Homeward Bound

I sang to my Father

on his deathbed.

He had not spoken a word

in days, cancer-ridden,

organs collapsing, high on morphine,

but I knew he could still hear me.

I sang a song

from a book I’d written

years earlier during a particularly

good time in my life, and this,

being a particularly dark time,

seemed like the right time

to balance the dualistic energies.

I don’t think

I gave such considerations

that much thought

at the time; I was just sad

and wanted to sing, wanted

my Father to hear my voice

in a deep bass tone

that mirrored his own.

I sang a song called Home.

I sang it with all my soul,

as a goodbye note

to the most important person

I have ever known.

 

first published Burning House Press

 

© Scott Thomas Outlar, Atlanta - United States

 

Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, live events, and books can be found. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Scott was a recipient of the 2017 Setu Magazine Award for Excellence in the field of literature. His words have been translated into Albanian, Afrikaans, Persian, Serbian, French, and Italian

J.D. James

Early morning dark and quiet,
so still you can hear God,
then the sun rises like slow jazz,
vibrating through thin clouds,
they look like strings of cotton candy 
stretching sideways,
you listen to the morning birds,
the thought of coffee makes you smile,
but the jazz is so smooth and relaxing,
you slip back into a drowsy dream.

© J.D. James, Tuscaloosa - United States

 

The First Night

The First Night (excerpt from 'Love letters from a ghost named C')

I remember the time we drank with
those winos in
front of the cannon war memorial at
Willamalane Park.

We were stupid kids with nothing to
lose.
The Cherry Blossom trees enveloped
us with
hopscotch dreams and real scotch
hangovers.

I remember our first night together in
the same park.
We huddled against a fence while
watching a toy light saber battle
between two friends.

What she didn’t
know was that the real
light show was evolving in my chest.

It was the first time I ever sat with
a girl on my lap.
I was 15 years old and the world was
careless and undaunting.

The Juniper moon spit its seeds of
light around our feet as the
night quickened to a roaring
applause.

© Adam Levon Brown, Eugene - United States

 

Adam Levon Brown is an internationally published author, poet, amateur photographer, and cat lover who identifies as Queer and is neurodivergent. He is Founder, Owner, and editor in chief of Madness Muse Press. He has had poetry published hundreds of times in several languages, along with 2 full collections and 2 chapbooks. Anti-imperialist, peacenik with a love for books, when not tripping on his own musings, he enjoys reading fiction. He also participates as an assistant editor at Caravel Literary Arts Journal He has been published with publications such as Harbinger Asylum, Firefly Magazine, and Five 2 One Magazine. He has two collections of poetry; Musings of a Madman (Creative Talents Unleashed, 2015) Cadence of Cupid (Creative Talents Unleashed, 2016) He has two chapbooks; “Loco”motion of Life (Alien Buddha Press, 2017) and Embedded Memories of a Shooting Star ( Transcendent Zero Press, 2017)

 

Can You Feel It

Can You Feel It

As I looked into your eyes
I saw the look of a prior commitment

the fear of loss once again
but you gave me your heart

as I touched your mind
you began to relax
as the pleasure moved our spirits

your body, you were intrigued
by the touch of my soul
we drifted into the pleasures
of our minds to release desire

the passion of my life
touch your body
like never before
so you gave into it

this need for love
resonated with me
to what extent the time
and effort allowed us

you are my dream
my fantasy come true
can I be judged

the same way
with the same feeling
when I was waiting
the moment we met

to this day, my mind
reaches out to you
and the connection

that was made
cannot be broken

just remember
that I was the one
who looked deep into your mind
trusted your soul
captured your heart
and touched your body
like no one has ever done before
Can you feel it!

© Darryl E Holmes, Kansas City - United States

 

Buffalo Storm

Dark, thick-browed and wooly;

two herds of opposing

Buffalo Clouds - stampede!

One from chilly North winds.

One from steamy South heat.

Drumming hoofbeats - charging,

electrify the air!

Colliding in a mass

circle of confusion

when zagged lightning stabs,

as a spear through their core,

piercing the drought-cracked land!

Crazed in their rage and pain;

a combined band - thunders,

rolling in agony,

a whirlwind - bellowing,

churning across the plain;

raising Cain's Dust Devils!

The sky begins to cry;

smog tainted raindrop tears

- falling like beads of blood
  drunk by a thirsty Earth
- belching pitted puddles
  forming into a flood
rushing river of mud.

Buffalo Storm moves on

to the far horizon;

grumbling its disdain,

as a double rainbow

arcs, brightly, in the rain

of a clearing blue sky

over a sated prairie.

© James Dean Chase, United States

James Dean Chase is a Mixed Anglo/Native American Indian who was born and raised in Texas, U. S. A.. He has traveled "the seven seas" and then some, during the six years he spent in the American Navy. James has been writing since the age of 5. Incidentally, all of his writings before age 16 (and a few after) were misplaced, lost, "accidently" destroyed or stolen (usually, by teachers). He has had letters, articles, newspaper/newsletter columns, poetry and short stories published. He is an award winning poet. He has also written a few songs and one-act plays. James is also an artist, who has sold a few of his paintings at sporadic artistic intervals.