On:

Everything I love is made of youand me—a world of complexitywherewe are entangled–surrounded bythe uncertainty principlethat causes waves whereverwe areas if we are made up of watercreaturesswimming blindly toward the horizonwith hope of getting there. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, TwinContinue Reading

On:

discoveredstars were buttons.If a human could reach them,the world would change. The sky remains brightwith eyesthat blink a known reality of beautyuntouched by manwho in his ignorance, is filledwith a wild passionto change everything. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades,Continue Reading

On:

It is an old story of disfunction.While I see the beauty of a crowthat has an ugly voicebut a wonderful wing spreadundulating shadows in the sky,controlling the sun’s lightfalling to earth,its feathers holding the air,you see only a bird. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly,Continue Reading

On:

He was a son gone somewhat wrongin his talking to ghosts and speakingof dreams.Since he is alone in his monologue,we should join him on stage–wrap our spindly arms around his Princely shouldersand whisper it will be all right.Even if we see death coming,we can teach him to dodge. Lynette G.Continue Reading

On:

Before he loved the starsHe loved the paint, the brush, the canvasHe loved the ear he sacrificedHe probably loved a womanWe cannot go back in timeand see what drove himBut if love is a key to everything,Why did he love the night? Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been publishedContinue Reading

On:

Cauldron smoke riseslike gray ghosts dancing —Translucent gossamer beingsseeking escape from the boil.Twisted fingerstorture them into the air–higher and higheruntil first one, then alldisappear.Out of the black more come,souls flying like eyeless insects, grotesquebut freebecause of the Christmas soup.Continue Reading

On:

Ghosts point their cold fingersdown from the roof–long narrow prisms holding lightthen gone.The sununderstands their chilly spirit–encourages them to dance–then with a quick tempo–drip drip crack–a strong spring breathfrees them from their perchlike a maestro’s batoncounting a beat.Continue Reading

On:

When spring comes,frost ghostsnew grass blades–flowers hold their breathshiver–waitinguntil the chill has passed. then open their bloomsbeneath the warm sununafraid.Continue Reading

On:

She had ghosts in her blood–born with them in her cells–raised with them–heard their voices at nightwhen her mother said prayers. When her babies were born,the ghosts followed the childrento their new lives –born in their cells.Ghosts knew themfrom their mother’snightly prayerswhen she spoke their names.Continue Reading

On:

They stood before the priest and knottedthemselves together with a vowuntil death do us part.And yet, what if the knotstays tight and death isjust an illusionof escape? Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly, North of Oxford, Twin Decades, Remembered Arts, Reader’s Digest, US1, and others.Continue Reading