Pharoah Bolding
Inspiration piece

Irene Plax
Response

I fell asleep listening to the President being interviewed on the radio.

“Mr. President, what about the videos of peaceful protesters being attacked by armed military guards? The videos have gone viral, and the international community is forming opinions about what is happening in your country.”

“Fake,” he says. “I can stage an event, film it, and put it on the internet too. You see? And then everyone will want to come help me. But I am a man of honor, and I will not do such things.”

“And the last report from the assassinated journalist?”

Pretty soon I am dreaming. I know it’s a dream is because I have it a lot: The streets are empty but someone is coming. I am waiting behind a corner for them. I have to kill them, and I don’t want to, but the adrenaline will carry me. The longer I wait the more excited I become to pull the trigger.

In my dream, I know this is going to change my life. I’ll be on the lam because there will be evidence against me. My mother won’t understand why I did this. I won’t either. I won’t recognize myself. I’ll lie to the radio and TV reporters. I’ll lie under oath. I will dismiss the evidence against me as being fake.

I hear rusting of trash on the ground further down around the corner. I try to wake myself up.

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DONDUKOV BOULEVARD
By Gabriel Shanks
Inspiration piece

In Prayer, A Way Out Of Sorrow
By Cheryl Aubin
Inspiration piece

Dancing
By Cheryl Aubin
Response

Dancing

She lay down on top of the graves, arms stretched out, reaching as if she could embrace those who lie beneath. She presses her nose into the warm earth, breathes in the scent of grass and dirt, feels the grass tickle her face.

On a night like tonight with a bright, almost-full moon, a single ray of light falls across the last name on the headstone, Love. That’s what she knew they had. A great love. That’s what has been missing in her life ever since they died.

The air has cooled a bit and fog begins to rise up slowly. This graveyard at night doesn’t scare her, her parents are here, and it is here she has come often, when she’s wanted to share good news, needed help figuring something out, or for solace when her heart has been broken. And now she’s here again tonight.

She feels a subtle shift in the air around her and turns over. She reaches up to brush away the dirt on her cheek and feels the imprint of the grass on it. She watches the fog swirling around her.

She wishes her parents were really here with her tonight. She wishes they could really be with her tomorrow. Her tears start flowing as she thinks about how they are supposed to be there. Even with time, even with understanding, she still misses them, wants them, needs them.

The stars cover the sky, pin pricks of light on a navy blue sea. She sees the fog gather together as a curtain falls across the moon. She makes out one figure, then another and they are dancing. Her mom has her arm resting gently on her dad’s shoulder, her dad has his arm tightly around her back. Her mom throws her head back in laughter as he dips her. They are humming a song, one of the songs their daughter will have played at her wedding tomorrow.

She smiles as she watches them dance and starts humming, too.

The fog starts to lift and the figures become less defined. But they hold hands and come toward her, covering her like a blanket and she feels warm as she closes her eyes.

A little while later she opens her eyes and the fog is completely gone. The brightness of the moon illuminates everything in the cemetery. As she gets up she moves toward the tombstone. She kisses her fingers and presses them against each of her parent’s name.

She knows now her parents will be with her tomorrow. That her dad will have her other arm as she walks down the aisle. Her mom will sit in the front row watching and sending her love.

She will be a bride. A daughter. And become a wife. And her parents will dance at her wedding.

Jack Hernandez
“A Song of Endurance”
Inspiration piece

My Lonely Bones
By Neil Ellman
Response

Smother me
under your weight.
Drink me in.
My lonely bones
cannot escape.
My eyes
cannot forget
your face.
Why have yours
forgotten mine?
Why do you endure
when I cannot?

Trapped in Another’s Song
By Neil Ellman
Response

Enslaved by your song
a spirit trapped
in ivory keys
I barely understand
the meaning of the sounds
your tongue
compels me to obey
your raw commands
whatever they may be
wherever they may lead
I follow you without a will
or voice my own.

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Ainsley Allmark

Inspiration piece

heart of  stone

by dani harris

Response

.

.

a heart set in stone
~ once broken asunder ~

  what loss  
could have caused it 
to shatter so?

the pieces carefully
put back together
…..with hope? 

a heart set in stone
…still vulnerable
…still exposed
…still yearning for someone
to reach out and touch it?

a heart set in stone
waiting for Love
ready to become whole once more

.

.

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.

Ainsley Allmark ~ Look Deep

Response piece

Haiga

.

.

together

by dani harris

inspiration piece

.

.
gentle
the breeze
dancing round us
warm the sunlight
caressing our
faces
soft
the feel
of your lips
sweet the taste
of your
kiss
tender
the touch
of your fingertips
love and desire
flowing back
and
forth
between us
our hearts merge
love shines out
of sparkling
eyes
joy
the song
of our souls
as we journey
through life
together
.

.

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or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or
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.

Elizabeth Cordes
Inspiration piece

Snow falls about gently
like dandelion seeds
in a warm spring breeze.
It seems impossible
from a cloudless sky.

A misty red along the horizon
fades upward
into pink, purple,
then a blue so deep
you would wish to see stars.

But there are none.
There is no sun,
no moon.
There is no glare
off the ice
that surrounds me for eternity
in all directions.

A wooden fishing pole,
a line, a hook,
and myself,
bundled in my parka and mittens.
I crouch over a tiny hole and
drop the line down.

Is there life beneath
this frozen wasteland?
There is no passage of time,
no sense of waiting.
There is only ice,
and the immeasurable distance
between me
and the rest of the universe.

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Brian MacDonald
Response

Paul Hunter
Inspiration piece

Whenever Archangels are slumming,
they like to play Jazz.
Gabriel, of course, plays trumpet
and Michael plays saxophone.
Raphael plays bass,
And Uriel plays the drums.

I guess back in the old days,
Lucifer used to play keyboard with them.
He played a mean stride piano, way back when.
Now, he just plays old standards in a seedy little joint
Down the road a bit. With his hair slicked back, he spends his
Evenings buying drinks for all the pretty girls,
Between sets.  They never go home with him, though.

Sometimes when it’s late, and it’s only regulars in the club,
when everybody’s feeling warm and happy,
And Jesus says drinks are on him,
Then the Virgin Mary will join them for a bit.
She’ll sing a couple little numbers,
While the Cherubim and Seraphim do the Lindy hop.
Sometimes, Jesus even  plays guitar.
“Now there’s a man” Says Moses to Elijah
“Who knows how to play the blues.”

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by Caroline Davies

Response

She walks the red earth,

her bare feet connect to the land.

She throws a whip of stars

across the dark sky,

draws lines to join the pin pricks of light.

The gods gathered in the heavens.

Some of them went out long ago

but she summons their stories.

She stands by the tree of knowledge

bark branched against the winter sky.

She remembers the spring wind

brings warm wet rain

to make the tree bloom again.

She sings of the taste of apples,

flushed red with ripeness.

A ripple of snake around the tree roots.

Too late to notice the red, yellow, black

warning triangles.

The fruit is sweet.