Spellbound by the fading, golden canvasI see it go on for miles like a realm I find myself and I resume my walk red, orange and yellow leaves all over.

Hi artists and writers! We will be opening our General Pool for Submissions on October 1st. We are excited to see what you have been working on over the break. We have our updated our submission policies which you can see on the "Submit Your Work" page. Here are some general changes for this year: We will only consider the…

By Keely O'Brien lapis lazuliindigo depthmy desires and attachments on the altarwill I be remiss?my judgement clouded by the blissto exhaleand let gowe have heaven within uswe can access what that means to us individuallyexhaleand let goeyes closednot blackvisualizing lapis lazuliindigo depthmy desires and attachments on the altar…

By Kelli J Gavin When she moved homeSo many bins came with herStuff crammed in every spaceBox after box of hodgepodge nonsenseShe wanted to be homeA place of comfort and restA place of solace and joyEverything needed to be sortedIncluding this amazing adult daughterWhere would this stuff go?Does she want to keep it?

By Amaryllis Loven I have never been in love with the grandioseDespite this I saturate our future home Hopeless eyes scan this glorious disguiseThe parties are for no one but you, my prize The music of the organ bores me immenselyNothing compared to a voice which captures intensely I pace upon meaningless adorned balconiesPerhaps they will be meaningful when you dance with me…

By Akshat Pathak I want to be seen.But I'm afraid...How will they see me?Will they accept my past?What if they discover my true self?The scared and afraid.The lost and betrayed.How will they react?How will they understand?Will they punish me?Will they bury me?In the pit, where I lost.In the abyss, where I fought.

By Leonie Moon it’s time to devour your time on Earth--to regain consciousnessso you can notice all the beautiful detailslife has to offer youin its flowers and tears and love---to look up with wonder at the starsand down with wonder at the earthand not, for another secondat your “doe eyes” that you wish were “siren eyes”--

By Andrea Villarreal Yu Sunlight breaks through the night. Where it once wasburied under his fingernails when he tried to scrape it away.& I understand. If I were him I’d be scared of angels too.I bear the weight of wrongs & rights. Will someone come alongwith ever-listening ears so that I can craft the romantic narrative in…

By Jim Bates Summertime gardenFlowers so bright and cheerfulRefreshing the soul.Early morning dewDelightful dancing droplets Sparkling in the sun.Dragonflies dartingThrough lush gardens reflectingSunset's fading light.Deep blue turquoise skyBig white puffy clouds floatingSoothingly serene.Garden in full bloomBright scented flowers galoreSweet, sweet summertime. Jim lives in a small town in Minnesota.

By Hazel Pearson I stand up shakily, hand my index card to my teacher, and say my name as if he doesn’t already know. You see a girl who’s proven herself reliable, but also reliably terrible at auditions. She performs, making the piece a little too “choicey,” a little too loud, but volume is better than inaudibility and choices better than blandness, so she seems pretty perfect for the part.

By Yurii Tkachenko There's a canyon ahead.I’ll jump into the night.Flying to the stars.Fearing nothing.Flying or on the edge.Above the clouds and below.Somewhere far away into the cosmic void..Into the cold of the night.Into anxiety and peace.Earthly or unearthly.Summer and winter.Wings spread and full speed ahead.Flight without doubts and worries.

By Richard LeDue Bach’s cello suites are precise emotion:the sort of mathematicsthat ruins wordsand the kind of feelingthat diminishes numbers,while a poem like this triesits damnedest to be musical,even though it has more in commonwith the silence in a librarythan any prelude. Richard LeDue (he/him) lives in Norway House, Manitoba, Canada. He writes poems. His last collection, “Existential Drunk,” was released from Alien Buddha Press in May 2026.

By Evelyn Kwak I wake up just like any other dayThis used to bea special dayI get envious of thosewho carries the warmth of their birthdayWhen I step outside the roomI smell the sizzle of the miyeok-gukand I see my beautiful momwho reminds me howpeople utter that we are too much alike…

By Poster Boy As I roll the stone I find the imprint of you,transgressions yet atoned,and trails of past truths. Framed upon my wall are pieces of my mind, choking on aerosoland the tears I could not find.I led myself to waters,filled pages up with markings.The mountains, I uncovered. But the songs - they came to find me.

