“The Daily Grind” by Charles Ho Wang Mak


The cacophonous alarm clock’s jangling
Announces the commencement of another day
A laborious struggle to toil, to earn, to remunerate
The never-ending bills that seem to perpetually stay

The frenzied morning rush, a hectic pace
As we hasten to get to our station
In the rat race, the interminable chase
For success, for recognition, for a more palatable taste

The quotidian grind, a tedious chore
But we persevere, pushing through the door
For a sense of purpose, a raison d’être
For the dreams that keep us alive, and never let us forget

But sometimes, the struggle takes its toll
Leaving us fatigued, burnt out, and isolated
Yet we continue on, through the highs and lows
For the hope of a better tomorrow, and a chance to evolve

So let us persevere, and find the fortitude
To keep on working, through any duration
For in the end, it’s worth the struggle
To live our lives with purpose, with meaning, with fortitude.


Charles Ho Wang Mak is a PhD Candidate and a Graduate Teaching Assistant at the University of Glasgow. He lives in Glasgow, Scotland, where he starts to admire poetry.

“All I Can Do” by Diane Elayne Dees


All I can do right now
is feel the softness
of the unfolding sheet,
and breathe the freshness
of its herbal scent.

All I can do is to watch
the plants in the sink
come back to life
as they are drenched with water
from the mineral-rich earth.

All I can do is listen
to the frogs and crickets,
and watch the fireflies
glow yellow, green and orange
around my head.

All I can do is admire
the gracefully twisting bamboo
in the kimono vase,
and know that beauty
surrounds me at all times.

All I can do is pick up
fallen limbs in my yard,
and be grateful
that I can lift them
and carry them to the pile.

All I want to do,
all I wish I had done,
all I fear not ever doing,
imprison me behind
a wall of despair,

and so all I can do is wonder
at the dragonfly on my fence
as it spreads iridescent wings
and, with thousands of lenses,
observes my fear.


Diane Elayne Dees lives in Covington, Louisiana, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans. Though known as a poet, she has also written her share of fiction and creative nonfiction. Diane also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

“Release” by Diane Elayne Dees


Let go of sand
and it becomes
so many different things—
grit, floating diamonds,
a damp mass, dust,
a bed of comfort.
A poem is like sand—
let it go.


Diane Elayne Dees lives in Covington, Louisiana, just across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans. Though known as a poet, she has also written her share of fiction and creative nonfiction. Diane also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that delivers news and commentary on women’s professional tennis throughout the world.

“Sisyphus Task” by David Radford


Weeding, a gardener’s Sisyphus task
Each bed voices a continual ask

When the hill is climbed and the stone is gone
Brief respite before the task is redone

With no weeds the ground is free of clutter
Now tended with care delights of nature

I am bonded with earth through this worked space
This is time my world is a tranquil place


David Radford is a retired college professor who loves gardening and the great outdoors. Creative writing has been a welcome change from the technical writing his career demanded.

“Scoliosis” by Heather Simon


Back bent. Spine resisting
Its vertical thrust. Instead,
Employing a sinuous shape,
Like a meandering river
On its way to the sea.

Tilting incrementally to the left,
Until I am bent in two,
Twisted and warped,
Under the weight of gravity.
Under the weight of you.


Heather Simon is a translator, editor and writer. Originally from California, she decided to move to France over 14 years ago and has never looked back. The author currently lives in the south of France with her husband and French bulldog, Juno.

“A Cup of Rose Congou Tea” by Erin Olsen


Hot water screaming,
scalding tea leaves
and rose petals, penetrating
cell walls, distilling
essences and fragrance.
Raw sugar spills
from silver moon,
swirling with celestial
bodies,
sweetening antioxidants.
Cold milk calms
the ancient frenzy,
pours down
a cool balm
to soothe the assaulted
blossoms.

From cup to lips,
a ceremony of sips
and sighs.


Erin Olson is a counselor, parent coach, poet, and gardener. She lives in Shorewood, WI with her husband, son, cat, and an ever-growing variety of plant species.

“On a Greeting Card, a Penguin” by Nicolette Reim


An Emperor Penguin, upright, statuesque,
puffed chest deflects the snow seeming to fall
from a giant pillow shaken over the silent
bird below in a stark place at night. The artist
paints light—feathery flakes illuminate
the silhouetted head, orange neck, black feet
locked to an ice floe and the etched dark-blue
shape, its solitary shadow in blowing snow.


Nicolette Reim is a poet, visual artist, and translator who has been published in Brushfire, Maudlin House, Mojave River Review, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Poetic Sun, The Rail, Glint Literary Journal, Voices de la Luna, and other publications. She studied art at The New York Studio School and creates visual art pieces based on abstractions from writing and topography. Nicolette is a member of Noho M55 Gallery. She holds a Master Degree in Life Science from Columbia University and a Master Degree of Fine Arts in Poetry with a Concentration in Translation from Drew University.

“Dream Catcher” by Hannah Jane Weber


He’s biking uphill,
standing up and pedaling.
But still, he reaches
for a cardinal feather
spinning in a spiderweb.


Hannah Jane Weber’s poetry has been published in I-70 Review, Plainsongs, The Poeming Pigeon, Ponder Review, Rosebud, Slippery Elm and more. She is also a recipient of the Dylan Thomas American Poet Prize. Hannah Jane is a children’s librarian and tennis enthusiast. She lives with her husband and their golden retrievers.

“Your Father Said” by Nicolette Reim


And I say to you, as your father
said to the private club member
who invited him for lunch one day
in New York City and said to him,
there are no Jews here, you know,
and your father said, there is one now.
So I say to you, our daughter, when
you put some of my ashes next to
your father in the Jewish Cemetery,
if someone says to you, only Jews
are buried here, say— that isn’t
true, as your father always knew.


Nicolette Reim is a poet, visual artist, and translator who has been published in Brushfire, Maudlin House, Mojave River Review, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, Poetic Sun, The Rail, Glint Literary Journal, Voices de la Luna, and other publications. She studied art at The New York Studio School and creates visual art pieces based on abstractions from writing and topography. Nicolette is a member of Noho M55 Gallery. She holds a Master Degree in Life Science from Columbia University and a Master Degree of Fine Arts in Poetry with a Concentration in Translation from Drew University.