The love affair with my hair ended abruptly on the first day of August on a bloody Tuesday
Scissors in one hand
Vengeance in the other
I watched
As it all came tumbling down
Like fall's leaves
God's speed

To read more of "Samson's Delilah" by Ellen Wanjiru

 

Underneath it all
I hear nothing
But the quiet flow
While submerged below

To read More of "Afternoon Swim" by Ellen Wanjiru

 

If I wanted to hide and tuck away
One would find me in the attic
Standing in the middle of a tiny bathroom
Gazing endlessly through a little window
At the cherry blossom tree in the backyard

To read more of "Cherry Blossom" by Ellen Wanjiru

   

Homeless, you wander the streets
Alone.
Just you and your guitar.
Your weathered skin is beaten
Like the rock of the cliffs.
An ancient stone,
Engraved with forgotten symbols,
Ogham etched into your skin
By the wrinkles of age.
You slouch in a corner on Shop Street,

To read the rest of "Dusk Waters" by Will Fawley

 

    My Fellow Americans
                  to those that understand
                    It's time to dig deep with shovel in hand.
            America has changed
                                 

To Read the rest of "America" By Michael Benjamin

 

Winter smells of her.

Inhaled crisp cool breezes stinging nasal membranes,

The smell of dying

With hopes of renewal,

Regeneration,

Rebirth.

 

She smells of winter.

The cold and brutal hawk

To read the rest of "Bitter Cold" By Lyrikk Erinna Mashairi

 

Have you seen the face of AIDS? I have
That face is your mom, that face is your dad
That face is the lady next to you in church, on the bus
Even the person you claim to trust

See the face of AIDS can be seen as many as 100 times a day
You would have no way to tell
If you could, what would you say?

To read the rest of "The Face" By Mark Crosby

 

Hands will  move to mend the cut
Under the rib
which Adam so generously handed her

And underneath the war paint
The battle dress
The call to arms
which fixes itself so heavily, between lovers

To read More of "Untitled" By Michelle Belanger Moore

 

This is the last goodbye....
No more thinking your name or have it run off my lips like honey or vinegar.
No more you in my head instigating my doubts to prove to me that I’m not worthy.
This is the last time you will do that to me.
No more goodbyes, or we need to talks, or crying because you did some unholy shitastic thing that I couldn't get my mind around.
THIS is the last goodbye...

To read the rest of the "The Last GoodBye" By Kea Dodson