On:

I hold your severed fingerin my hand.I make it pointto the skyto the place I’m sure you are.I wish I had more of youto cherish. Deborah Coy, former school librarian, has long loved Fantasy and Science Fiction so her poetry often falls into these genres. She has published in multipleContinue Reading

On:

Jack and I followed the creek for half an hour. Once in a while we peered past the clumps of bushes and trees along the embankment, frustrated that we could still catch glimpses of picnic tables or awnings or trailers, the glint of trucks or cars or bikes. Soon, weContinue Reading

On:

Rules of the game, Pray thee know, Are many in the beginning And few when you go. Take up thy May flowers And scatter them wide For your funeral is coming After you’ve died. And those who come to pay the last goodbye with sorrow in their hearts and tearsContinue Reading

On:

I can forgive myself for leaving him where he was, but I can’t forgive myself for spending one whole year in depressed rage, forbidding anyone from saying her name in front of me. For three hundred and sixty-seven days and nights I lived in a world washed free of colorsContinue Reading

On:

The rain has come.I no longer know what exactly the color of Light has behind its transparency.I don’t remember the sound of the wind blowing in my sleep.There is a closed door somewhere that someone wants to open, but cannot.All the noises are mixed up together, someone is shouting,But it’sContinue Reading

On:

You say maybe we can’t be friends because you think I can’t express anger. You have a degree in psychology. Anger is important to you. But Anger is a tsunami— a greedy, gluttonous predator— an indifferent drowner of you and me. Anger is an insatiable carnivore, but since you’re anglingContinue Reading

On:

Roger Camp is the author of three photography books including the award winning Butterflies in Flight, Thames & Hudson, 2002 and Heat, Charta, Milano, 2008. His work has appeared in numerous journals including The New England Review, Phoebe, Folio and the New York Quarterly. His work is represented by theContinue Reading

On:

Outside,The sun has set,The atmosphere is freezingTo the surface for the night,While mining rovers trundleHome through frostedRegolith. Inside,The air ducts hum,Recycled water flows throughHydroponic gardens under lights.A systems check confirms thatAll is well insideThe airlock. Elsewhere,On Planet Earth,It’s said they walk on grass,Enjoying sunshine as their right. She sighs, andContinue Reading

On:

As your red hair wraps around my stilled heartYour love vein begins its rapid resuscitationI open my pitch black eyes to a gleaming silhouetteBlinding beam of passion transferred through your soul’s window Soft warm hand on my broad chestLost…oh so pleasantly lost in theeThe all encompassing fixation of usZeroed intoContinue Reading