Evening of February 6, 2024

 

epics written and abandoned, finely chopping garlic

~Patrick Sweeney

I've drastically underestimated my own fanaticism

~Patrick Sweeney

sentience poking at the tender spot

~Kelly Moyer

the widowhood of spiders at lunch

~Patrick Sweeney

pellets of sleet on the balding ex-manager's clean scalp

~Patrick Sweeney

fake and yet the shimmer of her death

~Kelly Moyer

cutting

deeper than we should

rusty knife

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

my pal digs deep

knows I deserve the full

six feet

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

 

the sailor

returns unexpectedly

storm surge

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

Grief may come

for some in waves.

Mine comes with a

baseball bat.

It hits my head

out of the park,

then runs for

home plate.

~Nolcha Fox

Poetica

If a poem falls

onto a page


and no one reads it,

 
does it make

a sound?

~Steven Bruce

the principles

we champion

hotel breakfast

~Kelly Moyer

downsizing my wardrobe

a mini skirt reminds me

I have up sized

~Wanda Amos

 

still wind, this chaos in my

memory stirs

the moonlight

~Debarati Sen

 

shooting for the stars

child points his new .22 at

the night sky

~John J. Dunphy

 

 

Midnight Verse XXI



Why fret existential thunders

when all we are is a fleeting dream

between two slumbers.

~Steven Bruce