An Encapsulated Life by Michael Anthony Ingram

In the timeline of existence,
I stand as a man,
seasoned and proud,
possessing strength akin to Hercules.
Yet within, I harbor the essence of a child,
inexperienced and feeble,
endowed with the plaything called life.
A divine bestowal, if you may.
Yet, adulthood unveils life's gravity,
no mere amusement but a solemn venture.
At times, I ponder relinquishing my toy,
too massive, unwieldy, fragile,
anxiety-ridden, bashful,
a challenge to manage,
with intricate parts awaiting swift assembly.
Yet, if returned to God,
would a simpler, better-suited replacement emerge?
Until that choice materializes,
I'll cling to the bestowed gift,
for, in the end,
it remains a cherished offering.

--

Dr. Michael Anthony Ingram, host and producer of the globally acclaimed poetry podcast Quintessential Poetry: Online Radio, YouTube, and Zoom. He is a retired university professor who champions the arts, especially poetry, to highlight issues at the intersection of power, privilege, and oppression. A nominee for the Pushcart Prize, he is also celebrated internationally as a spoken word artist. His eagerly anticipated second book of poetry, Metaphorically Screaming, will soon be released. For further details about the podcast, please visit www.qporytz.com.

Friendly Ghost by Brandon Shane

I imagine sometime after my burial
they'll stir stew and toss in an extra clove
of garlic to honor my memory,
look at the night stars like brown butter,
see the sky as milk and thyme,
pigeons will be salt, auburn leaves
just a pinch of cinnamon and nutmeg,
our sun a great dandelion
that cannot be pulled.

They'll light an unscented candle
before a late dinner
and cradle lanterns wherever they go
like squirrels with hazelnuts stuffed
into their cheeks, and gray afternoon rain
will no longer ruin their day,
but inspire an idea.

I'll return in brief moments
as they go on chilly walks, trails
dimming with evening light,
somewhere in the rings of a sycamore tree,
somewhere in the sweet citrus of an orange,
woodland songs piercing nervous silence.

On the wings of a blue jay
covered in seeds
that will drift along a hill,
and months later,
there will be a gust, thunder,
something green sprouting
along the mud.

--

Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturist, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the Argyle Literary Magazine, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Heimat Review, York Literary Review, Mersey Review, Prairie Home Mag, among many others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English. Find him on Twitter @Ruishanewrites

Facedown on First Street by Daniel Guido

See a man in his thirties
Thoughts overwhelming
Who leaps from a building
To elope with the floor

His arms are flailing
And as he’s descending
He sees a pale face
From a dark corridor

Her eyes start wilting
His legs keep tilting
And he laughs at the moment
He’s halfway down

It was love at first sight
Yet a little too late
She spread out her thin arms
His tie flowed like a gown

Did she think she could catch him?
And did his laugh echo?
Moments before his face
Painted the ground?

With a hand to her lips
She walked away slowly
And discarded the sight
Without making a sound

Perhaps it didn’t matter,
As they came to chatter
About the man who laid flatly
In a pool of his love

And she’ll wonder, probably,
If terminal velocity
Might’ve felt a little like
A flight among doves

--

An aspiring author, Daniel thrives on crafting dark and intricate stories. His enthusiasm for reading, writing, occasional procrastination, and blasting music pour fuel on his creative pursuits.

One Irreversible Step for Mankind by Dan Raphael

1)

want to step outside but can’t get that far without circling
as people do when lost, in a much varied old growth forest
or in acres of hazelnuts planted symmetrically
like the holes in Chinese checkers

as office towers can only be the same if built simultaneously
as pyramids are always disguising something—refuse heaps, libraries,
evidence of civilizations no one knew about to forget, like parts of the earth
that heal too quickly to scar, a day the holes in the clouds had right angles
and there must have been at least 4 suns for it to move that quickly


2)

my neck is stiff from so much looking up, the sidewalk is sloppier than the street,
no craftsmanship, little attention to what’s thrown where, houses at different levels
to avoid sight lines, people paid to stroll and analyze windows—
what kind of treatments, how many cats, can I see all the way through
flag lots, easements, naming rights sold for street names but
who wants to live on starbucks street or target boulevard

with houses corralled closer together, addresses with decimal points
fences replaced with laser beams carrying and creating data, subtly culling
the herds of squirrels and rats--security genetics, a legally mandated end
of petlessness, new vaccine for isolation, an addiction to prescriptions


3)

when I stir
as if I had slept
all windows and doors removed
all art and documents unframed and unhung
no brand names or ingredients
a sink with four unlabeled faucets
a toilet not made for people
vertical and horizontal renegotiated

decide quickly. others are coming

--

Dan Raphael’s last two books are In the Wordshed (Last Word Press, ’22) and Moving with Every (Flowstone Press, ’20.) More recent poems appear in Umbrella Factory, Concision, Brief Wilderness, Packingtown and Unlikely Stories. Most Wednesdays Dan writes and records a current events poem for The KBOO Evening News.

"How Do I Get Myself to Do This Without Regretting It Immediately?" by Ace Boggess

                question asked by Andrea Fekete


Speak to your late father in a language not his own.
Speak English to absent friends.

Listen to a blues record &
feel the joy of sadness.

Tell your angry lover
you’ve fallen into the sky & won’t come down.

Stand in a queue at the bus stop.
Don’t get on the bus.

Listen to what wind tells you.
It has never been misleading, never wrong.

--

Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.

Yo Recuerdo Puerto Vallarta (I Remember Puerto Vallarta) by John RC Potter

                        (written in Spanish and translated into English by the author)

Recuerdos. Aquellos días lejanos.
El sol. El mar. La playa. La vista.
Y supuesto, la música,
la música navideña:
¡Feliz Navidad! ¡Feliz Navidad!
Mis recuerdos son como una película.
Yo recuerdo tu cara,
pero no tu nombre.

Pensé que era amor.
Pero ¿qué es el amor?
Un momento en el tiempo;
en un lugar especial.
A veces pienso en ti.
Un joven hermoso.
Por desgracia, olvidé quién eras,
pero no puedo olvidar al hombre.

*

Memories. Those distant days.
The sun. The sea. The beach. The view.
And of course, the music,
the Christmas music:
Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!
My memories are like a film.
I remember your face,
but not your name.

I thought it was love.
But what is love?
A moment in time,
in a special place.
Sometimes I think of you.
A beautiful young man.
Unfortunately, I forgot who you were,
but I can’t forget the man.

John RC Potter is a Canadian living in Istanbul. Recent publications: Prose - “A Garden In Winter” (Erato Magazine); Poetry - “No Religion In Heaven” (Poetry Catalog); Review – Tezer Özlü’s Cold Nights of Childhood (New English Review). Highlight: “Tomato Heart" (Poetry, Disturb the Universe Magazine) - Best of the Net Nominee. The author’s gay-themed children’s picture book, The First Adventures of Walli and Magoo, is scheduled for publication. https://johnrcpotterauthor.com

I Gave It One Star by John Grey

A friend recommends
a movie to me.

I finally get around
to seeing it.

And I hate
every 103 minutes
of the thing.

So I doubt my friend’s
good taste
but not his friendship.

“What’d you think?”
he asks me,
a week or so later.

“Loved it,”
I tell him.

It’s not so much a lie
as an answer
to a previous question.

--

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Birmingham Arts Journal, La Presa and Shot Glass Journal.