By Ken Gosse It’s Melting, Melting … God had more plans for the ark, once completed,but climate change melted the iceburg he needed. The Here and Now In the mood or in the need,our favorite time to do the deed. Uncoupleting Keep your couplets surreptitiousif you think your lover’s suspicious. Knoetry A lot of nonsense now and then…

By Rizwan Akhtar The spaghetti sat simmering indifferently oil and red chili mangled the threaded massan Odor raked the air wind almost peppery made nostrils quiver,He stirred it as if turning onshe withdrew, nose chaffing like anchenes grown on strawberries, garlic scorched in the oilpaprika crackled like twigs on fire.“Too much!” she said,voice sharp as a fresh spice…

By Craig Kirchner Last night I watched the sidewalk quiver,spasm as if caressed,bordered by tufts of neon moss,chameleon in green finesse.The trickle in the gutter,leftovers from a mint fresh rain,corroded bricks to urban silt,sloughed to sewers, to mud, to dust.Trees like plastic Hollywood, were cramped by raised cement.It seemed as if this camouflage,

By Salvatore Difalco After my ship-in-a-bottle succumbedto self-engendered thunderstorms,I turned to war and fashioned a workcomposed of pheasant skulls and bones,some blackened with charcoal or blood,all gathered under a classic glass cloche.Battles and wars, battles and wars,that is how I approached this probeinto the darker country of man,ranging the skulls like gas masks,

By Luchang Zhu Are there two identical clouds in the sky?If not,why does this one feel familiar, like a cloud from my hometown returning unannounced?Are there two identical people on the planet?If not,why does your presence stir something in me, like B cells recognizing a second encounter?Are there two identical days in a life?

By James Croal Jackson Because I’ll be standing on a stackof tasks, procrastinatingunder the banana moongrabbing the confetti tailof sun in one hand, and in the otherpetting the catof my dreams, the one stillwith wings, purringas it falls to sleep. James Croal Jackson is a Filipino-American poet working in film production. His latest chapbook is…

By Kim Hayes My life started in June,1996. AOL, or more formally, America Online, in the 90s turned into the method people used for internet access. I installed the program on my computer one night in June of that year. Those first few nights I’d spend a couple of hours poking around. There were channels, or portals as they were called, and chat rooms for every subject one could imagine.

By Tim Law "Mom's Magic Carpet" was originally published in the Journeys IV anthology I close my eyes and I feel her near. I know that this must be a dream, but I wish with all my heart that it wasn’t. “Hi, Mom,” I whisper to the night. The sound of familiar, but far off laughter makes my heart skip a beat.

By Ha-rin She arrived in their world dressed in white, like a question no one had asked. Everything there felt too beautiful, too still—trees shimmered as if they had never known decay, waterfalls poured endlessly without losing force, and sunlight rested on the land as though time itself had stopped to admire it. The people were like the world they lived in.

By Mia Remience Dear Five-Year-Old Self, I still have an image of you painted in my mind. I know that you wish for long, luscious locks like a Disney princess, yet your hair remains in a tragically non-royal bob. Your rounded face carries apples for cheeks, eyes that widen at the very thought of how much world there is to see, and a gap-toothed smile whose little black windows are filled by an innocence only a five-year-old can carry.

By K.F. Black “Patience is virtrue.” “What?” “Patience is virtrue!” Wally said again, louder this time. Papa had told him to collect smiles while he was gone, and Wally was very good at following directions. “Papa says so!” The man barely looked at him. He just turned back to the receptionist and slapped a hand against the counter. “Where are this kid’s parents?” he raised his voice.

By Riana Jicha Her honesty strikes through the bitterness of reality. Formations of life transfigure into one. Uncertainty rises as she does. The blend of today and tomorrow cascades through the night. The moon and the stars declare His glory. The celestial light illuminates her past and spotlights the future. Images hasten past as memories; are they past lives or the hope for tomorrow?

By Dhaanvi Jaipuriar The tide isn’t coming in; it’s a slow hemorrhageleaking through the floorboards, a salt-crustcalcifying the mahogany until the room is a reefof everything you’ve tried to bury.You navigate a hallway of doors that openinto more hallways, each one tapering,smelling of damp cedar and the ozone-stinkof a storm that refuses to break.

