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I'd Dream about Love If I Could – A Poem by Steve Higgins

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I’d dream about love
If I could.
Instead I dream about motorbikes and racing cars
About writing books and a sailing barge
But I’d dream about love,
If I could.

Sometimes I dream about a pretty girl
With beautiful hair and big round eyes
She dreams about love,
Well, if she doesn’t,
she should.

I’d dream about love
If I dared.
Instead I dream about sunny beaches,
About swimming pools and bars,
and very fast cars
but I’d dream about love
if I dared.

I’d dream about love,
I would.
If I wasn’t stubborn and stuck in my ways
If I wasn’t lost in a love of the past,
I’d dream about love,
If I could.

You're Being a Little Too Positive – A Poem by G. S. Katz

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Could you be a bit more negative
Success is only a few steps away from failure
Failure you can count on
It’s the cocoon of despair

Working like a dog is nice
Because you got the big house
But your wife is cheating on you with with the bed bug guy
Your pink golf shirt has a stain you can’t see

Translation: Stay humble
Don’t fall for the hype
All that glitters is fake
Wear more black

Winter Turns to Spring in NYC – A Poem by G. S. Katz

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Sometimes you wanna tell a woman
Who is a stranger
That you find her to be beautiful in appearance
But I hesitate

It’s not a sexual thing
You just want to make someone’s day
And feel good about that
But I hesitate

She could take the compliment nicely
Or call me a creep
This is a wary city
So its quirky, ya know?

Because of Yesterday – A Poem by Allison Grayhurst

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Through this dark dread
I will glide like the devil’s tail
beating my mark on every
hope and innocence.

When the rain falls I will be
without humble hands to receive,
I will have lost
my one good gift in life.
I will clock the years
as one who feeds
on the thinning muscle of memory.
And in bed, curled against an indifferent wall,
my mind will turn toward
a new myth
to encapsulate my joy.
I will grow old
like love does, like children do,
like the sparrow will
who rejoices despite a heavy snow. I will be without
your hand to hold and forever
my heart will know no other.

More at http://www.allisongrayhurst.com.

Revel in the Rain | Joan Leotta

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Spring storm
Sky is heavy with gray clouds
I can feel the wind pressing down
On them to wring water from their grasp

That same air fills my nose
with pollen from the
seemingly fresh breezes, then,
perversely presses down my lungs
to prevent my inhaling a full breath.
My head begins to hurt.
I return inside,
close my eyes a cool cloth
shielding them from reflected light
until I hear the crash of thunder.
My eyes peer out at gray, darkness
where there had been blue,
dark clouds hover where earlier
white fluff skittered playfully about.
Now, wind is in charge,
wringing the water out of those
dark shapes to great effect.
Standing now, by the window,
I watch water stream down
hear it pound steadily on my roof.
When wind and rain have spent themselves,
I open the door and pull in lighter air
free of water’s weight, free of pollen.
Air fills my lungs with
coolness. The pressure on my head
relaxes. Water has washed away
sun’s vise-like grip on the day.
Others may run from beach, walks, from
plein aire garden sketching when rain comes,
but I rejoice, revel in the rain.

Cigars | JD DeHart

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The whole house smells like
a canopy of smoke. My body
smells like smoke.
Sometimes it feels like smoke,
about to waft away.
Often, I feel grounded, so focused
on my fears and perceived
inadequacies that it is hard to feel
tethered. I like the word tethered
and use it often in my work.
This image of being strapped
down reminds me of the free form
art the smoke seems to take
when emerged from the spark-end
of the cigar. It’s a celebratory
moment and the wisp of carcinogen
shows no fear.

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