Lemonade hearts
lavender love
lips longing
for anything
but loneliness.

Marie-Kristin Hofmann is a 29-year-old content marketer currently living in Berlin. Her poetry is inspired by her solo travel experiences, Berlin rooftop nights and the city’s lost souls. She holds a bachelor’s degree in American literature from Mannheim University and a master’s degree in Intercultural Communication from Passau University.

sewing loose stitches of a sweater
begging to unravel into yarn
loosen as roving into wool fiber
seeking the wind seeking home
as hair on wholesome sheep
grazing grass in green pasture

Nicolette Ratz currently lives in rural, northern Wisconsin. She encourages daydreams to find her on slow hikes as ecology, imagination and moment converge in poetry.

I saw a muskrat in the park
lying at an entrance to her home,
oval mound of underbelly exposed,
tiny feet with long shapely nails
curled gracefully in death.
Her buck teeth protrude slightly
between parted lips.
Her chestnut hair, rustled by the breeze,
still glistens.

There are no wounds.
Poison, then.

Feeling ill, did she try to make it home
and get only this far –
to her doorstep?
Or was she underground,
and did she want to die in the sun?

Paulette Callen has returned to her home state of South Dakota in retirement, after 30+ years in New York City. Varying degrees of culture shock in both directions — but always, the space she returned to has been made home by a dog.

I saw a muskrat in the park
chewing grasses with perfect attention
in a pool of sunlight that rendered gold
the tips of her glistening chestnut hair.

I’d seen her before
at just the end of the dark
swimming the shallow stream that
arteries the park –
just a smooth parting of the water,
then her endearing waddle
as she brought from the bank
the right twig, longer than herself
and fringed in new leaves.
Clasping it firmly in delicate jaws
she melted into the water and swam again
and with a flip disappeared
into a hole in the bank.

I was pleased to know she was there
going about her business,
and confident in her wisdom
to come out only before dawn,
before joggers and dog-walkers,
before skittish mothers could cry “RAT!”
to the park authorities in their ill-fitting green costumes.

Today she sits in the sun.
Civil and lovely.
Surely she deserves to sit in the sun?

Does she think people so kind?

Paulette Callen has returned to her home state of South Dakota in retirement, after 30+ years in New York City. Varying degrees of culture shock in both directions — but always, the space she returned to has been made home by a dog.

I’ll need to persevere – not give up again.
I’m going to start now – stop debating when.

I’ve decided anew to accept the fight.
I’ll summon all my internal might.

I’ve got my sword, and I’ve got my shield.
I’ll ride steed across the open field.

The smoke is still visible, a distance away.
Up in a mountain, too high some say.

To calm my nerves, a drink from my flagon.
And I promise this time, to slay my dragon.

J. M. Allen is a 51-year old, who recently started writing a bunch of rhyming poems. The author is a long-time resident of Rochester, Minnesota.

what is this genre modern women sing
at times and always write the truest words
that meddle stagnant muscles in my heart
revealing memories unknown to them
and tearing down the norms that yell we must
conform to trite aesthetics locked in form
and not rebuild through substance our own flaws
what they reveal is between me and god
who comes to me in ill-assorted thrifts
and says “please shush it only I can judge
I wore plaid boots cause truth and joy is one”
I blink, read on, forget as idols blur
I bathe in time. Obeying only the air my fingers held
when I met words that made me melt and melt is melt

Gabija Kertenyte writes poems and creative nonfiction. In her free time, she likes to psychoanalyze herself and work on healing. She’s currently working on an oral history project.

Sometimes you feel a little
cranky without any particular cause:
you want to kick the cat for having
whiskers or yell at someone for
breathing too loud.

You know it’s not reasonable
but who cares: its
like the whole world is chewing
with an open mouth, making
squeaky sounds on the

blackboard and just won’t stop.
In such a case, it’s good to have an outlet
for your petulance, something
you can do alone so you don’t
alienate everyone else, like
chopping wood

or digging a grave.
Personally, I find that
there’s nothing like the presence of
death to get me in a better mood.

Karen Miller is a 76 year old retired lawyer living on Lake Champlain in Vermont with her cranky but lovable husband and Izzy the cat. In the summer she gardens and swims. In the winter she looks out the window.

woke up one day scared
here I am: old lady
end of a dirt road
don’t know karate
kitchen knives are dull
neighbor is deaf
cat is a coward

said to my husband
I want a gun

Bought a small black pistol
went to the range
shot my gun until I
hit the target
pretty well, call it a cluster
peppering the red circle
I call it a cluster

put the gun in my sock drawer.
if necessary
the cat knows where to find it.

Karen Miller is a 76 year old retired lawyer living on Lake Champlain in Vermont with her cranky but lovable husband and Izzy the cat. In the summer she gardens and swims. In the winter she looks out the window.

The smell of New York City Morning
on her breath and the smile
of an afternoon in Houston in her eyes:
It’s been a year and a half now
she’s almost forgotten
how to create herself through stories,
she’s almost forgotten how to leave.
She skims the news vigorously, wishing
peace to her and hers. She cleans her hands
with near frozen water but it scolds. She wants
to be content. She hopes that heaven
isn’t a whole five hundred more in rent.
She counts the days under her breath,
guesstimating a new end point each morning.
(Seattle Winter in her soul, outpouring)

Gabija Kertenyte writes poems and creative nonfiction. In her free time, she likes to psychoanalyze herself and work on healing. She’s currently working on an oral history project.

A poem for my wife
To tell her how amazing she is
For giving birth and looking after our daughter
Whilst battling with Covid

The birth was actually an inspiration
How to nail hypnobirthing
Despite not being told the birthing centre was closed
And you even tolerated my driving

You made a mid-wife cry
And they said you were too calm to be in labour
We’ve got through a tough time
With some hard work, an amazing mum and baby, and a lovely neighbour

I know we’ve been emotional
And with lack of sleep things have been said
But I already feel this has made us stronger
Who needs sleep when we’ve got Liv, we can sleep when we’re dead.

You’re an amazing mummy
And I’m sorry if I’ve upset you
All I can do is my best and will always give my opinion
But I don’t mean to second guess you

Am sure some difficult times to come
But let’s just do our best
To walk away and chat later
Will be my biggest test

We are both strong
And therefore sometimes clash
At least I’m not like some husbands
Who don’t take an interest and are always working or on the lash

Livvy’s going to be a legend
Having bits of me and you
Hopefully she’ll be a world record holder
By the age of 2

Me, you, Liv and Charlie
We’ve made a bad ass tribe
Let’s try not to get caught up on the little things
And do better than survive, let’s as always thrive

Wife & Daughter was written shortly after Simon’s baby daughter was born and he and his wife were getting to grips with the massive change in their life and relationship that having a baby brings. Simon hoped this may resonate with some readers that are new parents and never know what may help.