Garden by Susan Isla Tepper

My sadness belongs to no one

to choke on and die

All mine— and I follow rules

dig twice as deep as the root ball

swallow you in segments

while I sleep

hating and adoring.

Rain clouds crash the bleak night.

Passion is only a construct

and time becomes apparent 

upon awakening— while you labor

sucking out of a dead earth.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.

In Shadow by Susan Isla Tepper

Across a frozen pond your figure

in shadow, black

and featureless

A stand of fir as backdrop 

for protection 

though you were unaware

And, so still— as if  

you’d dropped down 

from masses of clouds 

to assess

or perhaps see me one last time.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.

I Grew Up Here By Jake St. John

I grew up here 

look 

over that 

stonewall 

covered in moss 

and through the woods 

down the hill 

and across the creek 

we found the cemetery 

basking on the hill

in the early

summer sun

of  innocence

and there

through the barbed wire 

between those trees

and a rotted wagon wheel

is the path 

that leads down 

to the sandbank 

where a hobo

had set up camp

for a spell

and we weren't 

allowed 

to play there 

anymore

but we still did

and over there

under that small 

pine tree 

is where 

three of my dogs 

are buried 

and one cat 

and maybe 

me 

someday.

   

       

Jake St. John is a one time co-winner of the April 20th, 2022 Hartford Yard Goats "Stud of the Game".

Citizens of the World by Susan Isla Tepper

I am the girl who flies on a bird

the one who had to get away

Did you spot us gliding 

through clouds and blue

before the bombs went off

Citizens of the world, we two

Fly higher than 

what they can destroy 

Elusive as pollen—

No longer land-bound

perhaps all a myth

perhaps after all. 

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life

Bright Shine By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

Down by the river

I found a finger.

Who lost it?

It is a fat finger.

It has a ring with a bright shine.

It is night.

I have insomnia.

I look at the moon.

It too has a bright shine.

Soon I will be home.

Somewhere someone

is somewhere else

who lost a fat finger

and a shiny ring.

Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles in the mental health field. His latest book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press. Recent work has appeared in Ariel Chart, Blue Collar Review,

Dope Fiend Daily, Rye Whiskey Review, and Unlikely Stories.

 

This House By Kevin M. Hibshman

It was supposed to represent new beginnings.

You had visions of living in it as a child.

We were going to keep busy maintaining it.

You had plans to paint the walls.

We were going to entertain both new friends and old ones.

They would aid us in making a history that would gain richness

through the years.

I would write.

You would paint.

There would be unscripted adventures.

Surprises that help keep us alive.

We filled it with plants the cats set about savaging.

Their antics eased the disappointment and sacrifice.

You grew weaker as I cowered in the corners.

None of the many doctors had much to say.

The appliances all began to break down.

I doubted they would ever be replaced.

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems published in many journals and magazines world wide.

 In addition, he has edited his poetry zine, Fearless, since 1990 and is the author of sixteen chapbooks including Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000) and Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011).

His current book Just Another Small Town Story from Whiskey City Press is currently available on Amazon.

Parallel Lines by Susan Isla Tepper

Not remembered—

Any clock.  

Parallel lines through 

a desert where

water was impossible.

We came through it

delivered our goods

turned back.

Marked time’s

infinity in space.

Night dropped blind

as a mask.

Once in a while

it blew in, violent.

Almost reluctant,

shrinking the shadows.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.