Under a Fingernail Moon Poem by Kelly Ann Malone

by

Under a Fingernail Moon

A pregnant lunar display, plugged into the sky”¦This is not for me.

I exist under a fingernail moon, casting less of a glow.

Providing scant beams, if any.

I prefer the thin, silver rim that pleasantly dips north-east.

It does not pierce the clouds, but gently hovers above them.

It leaves us below to find our own way.

It causes us to forge our own light, so that we may

discover the path within the eclipse of our destinies.

Biography:

I have been writing since I was around twelve years old. Some of my poetic influences are Ogden Nash, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Teasdale, Dickinson, Billy Collins and Dorothy Parker to name a few. Some of my published credits include “The Library of Congress 9/11 Documentary Project”, North Carolina University’s Presses “Free-Verse Magazine, ” Poems Niederngasse, Albany University’s “Offcourse Literary Journal”, Temple University’s “Schuylkill Creative and Critical Review”, Duke University’s “Voices” Journal, San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly, Muse Apprentice Guild Literary Magazine, York University’s School of Women’s Studies Journal, “The Permanente Journal of the Arts and Medicine”, “Ars Medica, A Journal of Medicine, The Arts, and Humanities-Mount Sinai Hospital, Toronto Canada” and The Pittsburgh Quarterly.

***

House Ghost Poem by David Michael Jackson

by

Gogglelagoshee

I am the house ghost tonight
making the floors cry out

as I try my words out
on my half lit house.
Tonight this restless soul
wanders the halls,
listens at doorways
for God,
or someone like God.
Love waits
in some of the rooms,
pain waits in others
and the ghost asks little
of either,
only a taste to say

I was
here

After She is Gone Poem by Joan Pond

by

The Gardener’s Fern Book
by Joan Pond

The gardener’s fern book

was filled with clutter.

A program from a flower show

at the Mattatuck Museum,

with a special thanks from Dr. Gray.

Mom’s ‘hide and seek’ exhibit

was judged,

too sophisticated for the masses.

There was a Father’s Day card

and

A Valentine for Someone Special.

Imagine going through this book

after she was gone?

With all her belongings

falling,

as leaves

from a tree.
***

Poem Pour me Your Warm Tea Poem By James Nicosia

by

WARM TEA

I climb the hills and mountains of my heart

Where the echos of spirits sound.

On my way I search for happiness–

Happiness, solid as a stone.

Now My happiness is with you–right now–here–

There’s no power in yesterdays–tomorrows–nothing–

Their voice speaks in the wind.

So pour me your tea–

Make it warm this night–

Come close–

And old spirits won’t find me home.