Praise is a mountain,
And its ravenous shadow
Instills equal doubt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tyson Wilson is nineteen-years-old. He graduated high school in May of 2019 and is eager to attend college this fall. Since eighth grade, he has been in love with composing poetry, and is working towards improving as an aspiring poet. This is his first publication.

i feel like i am an endlessly forgotten garden
where pretty things sometimes
grow,
and people only remember me
when there are flowers and birds and flowing waters
in all my pools;
but when i am dusty or frozen when there is ice and snow
no one offers me their warmth
they are parasites stealing all my love and my light
leaving me when i need theirs in reply—
sometimes it makes me sad,
but i try to remember to always shine even when
i don’t feel like i can;
because maybe some day someone will see my light and stay
even on my darkest days to listen to my darkness
finding beauty in all the places where i cannot
reminding me i have worth and value
that i am not just a whisper forgotten in a hail storm of wind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda M. Crate is a writer whose works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both online and in print. She is the author of six poetry chapbooks, the latest of which is: More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018).

remembering how to fly
should’ve known you were a devil
when you couldn’t fly,
but i was convinced you were just
missing your light
that somehow i could illuminate you
so that you were capable of lighting
your candles once more;
but you weren’t interested in being lit
tried to blow out all my candles
after you found you could not steal my
light—
you didn’t realize light has to come from
within,
but it’s okay;
in the end that death was necessary
so i could rise on these immortal wings—
i thought i was buried,
but i was planted;
all the bad you gave me was put to good use
when i bloomed a stronger and more radiant flower
than before—
all these leaves and feathers burn bright with heaven’s
fury and all these tears healed my soul because
i have always been a phoenix
just needed to remember how use my wings
so thank you for reminding me to focus on my flight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda M. Crate is a writer whose works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both online and in print. She is the author of six poetry chapbooks, the latest of which is: More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018).

it exhausts me
you wanted everything
to trickle out of me
every light to be put out
to snuff out everything
i have ever been
because to you, i was just
another conquest,
to you just a nameless body
you could claim so i’d always be yours
but you’d never be mine;
i am so tired of your name
ringing in my ears
i cannot get rid of you no matter how
many times i shower or pray—
when i bake pancakes
i think of you,
and when someone mentions coffee
i remember how you once said
my eyes were the color of coffee;
but i am exhausted of remembering
that you like green peppers, black olives,
and steak—
tired of thinking of you and everything
i lost when i loved a man
who never loved me, but mostly i am just
exhausted of never catching a break;
life is difficult and i am strong
but people like you will always exist
it exhausts me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda M. Crate is a writer whose works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both online and in print. She is the author of six poetry chapbooks, the latest of which is: More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018).

if you provoke me
i may have been difficult,
but was it so hard to understand
that i was just tired of making myself
vulnerable to the wrong people?
some people are only happy
when you’re miserable,
and i wanted someone who truly cared;
but it seems love was too much
to ask for
because no one’s ever been able to love me
the way i need them to—
i am not someone you can tame or own
wild and fierce
i refuse every pedestal and cage,
and every sharp edge of their rage;
i have got a temper of my own
built of both water and fire i can drown
or burn sinew;
i would prefer to be left in the flower gardens
or dancing in the trees or swimming in the calmest
whispers of the sea—
but if you provoke me prepare for war
i will not be torn from my dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Linda M. Crate is a writer whose works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both online and in print. She is the author of six poetry chapbooks, the latest of which is: More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019). She is also the author of the novel Phoenix Tears (Czykmate Books, June 2018).

I stir the words left unsaid into my coffee.
The morning is a cube of ice,
It is buoyant and cold when unravelled.
My coffee repels sleep the way ambrosia rebuts mortality.
I place my cup on the table composed of ancient wood,
This morning is embellished by a chorus of birds.
A mist reminiscent of midnight rain embraces the morning,
I drink my coffee,
It is as warm as a winter puddle.
I empty the sun-light stained vessel,
The morning is honey that catches a fly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aspen Duscha is a poet who currently lives in the United States of America with a friend. In addition to writing poetry Aspen also loves drinking coffee. They have work published in Plum Tree Tavern and Marias at Sampaguitias. Aspen also has work forthcoming in Leaves of Ink.

There is a solitude in the snow.
It makes you dream of things you will never know.
In the morning it moves to and fro.
In the afternoon it has children in its stow.
And in the night, as the stars are aglow,
I think of all the things I used to be in the snow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dhruv Sridhar is an eighteen-year-old who will be attending James Madison University in the fall. He has been writing poetry for the past year and a half.

what sort of fucking supernova
had the unsanctioned energy to
pierce the great lighthouse’s stone arches
reduce each page in the library
of alexandria to atoms
put a gasping hole in a van gogh
and refusing to be born of man
(which would at least funnel our rage and
horror) instead chose to rise from the
loam of a storybook forest, the
Black one perhaps, a woodblock print made
to needle our fingertips and our
Senses Of Propriety, where once
we might have thought of lavender oil
and sepia and the scent of pine
now only fire and how can you say
“no human life was lost” and thank god
when afraid we tend to moan in an
animalistic call for mother
one whining note from our lizard-throats
and this is one sixteenth of a hymn
so on that peach evening in paris
there were ten thousand hymns in the air
stretching to reach back ten thousand years
and why on the other side of the screen was I the only one moaning

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh Fuentes is an editor and teacher working out of Maryland. He is currently compiling a series of poems about the illustrious King of Moths.

Another night
I’ve spent awake;
Another day
I’ve slept away;

Another plate
I’ve left unfinished;
Another day
Of hunger’s pangs;

Another avoidance
Of your eyes;
Another lie,
“I’m fine;”

I’ve relapsed into old routines,
Afraid to admit how deeply I’ve sunk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tyson Wilson is nineteen-years-old. He graduated high school in May of 2019 and is eager to attend college this fall. Since eighth grade, he has been in love with composing poetry, and is working towards improving as an aspiring poet. This is his first publication.

The heat rolls in over winter,
shouting, Toss your jackets!,
spouting apricots and gin,
sprouting scents of morning rain.

If you ever got hugged by heat
before, you might think,
There she is, there’s my girl,
right on time and brassy as ever –

but for us frostbitten folks,
us froze-over slow-burners,
we sigh, roll up our sleeves,
and hope every morning it’s overcast.

It’s not “good old spring,” anyway.
Just some distant cousin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Josh Fuentes is an editor and teacher working out of Maryland. He is currently compiling a series of poems about the illustrious King of Moths.