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A MORNING IN MAY by Sharon Grau

A Morning in May                                  by Shanon Grau There’s a restless heart underneath spring soil, with its May mornings that want to give you warmth but barely know the sun yet, and its gliding barn swallows who think they are bats in the light of day. There’s a sudden epiphany- and a sort of sun-kissed confusion from a seed that has only known the dark, but gives rise to the purple splendor of an iris, while the barn swallow flies by and finally realizes it’s a bird, and takes in the sun on a slowly warming morning in May. Sharon Grau:   I am a Licensed Massage Therapist who lives near the sea in Asbury Park, NJ. I grew up in the midland/central NJ area but in 2015, I made the choice to move closer to the Atlantic Ocean. Ever since I was a little girl I have been enchanted by the natural world; at the age of 12, I began trying to describe this enchantment through the world of words and art. My love for art and poetry continued into my college years where I took classes
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I WISH I HAD WINGS by Janavi Held

I Wish I Had Wings                by Janavi Held (1965-2018)   I wish I had wings! I'd leave this prison of gravity behind  and go up, and up,  grazing the tops of  dazzling green trees,  swaying in the wind.  I'd soar through  the mists of bright clouds  breathing in freedom,  and moist particles  of fog and rain.  I'd turn my face to the sun:  warm. . .  warming my insides, breaking the prison  of flesh and bone  wide open.  I'd bathe in sweet moon rays and drink  the dust of stars  filling my heart  with ancient light. I'd look down  at the swarming  Earth, but I'd never  look back. ~This poem appears in the author's posthumous poetry collection, Whispers From Her Deathbed (Golden Dragonfly Press, 2022), which you can pre-order by clicking here. .~   Janavi Held  (1965-2018) was a soulful dancer, artist, poet, photographer and yogini that was suddenly struck with an incurable illness in her forties, and spent the last five years of her life bedridden, wri


Meditation IV by Ann Metlay Breathe in. passage to my lungs, forked path that meanders toward the depths of my soul. Push through  my arms push  through  the narrowness of fingers  which grasp for tools of  my mundane life. Overpower  the blockage in my feet which choose to tread on paths grooved from ordinary cares. Breathe out. Tunnel through my bones, through marrow and blood which grant  me life. Remove debris which buries my soul; take from me the bitter taste of bondage held in daily drudgery; lift fatigue from my every cell. Breathe in. Inflate me,  Spirit, with your holy vision; fill me with your essence. Come in me, pass through me, so that I  might become one with your perfect order. Breathe out. Ann Metlay ,  a lifelong writer, grew up in the 50’s’ in Berkeley. Her family shared a love of folks songs and close experiences and observations of nature.  These opportunities continue to influence her poetry and her visual art today. After participating in the Berkeley scene in th


  From the Maze, I Stepped Out by  Shoushan Balian   From the maze, I stepped out From dim, terrifying chambers From constant, perplexing circles From narrow, stifling passages I stepped out   I stepped out The beast of my fears tamed The flood of my confusion drained The course of my path discerned   I had launched Into the battle of self-deliverance Stomped by the beat of war drums Stormed by the blast of war cries   My decisions were led By the vigor of my will And not By euphoric miscalculations As others perceived. My stamina prevailed By the strength of my faith As others looted my power To assert their false dichotomy. My individuality survived By my loyalty To the truest version of myself   I stepped out From the perils of a dark sea Of chaos And landed In the wonders of a meadow Of lilies (This poem first appeared in  Through the Soul into Life ) Shoushan Balian  is of Armenian origin, born and raised in Beirut, Lebanon, later living in Paris. She is a writer, poet, and visual


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SPEAK THE TRUTH, MY HEART by Francesca Aniballi

  Speak the Truth, my Heart by  Francesca Aniballi   When the sun hides behind the blue mountains and the rays linger on the purple-edged clouds you know it’s time to speak the truth.   Truth is a wild hawk no one can break into servitude. It purveys the lay of the land -- your every beat and jump, your whys and how.   When confusion rolls over the world in all seasons, speak the truth, my heart.   Poised between heaven and earth, speak the truth, my heart.   In the wind-swept valleys,  speak the truth, my heart.   Speak the truth, my heart lest you die of hunger.   For as long as you do, your flame will burn bright and rise.   Francesca Aniballi   is a creative facilitator and writer who brings her love of story, narrative and poetry in her work with women. She believes that story holds magic and has the potential to bring about healing, empowerment and reconnection to one another and to our common home: the earth. You can contact her at   Creative Journeys for Women , where she write