If I went left would things have changed?

Would it have even mattered?

If swerved, would I wish I went right?

I can’t stop wondering…

Did I take a wrong turn, or was I supposed to get lost?

Am I even lost?

If I ever find my way, will I drive myself crazy looking for a way back

here?

Angela Moore currently works at Yale University in the Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library. She enjoys writing poetry, illustrating comics and relaxing with adult coloring books.

Not Far from Here

Not far from here a farmer likes to hunt.
The carcasses he cleans and skins himself
(but not until he hangs them out to dry,
to season them I think’s the reason why).

If only he could add a hint of grace
to his front-yard-deer-carcass-hanging place;
please, neighbors, won’t you all impress on him
not to use his children’s jungle gym. 

Broken Glass

What could be sadder than a place
where death rolled through, a ton
of hurtling steel into the sun,
where racing blindness met disgrace

and two young children playing there
are now replaced by nothing we
may recognize with certainty
but broken glass and blank despair?

It took composer and college teacher Donald Wheelock forty years of writing formal poetry to reach the stage of submitting his favorites for publication. Formal poetry, once relegated to second fiddle in a career of writing chamber, vocal and orchestral music, has now demanded equal time. Indeed, it has taken over his life. He is trying to place two full-length books of his poems. He lives with his wife Anne at the edge of a Hayfield in Whately, Massachusetts.

I analyze and evaluate to reach a conclusion.
Into the equation I input the known facts,
after calculating some variables to see how that acts,
I process all the information.
There upon I make my decision.

I look at everyday people in just such a way,
while I try not to let bias or prejudice come into play.
I do my very best not to fudge,
and for Heaven’s sake, I never judge.

I call them like I see them, and I see pretty well.
I can spot a phony a country mile away pray tell.
But I can see the good in people in the people that are good.
I’m not judging them, I never would,
I’m just sorting them out, the good from the bad,
the happy from the sad.

After a successful career as a Senior Designer working with international mining companies, William David is retired now and living in Tucson, Az. He likes spending time now devoted to his passion: writing poetry. William writes for his pleasure and for the pleasure of those who might read his poems.

Out of nowhere
my husband took over feeding Izzy.
Can you believe it?
He said I fed her too much.
What nerve.
I like a fat cat.
Give me a fat cat any day.
A cat that dines on cream and sardines
suits me.
I don’t want a lean and ravenous squirrely kind of cat
prowling and lurking and hunting scraps.
I don’t trust those skinny cats.
They would just as soon suck the breath out of you
as look you in the eye.

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.

a soft, slight flicker of hope today
touched lightly near my soul

strangely filled an emptiness
—then quickly by me stole.

a certain awareness startled me
—I knew you once before,

a promise, not quite legible
surged in me once more.

yesterday stirred as tomorrow
splashed across your eyes

and something echoed infinity
and long-ago goodbyes.

a welcome fleeting moment,
a microscopic glance,

today our paths converged to bring
reunion—quite by chance.

Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and marketing materials. She authored “Chinese Herbs,” and has written for various magazines and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase (TSWHV), Scarlet Leaf Review, and Rue Scribe have selected her work for publication.

The whales smile
as still crews gaze
with lowered sails while
the whale calf plays.

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.

the mind gathers truth
catalogues it
and keeps an access file.

such truths shape beliefs
guide actions
weigh in on decisions.

some truths are written
some inherited
some discovered in solitude.

truth is passionately defended
so staunchly argued that
somewhere, someone is dying for truth.

why then is my perception of truth
not the same as yours,
If truth is truth?

Suzanne S. Eaton is an author and marketing consultant. She has written many corporate stories and marketing materials. She authored “Chinese Herbs,” and has written for various magazines and anthologies. Most recently, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Writer Shed Stories, Seaborne Magazine, The Purpled Nail, The Silent World in Her Vase (TSWHV), Scarlet Leaf Review, and Rue Scribe have selected her work for publication.

Quelle demoiselle the man next to me says. He
keeps the rhythm with one hand, taps his foot.
Want to dance? he asks me. I quake

with passion unspooling.
No, I say I don’t dance, don’t
think, don’t blink.

I take a sip of tipple to the music.
Are you here for me? dapple
my hips and smile,

Let’s ride the pony the appaloosa the
stallion I say, let’s play the beast
with two backs. He says, do you want to pavane waltz

rhumba with me, I will dip you trip
you. Kiss you. We Spanish flu flamingo,
Malaysian gavotte tie the knot, Viennese cakewalk.

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.

Balancing the giving and the taking,
Measuring the changing and the growing,
Coming… going…
Patiently waiting, quickly accelerating,
That careful toing and froing.

Our movement merges together
In unison rhythm like waves,
We caringly form our landscape,
We patiently carve out our caves.
We carefully set our intentions,
Dream of the wonderful life we will have,
In this space of connection we’ve nurtured
Our hearts cans do nothing but laugh.

Time passes changing the balance,
Tilting the scales, roils and disturbs;
I try to rise to the challenge
But in your mind thoughts do perturb.

My soothing no longer is wanted,
My arms around you no longer are craved,
My essence under your pressure relented,
Destroyed are the paths that we paved.

To hope I whispered my plea
but the waves continued to slam.
How can one halt the forces of the sea,
When in these turbulent waters we can’t even manage to stand?

I tried,
Oh, I did try…

But no longer can I be that wave that follows,
No longer shall my swaying match your motion.
Enough of these murky waters have I swallowed,
Enough of being adrift in your emotions.
I change from drop, to sea, to ocean.
Far from those shallow, stormy waters shall I be,
Released from its injurious erosion,
I have let go of what was us, was ours, was we.

Viviana Doyle is a Venezuelan-Irish who tries to creatively translate the rawness of emotions to poetry. As a constant seeker of new experiences she aims to deepen her understanding of our complex world, delicate human relationships and the resilient interconnectedness between the two.

Alive and, well, crowded.
Peck or scratch about in dirt,
make a meal of almost anything,
poop out some foul response
that splatters, that hardly matters.
Try not to lose your head.

Originally from Saskatchewan, Allan Lake has lived in Vancouver, Cape Breton, Ibiza, Tasmania, Perth & Melbourne. Poetry Collection: Sand in the Sole (Xlibris, 2014). Lake won Lost Tower Publications (UK) Comp 2017 & Melbourne Spoken Word Poetry Fest 2018 & publication in New Philosopher 2020. Chapbook (Ginninderra Press 2020) My Photos of Sicily.