Waiting By Skaja Evens

I find myself constantly waiting

Consistently waiting

You aren’t even around

And I’m waiting

You left me

I’m still waiting

I don’t want you back

Yet I’m waiting

It’s always something I grew accustomed to

Always waiting

For you to decide

Whether you loved me

Or if it was loneliness

I don’t know that I ever knew for sure

What the answer was

But I waited and waited

Until I grew tired of waiting

Yet, I’m still waiting

For you

To let me go

Skaja Evens is a writer and artist living in Southeast Virginia. She runs It Takes All Kinds, a litzine published by Mōtus Audāx Press. She’s also been published with Spillwords Press and The Dope Fiend Daily. She can often be found listening to music, considering the impossible, and enjoying her cats’ antics.

Charcoal Heart By Amrita Valan

Charred crucible

Glow of embers

Hidden ashtray 

Warmth lingering.

Can you blame

Or believe, that

I still remember?

Am stoked to recall

It all?

Still stoke 

The foxfires 

Of old.

Liquidated, an entire 

Universe of gold.

Soaking in old sins

No evil too much,

For sunlight to burn.

Purge the cache

Cathartic urge.

Purification

Relive the lust.

Inside deep inside

A warm ray of light

Ignites old embers.

I am from India, mother of two small boys. I hold a master’s degree in English literature.I have worked in BPOs, and as content creator for simulation management entrance examination papers,(deductive logic in English), as well as in the hospitality industry.(As receptionist at a five-star hotel) while awaiting results of my English honours examination. I love life, like tumbling headfirst into it, and then doing a double take to step back and observe it.I have written over a thousand poems on genres including Love, Spirituality, Family, Religion, Current affairs, Human Rights, a few short stories, funny poems and tales for my children.

This Morning by Susan Isla Tepper

I wrapped you in a sheet

falling through the clouds

impenetrable likeness—

This morning two 

clematis colored purple 

mourning hung in tandem 

off a vine that seemed stripped:

where did the flowers

from past years’ growths 

when the bounty was lush

disappear to—

and still there was hope

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.

Birds To Finish by Susan Isla Tepper

When I lifted you 

out of wide clouded

smokey black despair

Thought I was hoisting

a dead man

Your finger moved

and I screamed 

stupidly 

Could bring the enemy

hordes tracking us 

You nearly gone and

my voice rippling

hoarse while they tear up 

my body

Stringing it in a tree 

for birds to finish

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.

Congratulations! by Kevin M. Hibshman

You got what you wanted.
You own a small part of this cheap town.
It seemed to happen very quickly as soon as you shed the black leather for
the guise of respectability.
Don't think you ever had me fooled.
I knew exactly who you are and what you would become the minute
we parted ways.
Congratulations!
I wish you well.
Just remember that you are not the first person to flourish in society
after disowning me.

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 latest books include The Mirror Masks Nothing and Just Another Small Town Story from Whiskey City Press are currently available on Amazon. 

Taken from the book,

 The Mirror Masks Nothing from Whiskey City Press.

https://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Masks-Nothing-Patrick- Robbins/dp/B0B1DXS2FL/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3QCVSYC2BSJAS&keywords=Kevin+M.+Hibshman&qid=1654281475&s=books&sprefix=kevin+m.+hibshman%2Cstripbooks%2C97&sr=1-1

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.