Flying Island

Winter Evening Walk by Jennifer Froehle Hoarse trilling on high heralds the flying vee. Onward they come, fleet in full formation, ragged-edged outliers, collapsing and rebuilding the ingrained pattern, weak drafting off strong. Wings beat in unison, Incising cuneiform wedges across smudged gray clouds, Skywriting news of shortening days and dwindling light, Foretelling us the ending of the year. In the sharp air, I freeze, Lift eyes to track their path As they sweep past, So purposeful, their call to flight embedded in their souls. For one brief moment, I know I could go, Join the airborne caravan trekking southwest toward the light, Follow sky roads mapped upon our cells to their end, And bask in warmer climes till springtime turns us home. I would lift into the air, Fight this tug of earth with all my might Until, aloft, I found my place behind a fellow traveler, settled in And I would fly. Honks and cries rece...

If I’d Been Starry-Eyed by Lylanne Musselman Once upon a time I had a poet as a suitor. I was too young to appreciate the gesture of having poems written for and about me. I was only 14 years old, so what could I know except the mantra from my mom about looks and money? He had neither at 16, but he was nice. Heartbroken and sad, he eventually moved on, leaving me to search for Mr. Right. After years of having my heart broken and being sad, I see I was misguided. My romantic, creative side could’ve had a soulmate who loves what I create, and I could’ve fallen for him as some fairy tale loves have been known to do. Our same road not taken led us down different life paths; I’ll never know what could’ve become of those two kids who enjoyed summer night walks, seeing who could count the most stars; who strummed guitars side by side, and dreamed Midwest magic, but whose lyrical hearts never quite harmonized together. Lylanne Musselman is an award-winning poet, playwright, ...

Stoic Dawn by Jessie Browne Motionless morning— You lie passively. Do you resist or languish? Under your dead-weight Gaze, squirming, I feel My exuberance falter; Gently, joy abates, Finding itself bridled, Sheepishly going to ground. Water quenches fire; You are not the rain. Stone hedges. The inferno, Not slaked or smothered, Burns stationary -- A moving picture, dancing Light show, wild, denied, Full of longing, and Hungry to combust anew From Jessie Brown: “I have been honing my skills as a music journalist at Indy Metal Vault and a memoirist on my personal blog,  http://hoosiermystic. wordpress.com    Professionally, I am a chemist in the food and beverage industry. I live on the near Eastside of Indy in Little Flower with a spunky calico cat.”

O Poesy Romance Unmasked by Gerard Sarnat My wife, who once was lost to another man gave me L.Cohen’s 82 years’ ordinary notebooks which read dreary like they shouldn’t see the light of day. But underneath all that chaff, I can begin to winnow then find what would become Suzanne and Hallelujah lucencies. Brother Leonard’s determined task to dress kōans for success was to find paths that dance us to end of love. Gerard Sarnat won the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award plus the Dorfman Prize, has been nominated for Pushcarts and authored four collections: HOMELESS CHRONICLES (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), and Melting The Ice King (2016), which included work published by Oberlin, Brown, Columbia, Johns Hopkins and in Gargoyle, American Journal of Poetry (Margie), Main Street Rag, MiPOesias, New Delta Review, Brooklyn Review, Los Angeles Review of Books, Voices Israel, Tishman Review, Suisun Valley Review...