Sisters of the Vine- 2 | JD DeHart
One was splashy
citrus, the light summer
grape, pinot grigio
The other, dark-minded
vinegar lady, a stinging
pinot noir lady
Born on the same vine,
how do two varieties
display such distance?
human nature poems
National Call to Service | Francis Annagu
The weekly newspaper
Announced the government spending.
The road and dam projects
Were abandoned to rowdy campaigns.
The extravagant contractors denied,
Silence of the trucks like the troubled night.
Violent ragtags trooped the streets
With over-heated hands jittering for a fight,
Only for something the vultures roam in the sky,
The eagle’s glory is his prolonged flight.
The call to national service overtakes
The old pot of greed, but the merchants
For the loot, as the famished boy
Throws his stones from the colony of poverty.
This is a national call to serve the people,
Not a call to steal from the national pot.
The vision lied several seasons
On the mountain top, a vision
Of the great to heed the greatest vision.
—–
Francis Annagu is the author of “Our Land In The Beak Of Vultures” (Hesterglock Press, 2017). His works have appeared in Expound Magazine, Potomac Journal, Lunaris Review and others.
Welcome to the Cottage | JD DeHart
Welcome to the cottage
or should I say, welcome back?
These are the wooden slatted floors
where you first learned
about the predilection of old ladies
in the woods to be villains, to have
ovens, to possess poison apples,
to woo children away from breadcrumb
trails; the same spot where you
learned about the flash and dash
of princes, how often beautiful maidens
fall asleep and must be rescued,
the tender-hearted fair ladies whose
ruddy cheeks decorated so many
late night reads before bed,
and I couldn’t help but notice you
striking a match, preparing to burn down
the cottage, and build your own version
of the world’s story now that you are grown.
Line 2 | Thomas Ode
Hanging up
the receiver
A new message
never heard
before
A new voice
I’m already
forgetting.
Us | Chris Byrne
As a species we self-implode
We forsake love for lust
Lost in translation, confused
Feelings awry
Words become meaningless
Love becomes forgotten,
Actions speak volumes
Love becomes seen
Not forgotten
Grazing Cattle | Krushna Chandra Mishra
In peace as they graze
These cattle do never
Stray into other fields
Unless one crossing over to another
Signals about new things
And better ones
And the whole herd in great
Haste fully disturbed jumps
And jostles and rushes out
Erasing all signs of calm
That there prevailed long telling
Nothing had happened
For nothing for good.
Love Sits Alone | Ananya S. Guha
As of now or never
The die is cast
You arrive when it
Happens only
The way things happen
After love
And in a desert love
Sits alone