By Martha Bul How could a black girl graduate high school Summa Cum Laude with a 4.06 GPA at the top of her class but not get a full-ride scholarship to even just one of the top elite universities? That girl was me: Debra Owens. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was smart for nothing. My story explores the theme of unfair admission rejection.

By Julia Vaughan Pizza or ThaiIndian or ChineseI don’t feel like cookingThe end ofA winter weekendLazyThe fire’s onBeach walked this morningWith beanies onA bracing bitter windSunday’s rugby’s on TVWatching the Newcastle KnightsFiercely defending against the Auckland WarriorsHot fresh popcorn for startersDeliciously coatedBaz’s recipe of Tabasco…

By Earl Smith Roger Steris reached the gate at LaGuardia airport with the brisk stride of a man who believed that purpose was a form of armor. His backpack - Yale Divinity School patch carefully stitched on - thumped lightly as he walked. He was twenty-eight, newly degreed, bound for what he imagined would be the beginning of his true calling: a weeklong interdenominational retreat in San Francisco titled…

By Muskan Singh A dark night,the edge of the sea—there sits a girl,drowned in a deep calm.Gazing at the open sky,with a quiet smileresting in her eyes.There is no fear of losing,no longing to gain—only a patiencelike the waves of the seashimmering within her.Even in the darkest nights,she continues to shinewith a lightof her own.

By Luca Zani It’s one thirty-eight in the morning. In your sleep, you shift your knee to a position that looks like the night terrors of a chiropractor. You’re blocking the tv, but I was only listening to the audio anyway. I refuse to believe this is comfortable for you. In your sleep, you smile contentedly. You look happy. You mutter a string of incomprehensible sounds and appear to be arguing, passive aggressively, with someone in your dreams.

By Yucheng Tao in my dream; its strong body,like a horse on the prairie,like a cowboy's horse.It could fight, it could run.In our hearts,we once rode a blue horsein our dreams,galloping in the land of freedom.Some pain was like a lean horse,running fast for a moment before collapsing.Because my sister and I—

By Mary Bone Smokey eyes in a darkened cave,mesmeric, moltenwith a glowing shine.Shades of bronze,and a warm glow.A mountain lion peers out.He is on the prowl. Mary Bone has had poetry published at The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Active Muse Journal, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Verse Virtual, Bottlecap Press and other places. Upcoming poetry has been accepted at Verse Virtual and Double Speak Literary Magazine.

By Luchang Zhu On a bleak winter afternoon,I sat alone in a Panda Express in Illinois.A fortune cookie whispered:“You will cross mountains and oceansand find your way to warmth.”So I flew to Key West—the balmy Conch Republic,where time moves slow as amber honey.Morning found me—sunlight sifting through mist,softening into golden silk.

By PencilNammed The sun used to follow me everywhere—I hated how it burned.Until the day I met her.She stood in the sunflower fields,Hair flying wild like fire,Eyes burning like embers against the sapphire sky.Chocolate melting in the sun,A drop falling onto the yellow petals—Like the beauty mark near her lips.Oh—her smile.

By Charles C. (Charlie) Gaines The last few, flat raysof sunlight dance acrossthe hillside over the way,landing softly on bright green mossand golden flowers that gently sway in the early evening breezes. The squirrel above me,scolds my infatuation with this sight,suggesting I move on, assuring hecan gather one last nut which he has spied…

By James Aitchison It was our last phone call.“I have some cognitive issues,”my cousin told me. “If I goquiet suddenly, and you don’t hear me say anything,I’m still here.”The silence said morethan he ever could. James Aitchison is an Australian author and poet whose work has appeared via the Australian Poetry Anthology, Aesthetica, Poetry for Mental Health, Adelaide Literary, Literary Yard, Poppy Road Review, and many others.

By Ha-rin With no place to call home,I moved endlessly —searching for somewhereI could finally belong.Until I met you.You shone on me like the sun,you were a star in my dark world,the dawn I looked forward to.Your smile — the warmth of spring,your sincerity —a gentle fire wrapping me up in peace.