Giger | Angelica Fuse
Genius
with pen and ink
draws up visions
of nightmare
armored creatures.
creativity poems
Out of Town | Edgar Law
I’m from another
Place hiding under
My wide hat in the sun
I’m another language
Never heard around here
A new dance
Nobody else knows
‘Cause I make it up
As I go.
This Poem | Angelica Fuse
I’m going to send
this poem
to everyone I know
just to see who
will give it love
and let it take root
just to see
where my words
can sprout
how green
they can be
how well watered
in this world.
Ars Poetic Third Person Singular | Stan Morrison
my poet is at once a total stranger
and one so familiar with new words
my poet is sudden, surprising
enchanting, comforting, precise
my poet is playful, iconoclastic
and exploring beyond categories
Thin Air | J. Ash Gamble
I fling some verses
our into the thin air,
sometimes they vanish,
sometimes they land.
Tiny Island | Ananya S. Guha
Evening shadows like thin mists appear, left alone at work this is the time to look at figments, small little traces of the mind. Whoever said that the mind sometimes is languid, it creates vistas of opal shores
waters of reality, expanses of ocean, and in the centre, bang on is a tiny island.
Poem | Ananya S. Guha
My wanderlust is this small
town, living with its syndromes, I grow up daily
writing a poem.
Critiques | JD DeHart
A thousand small spiders
creeping across the page.
Laden with errors, one voice
says, while another uses the word
Wit and still another says
Nowhere near ready. Send more,
Send less, Quit sending.
A thousand shards of glass,
a thousand bitter barbs and a few
roses,
and that’s the work ahead.
Reading, Writing | Ananya S. Guha
Reading a poem
light the centre
desire wells
but, writing
is not easy.
The Man in the Moon | Michael Kagan
When we met
Staring directly at my scars of chaos
She said
If we can’t find the man in the moon
We’ll be unable to find our true face
She’s curled up like a kitten
Wearing her soft blue pajamas
I have finished writing a poem
Wading through raw sewage
Trying to find the beauty
In the stink of it all
I know it must be there
As I read to her she begins dancing
With the the sway of my inflection
Moving in a way
That understands my motivation
In a way
That oils my creaking bones
In a way
That brings tears to my eyes
To be loved for my creative issue
Emerging from the darkness
Of my secret places
These little celebrations
Infuse sunshine into a solid gray heart
I finish reading and hold her gently
We dance in the beautiful silence
Of a soft afterglow
She re-curls in her soft blues
I curl up with her too
looking out the window
At the man in the moon