Leaves falling,
like snow flakes.
Mingling with frost upon turf.
Frozen dewdrops.
Create artistic rustic patterns.
Inviting aurum quince pixies,
to dance in delight.
Wind swept sugar coated pine trees.
Bow to the late autumn’s breath.
Watching this gaiety through six glass panes.
Sunset’s golden hour has arrived.
Fifteen strokes to the hour of four.
Sunlight columns join this wondrous dance,
against tan walls.
Inviting Noel’s lights to waltz
in her effervescent white lit pine needles.
Bluebirds, red-grey squirrels, and hares,
are enthralled.
By the dance of these whirling dervishes.
Twilight emerged, hued with autumns
final color palette.
Messages of peacock and soft clay pinks.
Variegate these final seven days--
Before winter’s solstice commencement.
 
 
______________________________________________________________ 
Mary Anne Abdo is an author, poet and photographer. Her debut poetry book, "Fractured Lollipop Poems of Brokenness Healing and Hope is now on Amazon. Her work has been featured in The Edge of Humanity Magazine, Moonstone Press,Pennsylvania Bards, The Skeptics Kaddish, The Avocet, Calla Press, and Studio B's annual poetry anthology 2022 and 2023. She has also collaborated on several children's book, Creative Gems Volumes 2&3, and has been featured internationally in Bindweed Magazine's seasonal anthology. 
​

A grave set at,
the foot of a hill,
amidst mountainous green.
Idyllic and peaceful,
in a heavenly still,
granting a rest that’s serene.
 
Spring flowers in bloom
that grace the lives gone,
each with a story to tell.
Deep loving thoughts
that will always live on,
reminding us all will be well.
 
Beauty in death,
a sweet offering,
a gifting made straight to the heart.
Tasting and seeing
within suffering,
and remaking the things torn apart.
 
Words without words
that speak to the grief,
healing in ways unbeknown.
Presence that grants
a depth of relief,
sprouting from seeds that were sown.
 
Growing anew
from pain into hope,
seeing the horizons in sight.
Touching the hem
of all things divine,
as the shadows give way to the light.

 
 
______________________________________________________________ 
Michael Haldas is an author, educator, and speaker. His published works include books (non-fiction and fiction), short stories, articles, and poems. He also has a long running podcast show and teaches online adult religious education classes. Visit www.michaelhaldas.com to learn more about his work.

​

Somebody’s Watching Me
Beautiful Girl
Hurt
Good Enough
Til it happens to you
Scars to your beautiful
All Comes Crashing
Never Surrender
Fight Song
The Warrior
 
 
_______________________________________________________________
Nadine Dunseith is a writer and teacher from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She published her first short story in 2001 in the anthology, A Beaver Is Eating My Canoe. She is a weekly contributor to a mental wellness poetry series on the Indie YYC. She has been featured in several publications and recently won a poetry contest in Calgary. 

There's a magical world outside my window
a front-row seat to nature's play
even when no creatures are about
there's action as the breeze moves the trees
and leaves, performing a dance of shadowy shapes.

The scenery is constantly evolving
the birds find the feeder
once one appears, word spreads
and others show up.

Nibblers don't stay long, grab a seed
startled, they fly off
letting the next warbler up to feed
there seems to be a pecking order
certain ones can feed together
until a higher-ranking officer appears
then all scatter so the chief can graze.

When there's snow on the ground
yard critters are scarce
but when they come
they come in flocks.

Lots can be said
for sticking together
in the cold winter weather
protective security, strength in numbers.
 
Winter provides a snapshot of their frosty world
snow molding a perfect imprint of each footprint
portrait of the day’s journeys, leaving
evidence of who passed through my garden
birds—chipmunks—squirrels—deer.
​
 
_______________________________________________________________
Laura Daniels founded The Fringe 999 https://www.facebook.com/groups/399191694738673 and @thefringe999, curated recently in NJ Bards Anthology, Silver Birch Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, and elsewhere. She resides with her partner in Mt Arlington, NJ.

There’s often footprints here in the mud,
A little patch of bare ground among the ball fields.
I’ve probably added my own on occasion, trotting
The mile or so lap around the perimeter,
Four times or so in a row, a workout.
 
Sometimes it’s added up to  more than laps and footprints –
That time I could not make it even one lap,
That time not even half a lap,
That time a doctor said “leukemia.”
 
That was when I went to walk a lap, and saw the muddy patch
With footprints erased by rainstorm.
That was the time I just wanted to walk a lap
And see footprints,
Wishing someone would be seeing mine.
 
