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My Fantasy Self
By Thea Angelica Angeles September 4, 2025 She glows— Draped in threads of Silk tulle kissed by pastel Dreams. Eyes of pearls beam in splendor— Ethereal.
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Kuto
By Thea Angelica Angeles September 4, 2025 Killing my sunny vibes like a pesky pimple Unwelcome itches in a dance of pain Tiny tyrants, you drive me insane! O bloodsucking killjoys— leave my crown in peace!
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Take Me Back to Paseo del Mar
By Thea Angelica Angeles Photo by Wowzamboangacity I hear the tide’s hymn whispering prayers of peace— to lovers who stroll beneath palms twirling softly with vinta sails that kiss the sun.
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Wonderland of Blossom Reverie
By Thea Angelica Angeles Photo by Wowzamboangacity 02/14/2011 Deep in the heart of Asia’s Latin City, A treasure trove of blossoms reposed in grace— In a winding maze weaved with fragrant symphony, Her legacy echoes through each bloom we keep. Orchids cascade in lilac glory, Bougainvilleas blaze in passion’s fire; The hums of santans whisper songs of youth, Gumamelas ignite in crimsons and golds. Yellow bells chime in endless joy, Gardenias glimmer with petals of pearls— Sampaguitas as diadems of humble pride, Roses blush softly in speckled dreams. Amid this floral wonderland the butterflies waltz— A living rainbow taking flight, Like children playing beneath the morning sun. At the heart…
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Beautiful Eyes
by Thea Angelica Angeles Photo by Thea Angelica Angeles A pillar of joy, you truly are With eyes that twinkle like beautiful stars You smile like an angel With a laugh as sweet as honeysuckle. The way you look at me Yes, that delicately radiant beam Alas! My beating heart! Lively jumping like a wee little bunny! The way you kiss me With those luscious soft lips O, my happy heart! May this stay endlessly! You motivate me even more With feelings stronger than before O, how you brighten up my days Like planets shining in outer space. You with those beautiful eyes, What bliss you bring to me! O,…
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Garden of Memories
By: Shane Houston Photo by: Unchalee Srirugsar Picking june-bugs off of roses Watering lilies by the dozen Spreading mulch in the heat of the day Watching a storm roll in – a thunder clap Rain to give the garden life Life began in a garden Bees circling overhead and the pollen is heavy The proud grandparents sit in the shade Married sixty years and had a family Three strong daughters and a tough son They loved with a love that brought so much joy You can see their happiness – you can hear it The whispers and laughs echo through the halls The fireplace that warmed many a soul The…
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Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882
By Aodhán Ridenour Photo of “Cliffs near Dieppe, 1882” by Claude Monet. Painted blisters, round and random,childlike or elderly—depending onperspective, or what you thinkyou know, or someone elsehas told you. Blues so smooth they make thepink look jagged, untouched sectionof the 64-pack, greens and grayssqueezed from a spectrumlike the Pillars of Creation. Humanity perverse, it’s not a surfaceto traverse; I wouldn’t want tolay out on that beach.Yet everybodyloves to gaze,talk, and stare. A scene of pastel painted blisters,woven, doubled,dectuple stacked;a knife slit skin revealsits melted crayon profiles. I hated you at first, thenI loved you, standing backa couple paces,lacking glasses. “It’s Impressionist,” they say, “so what is your impression?”Should I…
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Breaking Silence
By: Kristen Craycraft “Every poem breaks a silence that had to be overcome” – Adrienne Rich. My words are my words,They need to be heard,The same goes for you,You deserve to be heard too. Poetry makes noise,Overcoming the deafening silence,Writing through struggles with poise,Running away from violence. What good is it knowing words,And having a voice,If you remain silent,Refusing your choice?
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Maple’s Soliloquy
By Alyssa Phifer Photo by Pexel Stock Images My branches nearly brush her windowsill She sleeps inside so sweetly ’til the sun Shines through my leaves, warm green glows soft into Her dreams, her waking moments intertwined With mine—though I do not know how to sleep Or wake—I wonder what this might be like To lay my body down, to rest beneath The shade of someone else’s outstretched arms I stand still, tall and strong—my roots reach down, Dig deep to raise me higher than before I stand, I grow—she sleeps, she dreams and wakes To see her limbs seem longer, running out To share her dream with me—together, we…
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Done.
By Meg Salizzoni “Mors irrumat omnia. Death fucks us all.” —Leigh Bardugo in Ninth House mors omnibus adest memento mori words meant to soothe calm prepare redirect divert numb to the eventual end of which we do not consent? instead, mors irrumat omnia. latin is a dead language already. we were doomed from the start.
