I made a promise to myself Knowing that, should I break It, the garden in my thoughts Would wilt and decay, Leaving not one seed behind: See, no matter what you Do, or how hard you try, with that Scheming mind and the mouth that Longs to joy with my … More The Day I Lost Myself – Christina Batista

My mother is in heaven   In fact, she is a lot of things A compiled list of complicated concepts That force the world to know She is an identity of her own   My mother is a flower   In more ways than just her name A favorite regardless … More Dahlia – Mia Orris

Have you not noticed (as you lie beside me night after night) that I (as well as you) long for the time when we did not lie beside each other but lay together

A saber slashing freely at the page, A feral staccato dance built of Conte’ crayons, inspiration in a mirror of Titanium white, Mars black, Scarlet red. The Phantom face stretched in minutes– its life is frozen: a gray, paper continuum. “Who…? Who are you?”—yet speechless it returns a stare.   … More The Stygian Self – Travis Clayton Wright

I fried a couple eggs and found my father in the pan. “Hello,” said the eggs, “… surprised you.” “Hi dad… you did.” I took a bite. “You look tired, son…” “I guess I am.” I took another bite. “You need more sleep… your mother wants to know if you’ve … More I Fried a Couple Eggs – Robert Wiemann

Gray, marble-like hands with thick, sturdy fingers Awkwardly entwined in the rosary Well camouflage their owner’s past For these were the tools that once…   Painted love on empty paper, creating a poem for mother   Grasped the pick and shovel of manhood, taking wages from earthen bowels   Gripped … More My Father’s Hands – Marie Bloom

In those days, Our love smelled like formalin And our eyes would furtively meet over the anatomy notes To confirm a sweet promise–our sole tie   In those days We had forsaken incredulous parents and skeptical friends. And to change the world, Just the two of us…   Our heart … More A Medical Type of Love – Joseph H. Etienne

i have my grandpa’s hands, i have my grandpa’s hands. the hands of a man more my father than my father (or the folks i called “Dad”) hands of a man that taught me to count and clap hands that held my head as i cried [ah, sweet injustices of … More Grandpa’s Hands – Sherrila Levin

  Time seems to move in slow motion in this town On sunshine days the urge to find something different Something worth smiling for is difficult to shake And yet the oranges on the license plates All look luscious and ripe for the picking Nothing quite captures the feeling in … More Hometown – Souleye Blanchard