Gusts of Separation by Samjoth Sashidharan

As I sat on the bridge,
and the water gushed under me,
peacefully they slept , the violet lilacs,
the leaves rustled in the breeze…
the owl’s hoot fainted in the distance,
and the full moon shined above,
sprinkling the forest with white light .

But in me…
the melody of separation ached my heart. .
I felt as though she was there,
my hands clasped in hers.
I stared at her eyes ,
her tears dazzling in the silvery light;
the eerie stillness of the night ,
did waver by her silent smile .

The mist hovered about ,
and the winds sang a lullaby ,
rocking the daisies to sleep.
We strolled down the bridge,
not knowing what to utter .
Walked into a clearing , did we …
as the trees gave way ,
to the glistening and striding light.
The light danced on her with joy,
but , I saw her tears
tearing my heart …

I felt as though ,
she was there with me .
Not an illusion or imagination.
And yes, I could feel her hands in mine,
I could see her tears .
She brisked away..leaving me alone ..
and she stood there, at a distance .
Her face glimmered with a smile..
like a thousand rainbows
shining overhead.
She smiled again,
this time her smile touching the
chords of my heart.

I ran to her , my mind craving for her….
but she …
She was not to been seen.. .
The moon hid behind the dark clouds ,
the winds howled loudly,
the hyena’s cry echoed all around ..
the leaves and twigs fought in the winds ….
And my eyes wandered about ,
searching the darkness,
for a ray of hope n love …
The bridge stood empty,
in the midst of everything..
as I stood snatched away,
from the world of my love n life..
feeling alone n lonesome..

The darkness stretched vast;
with her , nowhere to be seen …
Across a bare branch ,
in a tree far across …
hung a lonely, tender leaf ,
struggling with the winds …
As the battle grew fierce ,
the appalling winds …
growing vicious..
pulled the leaf off its branch…
The leaf writhed with agony and pain..
as the gusts of separation,
carried it away n away..
to where it would return ….
never again….

A randomly chosen Homo sapien. Never a pessimist, but not an inclined optimist too. A little of an introverted self-observer. Thoughts go buoyant. And these buoyancies wander with no destinations or haven; leaving no trials behind. Time does seem to be enough but the “enough” sometimes starts ceasing. Tendencies shift; perceptions change; clumsiness gathers; but the basic instinctive saturations surface from the depths when its time. You can find Samjoth’s blog, here.

Inner Space Odyssey by Martha Magenta

I wish to be free from the heavy weight
of guilt, and shadows of sin and hate.
Slave to desire, I see I’m weak.
Escape is not the flight I seek.

On the edge of the abyss I meditate,
and know I must begin a great
journey of the inner soul,
the only way to become whole.

My inner space odyssey begins,
as I am drawn deep within –
an inward journey where I’ll find
jewels in the monolith of the mind.

I feel a pull I can’t resist
to where time ceases to exist.
Everything becomes a void.
All I know has been destroyed.

I feel a sense of peace instill,
as the empty void begins to fill
with all the scattered parts of me,
and broken pieces of humanity.

I am the sentinel of my mind,
that only a dissident can find.
I am all parts of infinity,
stretching through eternity.

Deeper, I’m drawn into the depths,
creating energy with my breath.
I see Venus, Jupiter and Mars…
and…Oh… my God it’s full of stars!

Martha Magenta is a poet who resides in England. She has been writing poetry for over three years. Her poems focus on a wide variety of topics and issues including: love, loss, inner discovery, spirituality, Buddhism, and meditation, environment abuse and violence against women. She parleys political propaganda and sheds light on concepts such as freedom and patriotism. You can find Martha’s blog, here.

Ulysses by Gary Tribble

Artist: Joby Dorr

Artist: Joby Dorr

As no one tied me to the mast.
I dove in headlong, swiftly swimming
To the nearby stony shore;
And there was dashed against the rocks.

Tossed by churning waters
Back and forth, in frothy foam,
Drawn by voices indistinct,
Disjointed, stretched in violence.

Disoriented where the waves fell
Hard on boulders’ jagged edges.
Lost — my former goal, my purpose —
In this great new urgent need — survival.

Where are now my boon companions
Whom I should have charged to bind me?
How had I abandoned them,
And let my yearning overwhelm

All my training, all my wisdom,
What experience had shown
Must inevitably follow
Following my yearning heart?

Now I strive to make some sense of
Where I am, of what confronts me
How to exercise control of
All my strength, establish bearings

That will let me choose a handhold,
Hold a jagged edge of boulder
Flexibly, just long enough
To thrust myself up free of swirling,

Tossing forces that would dash me
To disjointed pieces if I
Let them overwhelm my strength,
My purpose, vision, goals — my future.

