Accordion
by Kiran W., Queens Village, NY
play the accordion
and I’ll watch as your fingers
sway across the cream-colored keys
it’s so beautiful, I close my eyes and
all I can hear are your lovely harmonies
being played like you’ve never stopped
you ...
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Autumn’s Lament
by Tracy A., Scarsdale, NY
He said, “I’ll straighten you out, kid.”
trees that violently shake you
like the first chill of the autumn months
She still wore sundresses on the windiest days;
a shattered stained-glass window,
pieced together by ...
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Beside Communion Candles and Hotel Soaps
by Alicia C., Millburn, NJ
I spend my weekends in your old sweaters,
The sleeves dangling down a little farther
Around my fingertips.
Maybe one day I’ll grow into them.
The embroidered apples,
Chicks and sheep that line the hem.
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Breath of Death
by Ian G., W. Allis, WI
Four in the morning was never welcome,
but the door was left ajar.
Off to the medics, off to the beds,
to bones of frailty, and zombies for heads.
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Condensation
by Vania M., Voorhees, NJ
Condensation on windows
The blur of evergreen trees
First class backseats
Bright eyes gazed into mine
The darkest of teal
The car drifts
into the cryptic labyrinth
They smiled and laughed -
Wrapping ribbons ...
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Girl In My Sleep
by Adam G., Chicago, IL
(There I’m in myself and cannot speak but to charm you
And hear the friction of your every move.) You
Flit from my subterranean garden to the fleshy salty
real of waking and back so seamlessly.
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Graffiti on the Dawn
by Amalie K., Brooklyn, NY
I
Gonna get my living on
Graffiti on the dawn
Although I’ve never drawn
Love
And beautiful women before
There is always a first
Coerced into everything
But the unrehearsed
Lines of true ...
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Growing
by Erin S., Birmingham, AL
i was close enough to see the veins in your eyes branch
and dip under each iris, a sort of protective shield
against everything your eyes saw when they opened
or closed.
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Huck Finn
by Sadie W., Batavia, NY
Drip-drop, pitter-patter, I found you skipping stones
in the quiet of the gentle
afternoon rain.
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Love Poem from a Tuba Player
by Colleen K., Centerville, OH
Many times I have wished
That I sit next to you
And not
Behind you.
But behind you is good enough for
Me,
I, who write stupid little love poems,
But will never have the
Courage
To deliver even
One.
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Love?!
by Catherine J., Belchertown, MA
This is not a love poem.
This is not a sonnet or a ballad
proclaiming your hair and eyes better
than any I have ever seen.
They are fine features, to be sure.
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Mother and Son
by Ryan M., Lansdale, PA
A good mother is unpacking her son’s things.
He has been at war.
He is showering now, down the hallway.
In a moment he will return,
wrapped in the ugly towel that massaged his scalp dry as an infant.
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Nuestro Amor (Our Love)
by Anonymous, Irvine, CA
I’d always preserved certain moments,
certain feelings,
from the sweeping microscope of my pen.
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Parting Kiss
by Patrick B., Mount Pleasant, MI
In this last
desperate moment,
I scramble
to retrieve
the only thing
at home
worth caring about.
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Stir
by Jessica S., Marietta, GA
Stir
Long fingers fasten every last button
on her blouse, covering up her skin, soft like milk.
He is still watching her; she wishes he would stir
or move or do something so that by chance she might catch
him looking.
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Sweet Prince
by Samantha M., Oroville, CA
The children,
Thick and plush upon the rug,
Sat meaningful
As they listened
With weathered ears.
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The Other Family
by Lauren D., Houston, TX
Mom stands in front of the big white sink
Washing some vegetable -
Unimportant to my memory
Through the window
Which lets me see cows milling in the distance
Dry yellow sunlight filters in
Illuminating the room in the old tin ...
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Two Acts
by Rachael R., Dacula, GA
act one
like a great white crane
she stood on one foot among the ovid and the shakespeare
with her daffodil white blond head cocked at a perfectly calculated right angle
frozen burning t.s. eliot and e.e.
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Ugliness
by Elizabeth H., Cincinnati, OH
There are many ugly words:
Folk, palpitate, exultation,
Scintillate, corrosive, succulent.
But none are as ugly to me -
Now -
As the sound of your name.
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Your Eyes
by Elisha L., Canton, OH
I sat for days
struggling to pinpoint the
perfect word to describe
your brown eyes
When today I realized
they’re blue.
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