Morning poem by John Horvath Jr

Morning Incomplete


Along the seashore at the cabin muffled waves through night
Embrace us in our sleep brief unhurried ’til the morning light
Upon these empty sheets reveals the stains of love imagined.
Morning doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
Morning wakes and shakes fresh dew off all imaginings.
I can lie here, dream you lay beside me
Morning after morning after we have parted,
Turn to caress and taste your beauty,
Wake wet with tears from missing you, sigh
Like breezes born for nothing but an empty
Space to fill. Beside me you my emptiness must fill.

I will miss you, simple meters, reasoned rhyming,
Closure certain as the morning. Unwise, but I will
Miss you near to sunrise every morning,
At first light and in the darkness
Of my bedroom lonely; lacking kisses,
Shallow breathing become the slightest breezes
Laughing at me when I’ve risen, falsely risen early
Ready waiting for your eyes to open gently.
I will miss you in the morning.

Morning doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
You think that you are going someplace certain–so untrue:
You simply return unto that place where alone you started,
Where daily daylight stains you bleach away, half-hearted
Try recapture simple dreaming. Embrace the dreaming: hold
Off certainty of someplace solid nine-to-five and evenings lonely;
Doze ’til bedclothes cover over eyes that close, then come to me.
I shall take you with me, darling, to the dreamscape where we started–
It’s only morning that doesn’t give a damn for dreams of lovers parted.
Our dreams are conquests over limits,
together time and space in sleep are bested.


Till Death Do Us Part poem by Laura Greenall

Till Death Do Us Part

The contract is over
In death we have parted
I am alone now
Alone and broken hearted
The poison drink is bitter
The pain of it cuts deep
But soon we’ll be together
I’ll join you in death’s sleep

If I should dream then
It will be of you
And now that the time’s come
I bid my life adieu


BLUES ON THE RADIO poem by Tony Nesca

tears run silently down her
coffee in front of her
old blues song on the radio
mom too tired and hungover
laura wanting happiness
wanting understanding
mom too tired and wasted
ain’t no purpose she says,
there ain’t none
mike at home lighting a
tears on his cheek
heavy metal on the ghetto
no family
friends an illusion
“c’mon,’ says reggie,
“it ain’t so bad”
laura hands mom a smoke
mom shaking the hangover
shaking hand lights a match
looks out window
kids playing in the snow
mailman on corner blows out smoke
a firetruck makes its run,
ain’t no purpose she says,
there ain’t none
mike shakes reggie’s hand
“we’re not going to make it, are we?”
reggie smiles
laura cries
“no…”says reggie,
“but who the hell does?”