Journey of the Heart

  I TOOK A SHORT WALK            by  Lisa O'Neil-Guerci  I heard the music  of wind and water as I took a short walk today. Nature had graciously asked  if I wanted to join in their afternoon of play. I might have known  I'd step into their home- that they of course would become the words  of another autumnal poem.  That I'd come upon and smile to see a heart-shaped yellow leaf propped against an oak tree~ both seeming to be waiting  patiently for me. I should have guessed that sorghum and cattails  would be slow dancing  with each other... of course they would~ it was clear to see they're longtime friends  turned lovers. I then inclined my gaze upwards towards branches which held the sun tenderly in their arms. A few leaves were stained  with the first blood  of the season's russet hue it shouldn't surprise me  that the afternoon sky would be so perfectly blue~ and that the white lambs  of clouds would scatter... changing shape as the breeze coaxed them along~

EDITOR'S NOTE:  The following poem, by Sarah Carlson, was composed shortly after the deadliest shooting in Lewiston, Maine, U.S.A. on October 25, 2023 , in which 18 people were fatally shot, and 13 others were left injured. As of 2023, it was the 10th deadliest mass shooting in U.S history.  The Fog of Mourning with love to my home state of Maine  by Sarah Carlson   We know what we know. People were slain. People were injured. People experienced terror. We are hurting. We wait and wonder.   I had a sudden rush  of tangled emotions this morning after I read about the tender beings who were killed in Lewiston. I feel such empathy for them, for their families, for those who shared in their lives. And then it went deeper as the words “there one minute, gone the next”  meandered through my mind. Though it has been years, and my husband died peacefully, I can relate to a normal day  that ends with sudden,  catastrophic loss. At first I felt guilty. What right do I have to cry  about my o

  A Poem, A Prayer by Carolyn Chilton Casas    some days    my prayers dress up as poetry   as if they are not the very same thing                                       untitled poem by F.D. Soul,   between you & these bones To my ear, every single poem I write ends up sounding like a prayer. Blessing, invocation, expression of reverence, meditation. Not so much the petitioning kind. Rather, prayers of thanksgiving. Prayers for communion. Especially prayers for understanding. Poems help me acknowledge there’s so much I don’t know. How wonderful the idea of Source as muse, so that sometimes, writing, a small glimpse is given of the larger canvas.  Poet—          devotee of life,      disciple to the natural world. Other names for curious,      for seeker,          for attempting to make              the time I have here count. Carolyn Chilton Casas  is a Reiki master and teacher whose favorite themes to write about are nature, mindfulness, and ways to heal. Her articles and poems ha

  Rebirth  by Lynn White I’m ready for the birth of a new day. Ready for a pink dawn to rise and break full of possibilities, as the light takes   over from the dark and the day is born again. And I shall follow the road towards the light, and leave the dark behind, again. But I have found that the dark always follows. Catches up with me, as if it were the past. If I hurry, maybe I’ll escape it this time. Maybe I’ll catch the light and hold on to it and not let it break again.   (First published in The Phoenix Soul , Jan 2018) Lynn White  lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Her poetry has appeared in many publications including: Consequence Journal, Firewords, Capsule Stories, Gyroscope Review, Blue Pepper, Arachne Press and

EDITOR"S NOTE: Over a year ago, when Ayala invited me to write the Foreword for her poetry collection, titled  A Corner in the World: Holocaust Poems for My Father , I never could have imagined the horrific crisis that is unfolding in Israel and the Gaza Strip today. As such, this excerpt from the Foreword becomes especially poignant now:  Ayala's poetry speaks not only to those of Jewish ancestry, but to all others whose histories ache with ancestral genocide, war crimes, systemic racism, evil acts, etc. These bold poems are incredibly validating. They humanize victims and. . .  also set a precedent for the rest of us to start recording our own painful histories, find new ways to extract beauty from tragedy. Inevitably intimated in the pages of this book lies the following question: What do we each need to sacrifice to prevent our species from completely losing its soul?  In her anticipatory poem “It Can Happen Again,” Ayala echoes sobering words by holocaust survivor Primo

  Place by Sandy Rochelle    This is the most beautiful place because it touched his skin. When he laughed and cried. When he loved me and when he didn't. When blessings became tarnished. When the flowers in my hand were twice blessed. When the earth spoke to me. When the rivers swallowed me up and drank my tears. When I thought life was forever. When I found out it was not. Sandy Rochelle   is an award-winning poet, actress and filmmaker. She is the recipient of The World Peace Prayer Society Poetry Award--- And the President's Award for Literature. She narrated and produced the Documentary film: Art Watch, about renowned art historian, James Beck. Publications include: Verse Virtual, Dissident Voice, Wild Word, Lothlorien  Poetry Journal, Trouvaille Review,  Poetic Sun, Every Day Writer, Spillwords Press, Impspired, and others. Connect with Sandy via her  website here . *For submission guidelines,  click here. *

Skin whitening is the use of cosmetic products or services to reduce the amount of melanin, or pigment, in the skin to make it appear lighter. It’s a huge market around the world that exploits women’s insecurities about their appearance,  estimated to be worth about $4 billion in India alone! India’s younger generations, however, are starting to fight back with body-positive messages, such as the one delivered in this poem by emerging poet Navratra from Jaipur, India.    Beauty-fool by  Navratra   Rosy lips, dimpled cheeks your long black hair. Celestial nose, pretty eyes, your color is also fair.   Such attributes of beauty: I am amazed to see such grace! But more amazed to realize something missing on your face.   Alas! These features of yours are not attracting me towards you. I see beauty in a brown-cheeked lady sitting just beside you.   What power could this be? I wonder for a while. Then discover the miracle is her alluring smile.   Stuck and confused I thought while keeping her

  Nocturne   With thanks to those who saw and captured the magic   Before, when the sun slipped away coruscating wonder and wisdom reigned above; Hablik looked up to find earth grasping for a whirling, scintillant firmament; Van Gogh beheld intense, shimmering spirals of power surmounting a sleepy town; now, city-bound, I am greeted by a murky veil harkening to Whistler’s night visions, but bleached of his delicate beauty.   Abscond, throw off time’s shackles, escape blinding excess; gaze skyward anew, rediscover the painful, lost art of patient, faithful waiting.   […]   Dusk settles over pastorality, crickets serenade dancing fireflies, a dog a farm or two over bids farewell to the sinking crescent moon and, channeling Sappho, welcome to the glittering diamond signifying Venus. Jupiter, lord of the planets, is soon shepherded in, followed by the Martian mote cloaked in dusky red. The first stars, Dickinson’s Arcturus and Auden’s Vega, sparkling across unfathomable expanses lead a tri