what is it about this
that feels like a question mark
like a tempest
is it your thumb carving a shape into my ribs
feels like skinning an apple in one long spiral
feels like unspooling my brain in
and painting the walls gray
playing in this space between the lines
dipping our toes in
and jumping back
your breath an exclamation point in my ear
grinning into pillow creases
fingers walking out maps over skin laced blue-green
like tracts of hometown orchards
lusty with august's bounty
or is it the way
you dance around those words
like licking your finger
and circling the rim of a glass
but never say them aloud
i think maybe it is that
-By a.c. wolfe. Ashley Wolfe writes poetry and half-finished novels out of Prosser, WA. Instagram: @a.c.w.poetry
Seasons may change, but my mind is my paradise
I strive and thrive in my
Garden of Eden
Seeds of Change take root
Tiny buds of hope and truth spring forth
The fertile soil of my resolve
No growing pains can halt
If the branches are chapters
The leaves are my pages
Absorbing the eternal sunshine of my words
Producing the air of my sanity
— By Stella Williams
I cannot give gifts to no one
Death will come too dull, like mink seas velvet tincture
& innocence runs rampant on the better half of her spirit
She's just like me......
I feel her eyes, are they laughing or gesturing?
Does she notice my worship?
Or my own sacrifice?
How can such a divine beauty be alone?
O how I wish to catch her in verse & such
Like whispy, wandering babies breath strong touch
O this springtime chrysalis!
Red, purple, blue, black, green whirls of inspiration
Probing the highlands of instant aura
Ocean mine, land hers, swirling clouds of indifference or maybe the separate color of romanticism
Driving me mad w/ my delicate, peasant, poet, prophet soul
I have no riches to offer the missus!
So I'll cash in my silver & amber ring & hemp necklace for the mock introduction or the lack of hereafter
But I have caught her name & much more dream it
But she is beautiful, hair dripping like mahogany, hazelnut, strawberry erotic silkworm tendrils
Tickling, teasing sort of fun
Treasure eyes, wide & serene as if from some Native descent, drizzled w/ this artist's despairs & mocha like the haze of impossible butterfly
As I pass her poems through my trembling bony fingers that shake like nervous thunderstorms
Blazing like the death of sunshine
I must leave the temple, the sacrifice is in the planning
The night is lost to beauty
-By Richard J Balog.
Main image: School Board by Adam Whittier