Behind the colourful city
~Ah-young Dana Park
Geese line
the volleyball
sand pit.
They are
starting
their weekend
ahead of
schedule.
~Beth
Gulley
the
monsoon rain
resurrects a dry river—
giant snake
~Tejendra Sherchan
wherever
there is riversong
I am not alone
~Jennifer Gurney
assassination attempt
sniper and photographer
both shooting
~John J. Dunphy
the Wu Wei of showing a fly the door
~Patrick Sweeney
we were only told to stay off the third rail
~Patrick Sweeney
I and I by and by one world
~dan smith
he had the wrong head for this century
~Patrick Sweeney
And at last
And at last,
At the end of the play,
The small fries are killed.
~Partha Sarkar
circling between buildings
the hawk swoops
a white plastic bag
~Padma Rajeswari Tata
there were many golden bracelets & robes
purple-perfumed, ornate trinkets
before they turned to war trophies
~Fhen M.
A
signal far from the soul
The stagnancy in the afternoon.
No positive human touch in the journey.
I listen only to the birds, the rustling
And a signal far from the soul —
A green flute played by the tree.
Move on my brightest thoughts towards the evening.
A night with the fairytale lulls me to sleep
I am prepared to run tomorrow.
~Partha Sarkar
My
Pigeon Feet
are moved by pain and joy.
Damp soils cake the yard
as paled bones extend past vines –
growing, searching, feeling.
They feel the warmth of the doormat,
resting their soles under blankets of wood.
Nails kneading away at the intricate texture,
My pigeon feet prance around in butterfly steps.
As Grandmother likes to call them,
loving,
searching, feeling.
~Sigrid Kim
he was the kind of guy who felt the pains of the world coming up through the soles of his Hush Puppies
~Patrick Sweeney
he showed off his new crown in the middle of the fish fry
~Patrick Sweeney
child's art
on her father's car
screwdriver markings
~Tuyet
Van Do
the Pompeii fresco could be any poet
the pixelated boy could be me
reminiscing what was beautiful & pure.
~Fhen M.
Diversity in One
~Ah-young Dana Park
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