Friday, 28 October 2016

Dead Man's Dirge

I am a dead man's
heart coming to a sputter
old rusty engine 

I am the late summer
turning locust back crisp
ready to fall from a tree

I am time running out
on a scratched tuneless
record about to skip.

J. Ash Gamble
Ft Myers, 
Florida, US 

Thursday, 20 October 2016


Pound the road
blooming with roses
to where you are from

Remember when
this road seemed long
but now it's shorter
so much sweeter

Memory of mother
knitting or shelling beans
is at odds with recent
flashes of cell phone plans

Mass construction where
you live now
has toppled the afternoon
quiet and morning lull
you grew up drinking coffee in

The gravel leads to pavements
and pavements lead to cities
where people don't know
how quiet lives anymore.

Camille Clark
Atlanta, Georgia,

Wednesday, 17 August 2016

The First Hint of Summer

The first hint of summer
came when I looked into
your eyes.
I saw the sorrow
among briars and
smiles among lilies.
Frozen were your feelings
but, with the sun's rays
shining, I saw the
thaw begin.

Mary Bone
Wilson, Oklahoma, 

Monday, 15 August 2016


One side of the page
travels to the other
joining words to worlds 
pages of syllables

The characters of one
language mingle with another
children playing in the yard 

Cultures meet at the table
dancing for understanding.

JD DeHart

Saturday, 16 July 2016

A Traveling Salesman

This traveling salesman 
has worn out six vans 
in 40 years and he
hopes to retire soon.

Age and illness 
are growing concerns
and there isn’t a pill 
for everything.

Every 20 miles or so
he has to stop for 
a rest room, usually 
at a gas station.

Then one day he sees 
a highway billboard 
that promises help.
He dials the 800 number 

on his cell phone
and a machine answers:
“Incontinence Hotline.
Can you hold?”

Donal Mahoney 

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, US and has had poems published in Ancient Heart Magazine and other publications in the United States, Europe, Asia and Africa 

Friday, 3 June 2016

Wandering Eye

An image of floating eye
taking in the scenery,
and I seeing the eye

makes me wonder about
the time when my sight
will dim, when my mind

will no longer solve
puzzles, a bare bulb
snapped brittle in two.

Alan Inman
New York, NY