 
_______________________________________________________________
John is retired from the professions of cooking and history-teaching.  He still cooks constantly and misses his students deeply. In the meantime, he has been writing poetry and short, third-person biographies.


​

Beautiful sunny days
That give way
To dense white clouds
Turning shades of gray
Then black
ZIG-ZAG
Thunderbolts Flashing!
Illuminating the sky
Wild Winds Whipping!
Palm fronds flying!
Drenching rain...
Downing tree limbs and wires
Trapping cars off guard
In floodwaters
Birds still sing
To them Its a shower
Drinking water
For their morning meal
We stand down
Cancel plans
Sit in the lanai
To watch the storm
We have no control
 
A Double Rainbow
 
_______________________________________________________________
Patricia has taught poetry to adults and children. Her work has appeared in Gulf Coast Florida Bards and college magazines. She recently published a  chap book titled Long Island Visit and other poems. Patricia loves reading, writing and teaching poetry.
​

          (a parody of the Daffodils by Wordsworth)
 
I drift slowly like perfume
Filling the garden late in spring
Around the slots that crowd the room
Humming my favorite ring-a-ling
Doing their saucy song and dance
Convincing me to take a chance
I wish for cherries in a row
The clinking sound in trays below
 
Often when I think in bed
Wondering why I’m fighting sleep
My thoughts return to black and red
As hours and minutes seem to creep
I’m in my favorite paradise
With wheels that spin and cards and dice
 
 
_______________________________________________________________
Joan Magiet is the author of 4 books of poetry,  “Tender Chains,” “Haiku for Jewtalian Mothers,” “Push Back the Boundaries,” and “Newsy Limericks.” She is a former Assistant Professor English, adjunct faculty at SUNY, Nassau. She is also a founding member of Performance Poets Association and former contest judge and editor of the PPA Literary Review.

​What do you see when you look at my face?
Do you see a human or something old?
Careful, though, soon you’ll be in my place.
 
I’m still me, more than a lingering trace
Of what I was before the years rolled,
What do you see when you look at my face?
 
Look at me here in this God-awful place,
Cramped, full of dust and dirt and mould,
Careful, though, soon you’ll be in my place.
 
Inside my aged body I’m still full of grace,
Why can’t you see that I’m not yet cold?
What do you see when you look at my face?
 
Though I’m lined with tissue and lace,
I’m still valuable, worth my weight in gold,
Careful, though, soon you’ll be in my place.
 
Hours are passing and I’m in a race
Against ticking time before my soul is sold,
What do you see when you look at my face?
Careful, though, soon you’ll be in my place.

​Catherine A. MacKenzie: Cathy’s writings are found in numerous print and online publications. She writes all genres but invariably veers toward the dark—so much so her late mother once asked, “Can’t you write anything happy?” (She can!) Check out her website for further information about her and/or her books: http://writingwicket.wordpress.com Cathy lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.

My thoughts are raindrops.
Each drop on its own doesn't move me.
But as these raindrops collect
they form puffy clouds
full of potential.

Word clouds.

Getting bigger and denser and then
the
rain
falls

On the paper as I hold my pen.
First a trickle down the page,
...then a torrent.

Non-stop the words flow from my pen
till my raindrops ebb at the margins,
...I am drained.

My poem is written and the paper satisfied

till the next rainstorm comes.
​

Karl Kliparchuk is a wine writer at www.mywinepal.com and a retired teacher living in Burnaby, BC. In 2022, he had his free-verse poems published by winecellarpress.com, academyoftheheartandmind, the StrideFest Burnaby Arts Festival 2022 and 2023, Wingless Dreamer Publisher, and by Kind of A Hurricane Press. ​

The joys of corn bread, fish, and collard greens
That Sunday meal plate
having soul food after church
is totally worth the wait
or
maybe having it in a home
with family and friends
or
out to a soul food restaurant
that's high end.


On a real nice date
cultural diversity
cultural university and cultural soul food 
cultural church  
the joys of fried chicken, collard greens, and sweet yams
the one like your grandmother makes 


Having that is better than 
worth having anything that's in a can.
The soul food got me thinking
it's God’s plan.
Got me saying 
I’m going to have another helping and plate.


Collard greens, fried chicken, and mac and cheese.
Got me saying, can I have some more?
opening cultural diversity right through your door 
Saying yes, can I have some more?
Pass the plate please!
​

​Karl Nicholas Urso is a writer, artist, poet, and musician who performs locally at open mics and festivals around the Torrington and NW Connecticut area where he lives.