Excerpt from WATERSHED

A poem from Jean L. French’s collection — now available in Global Edition. Incanto I call the name of rain a secret name without words. A wisp of cloud grows all day it grows cloud gathers to fullness releases, whispering back to me rain’s name a murmur at first falling farther up the mountain pattering…

The day you got tattooed…

the air was thick, and the sky was locked between white and grey. When you lifted your sleeve, they stared back at me like magic marker on the kitchen wall… those markings that will forever brand my child. The ink on your arm was dark and bright— black, red and green. Your view of the…

My Own Nairobi

“How is it possible to bring order out of memory.”           ~Beryl Markham, West with the Night. In the mud on the bottom of my boots, I spot a flake of gold mixed in. I take a sharp knife and loosen it out staring at it as if it were an entire nugget. I hammer a…

Wonderfold Winner

Our winner this month is “Summertime” written by Fiona M Jones! A big thank you to everyone who participated, it’s always great reading all the pieces that come in.

the sunset…

the sunset unravels its cloak across sky . . . I wait for deepest night to drink my fill of stars ©2018 by Debbie Strange Debbie Strange is an internationally published short form poet, haiga artist and photographer whose creative passions bring her closer to the world and to herself.

43 Years

I was 43 before I saw swans in flight I was born      raised I loved was loved      am loved I carried life in my swollen belly           in my grateful arms I saw my parents face time with grace      and without grace I have painted seashells stood my ground danced terribly fought and won           and lost…

Wonderfold Winner

a response to May’s #Wonderfold Prompt Our winner this month is “Love” written by Jean Holland! Thank you to all who participated and please remember to keep submitting because you never know who our next winner will be! Love ‘ neath nail beds of gardeners the crescent moon embraces the meaning of life ©2018 Jean Holland…

becoming more

what a good thing to be young and to call the creek behind your home ‘brother’ and to be fed by the same mouth and to spend the most fragile summer nights wondering how one becomes mighty and when — if ever — we learn how to swim in the bigness we will eventually become…

The Quickening of Salmon & Years

From this island                to that isthmus. Here, an egg.                There, a fish. As quick as that. Never mind swimming upstream, breaking       the surface                even momentarily. None of that wild fervor. You will not have cause to travel (the need’s been excised) so loll & fatten, rushing in another way to your slaughter, all sped up, hurtling…

At the Coffee Shop

Outside, a window washer watches me watching him, works a rhythm, window after window, simulating a seamlessness, tipping his squeegee after every-other downward stroke, coercing the water to run like blood from each overlapping pass, though of course he can’t touch my shining smudges, the smeared prints inside, five-eighths of a glinting inch away. ©2018…

askew in vexative disarray

askew in vexative disarray disqualified from the marching band topsy-turvy trombone drool reveille with ill-fitting trousers reliability depends upon premature remorse a bug in the hand beats a bite on the skin tumbleweed tactility orthogonal the one missing glove made for a cold hand so much so kind so what ©2018 Heller Levinson Heller‘s most…

Excerpt from YARROW AND SMOKE

A poem from William O’Daly’s fourth collection — available to pre-order in Sustainable & Global Editions. Legacy Grandfather, these inland hills and the canyons we blasted with .22s shrink in the August sun. Housing tracts put a stop to our bullets; at night streetlights climb like the edge of a wave over sage crowded slopes….