Now above the cliff, surveying
What my strength has won for me.
Calm, reflecting on my struggle,
Turn and set my foot ahead.

Dedicated to Michael S. Tribble, who wears Ulysses on his arm.

Ballad of a Cold December Night

The wind howls like a wild beast
And then vanishes into the distance
The walls moan and weeze
Offering little resistance
To the cold bite and the shivering spite of the midnight’s tempest crying

The shadows of candle light
Gather and dance upon the ceiling
Snowflakes watch us at the window sill
Crouched around the fire kneeling
As the frigid air creates our despair, we stare and watch the embers slowly dying

Moonlight has crept though the door
Despair drops like the cold to te floor
Our temptations can be felt more and more
Of that there can be no denying

Fate’s whisper entices the room
As we’re slowly drawn together
Destiny’s hymn is calling
And drowns out the raging weather
But the rapid sense of this truly intense feeling has sent us crawling toward desire

Under a veil of silence
Tension crumbles into ashes
The calm of the evening
Makes it return while the storm passes
Now all is done except for all that can be kept: which is nothing but what is left for us to inspire

The snowflakes are silent; the shadows no longer dance
The spark for each other we hold in our trembling hands
Our nervous eyes meet in a sideways glance
As they glow from the dimly lit fire

Romance is falling
And cascades over us like soft rain
Our twisted silence
Takes a bow before the refrain
And in disguise, hidden behind our eyes, our heart’s beat, echo, and cry with all their might

The fever between us
Rises slow with each breath we take
In an unbroken stare
Our eyes speak thoughts that we can’t retake
With the last dying ember, on a night that we shouldn’t remember, we surrender our restraint for the call we hear deep inside

Passion takes owe temptation’s place
Our lips slowly meet in a log soft embrace
Our eyes are locked our fingers are laced
On this quiet cold cold December night


By  Marshall Hanlon, no bio included.

Weave Me A Story

Come, weave me a story

Let me get lost in your words

Bring me along on a new adventure

Swallow me up

So that nothing exists

Except the world you created

Introduce me to the characters

that live in your mind

I’ll do more than bear witness

With each word

I am invested

For now they live in my heart

Open that door

to new possibilities

We’ll get lost together

It is in your song

that I am inspired

to dance to the tune you crafted

Share your gift

that only stories can create

Allowing me to fly

to new places

beautifully forged

on pages that transform

Whisper your words

as you spin your tale

My awareness of anything else

slips away

As I traverse the path

You imagined

Oh, Storyteller

share your magic

In your words beautifully written

In your narrative skillfully dictated

In your music expertly played

Let me get joyfully lost



Michele Vecchitto is a wife, mother, and middle school teacher. She has written a blog for two e-commerce sites, as well as completing works of poetry, and novels. She continues to hone her craft simply to breathe life into the stories living in the corners of her mind. When she’s not lost in her writing, Michele can be found indulging in the cuisine of her chef/husband, Mark, or delighting in the antics of their three crazy dogs and Ninja cat. She can be found at Steps Times Two.

A Walk across the Sky

If I could walk across the sky
Be among the stars
On a night so clear and grey
I’d look at the moon
And, say –
Surrender your throne
For, stars too have a desire to be known
To be the night-sun
To sparkle alone

If I could walk across the sky
On a cloudless night as this
I’d pluck the stars
And, gather them in a wicker basket
I’d sprinkle them
On the earth surface
A twinkling delight
A blazing ball of fire
With golden arms, stretched out for an embrace
Like the people who walk the planet
With a glimmer in their eyes
With fire in their strides
Touching a million souls
With their tender heart
Their inner light


Swati is a creative writer and a blogger based in Bangalore, India. An aspiring fiction writer, and an art dabbler, she writes about the psychology of creativity and the craft of writing on her website Writer Diaries. She also writes poetry on her blog Epiphanies.


Soles of Shoes

Assorted sizes lazily sprawled about the floor,
Leaning upon one another, holding each other up.
Velcro undone, laces loosened and splayed,
Soles bent, tongues pulled out.
Proud scuffs tell their stories,
Grass stains, splattered paint, city subway dirt.
Each pair worn from their travels,
Tired from their journey.
Reunited by the moon.
They relax,
Until the morning sun beckons them away.


Bio: Lisa Osma is currently in the middle of working on a novel. She has won some writing contest in her local library and small newspaper and dream of people reading her words.

She is a parent to four small children with a passion for writing and reading. She can be found at The Real Mom of Long Island blog.