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How Could I Not…

Julie Powell·September 19, 2019

How Could I Not… written by: Julie Powell @jules_cupcake You know I love you, how could I...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Fickle

Cindy Medina·July 27, 2018

Fickle written by: Cindy Medina @Cindy_M65 Lake Valley ghost town, golden dreams turned gray; behold fickle Fortune’s...

English Poetry

·1 min read

AFTER A ROOF FALL

Grendad·November 28, 2017

AFTER A ROOF FALL written by: Grendad ‘Any ‘osses under?’ And laughter rang around For months I...

English Featured Post Poetry

·2 min read

Mine

Beth·August 13, 2017

Mine written by: Beth @motherhubblog Not his, not theirs, not ours, not yours. No papers, no vows,...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Mine

ErosVerse·August 25, 2016

Mine written by: ErosVerse @ErosVerse I lost a part I believed to be mine I was certain...

English Poetry

·1 min read

John Anthony Fingleton: Was born in Cork City, in the Republic of Ireland. Now living in Paraguay. Poems published in journals and anthologies in Ireland, UK, USA, India and France as well as three produced plays. Poems read on Irish and American radio as well in Spanish on South American broadcasts. Has poems published in Spillwords, Alien Bhudda, The Red Door, Piker Press, Super Poetry Highway, The Writers Magazine, Ariel Chart, and numerous national and international journals, blogs, reviews, and anthologies. Published collections 'Poems from the Shadowlands' was published in 2017, 'Words That Found Me' 2019, 'Poems From The Banks' 2020, 'Poems from a Restricted Place' April 2020, 'Secret Fjords' May 2020 and 'A Gathering Of Words' June 2020. All which are available on Amazon.

A Song for Christmas by Steve Carr

I was sixteen. Ma’s upright piano stood against the wall in the dining room where it had been since Ma and Pa were married. It was Grandma’s piano, but she gave it to my Ma as a wedding present. It was made of mahogany and Ma polished it almost every day. I was sitting at it just plucking randomly on the black keys when Ma placed a bright red runner across the top of the piano and, a few minutes later, placed the crèche on the runner. She arranged the figures of Mary and Joseph around the baby Jesus lying in a manger.
“You’re late puttin’ that out this year, Ma,” I said.
“Each year there are more and more boxes of Christmas decorations to sort through,” she said.
I strummed several keys with an unmelodic result and heaved a loud sigh.
“Have you decided yet which song you’re going to do for the Christmas service?” she asked ...

Features

Good To The Last Drop

An Unanswered Letter

THE BUSHMAN

Interviews

Spotlight On Writers – Barbara Avon

Spotlight On Writers – Francisco Bravo Cabrera

Interview Q&A With John Anthony Fingleton

Tomorrow There Is A Snake

Sztorm

Good To The Last Drop

Il Mio Paradiso

Below the Surface

The Big Fish

If I Move My Foot

Nine Tonight

mine

How Could I Not…

Fickle

AFTER A ROOF FALL

Mine

Mine

An Unanswered Letter

When The Poem Arrives

The Year of The Sickle

Tú, Belleza Del Mundo

Pandemic

Contagion is A Despot Poet

The Govner

Life Well Seen

A Kind of Decalogue

Magic Carpet Ride

The Melting

Lonely Wanderer