By Ali Ashhar

Beneath the far horizon there’s a ground;

beyond propaganda and prejudice,

between rain and sunshine,

where we assemble under the sky of art.

The rainbow portrays seven different shades

the sky knows—

all shades must come together

to make the world a splendid landscape.

By Craig Kirchner

I went to a small Lutheran church 

next to an old black cemetery. 

I was nine, assumed that meant only 

blacks were buried there. 

I had never seen anyone there, it was big, 

full and old, old, bordered on three sides 

by the yards of row houses in a white neighborhood 

and Mount of Olives Church.

There was a big announcement, Two Guys discount 

department store opening on Belair Road.

By Neil Vincent Scott

it’s not a matter of if
       it’s a matter of now
the precious weapons of resistance
are loaded with hope and promise
we the people
       standing in defiance
of political oppression
standing shoulder to shoulder
                 heart to heart
on the front lines of change

we the people
       Seattle strong
fueled by resilience
disciplined and unruffled
         together as one
         together as we
destroying the barriers
artificially created
                   by unleadable leaders
the scum of the earth

By Raul Sanchez

Brown angels are everywhere

We observe them mowing lawns

raking, blowing leaves

dangling from tall buildings

washing windows, painting

roofing houses

They are in your kitchens.

serving, smiling

They park your cars

Out in all kinds of weather watch

them picking fruits and vegetables

breaking their backs

By Sharon Brown

The poet turns her head

to the muttering addict

on the street corner,

the girl behind the dirty window

her hands against the glass,

the woman in the head scarf

hurrying past masked agents

poised maliciously

outside the factory door.

The poet heeds

all things wanting and broken

in shadowed alleyways

or open streets

where others look away.

By Craig Kirchner

I arch my back into the ell of the bar stool.

The world, this is my world again, a gross

viewing station, of the two-dimensional

Breaking News, brought to me every evening

with Jameson neat, sticks in my chest,

makes the pressure rise and the AFib flutter.

Tonight’s blood, Ukrainian children’s blood,

bombed in a school, bodies, large eyes,

hair mottled with blood, become furniture,

not moving, like the bottles framing them,

stared at by classmates, journalists, and now

Mayfield’s patrons - fortunately an ocean away.

By Becca Lavin

Dancing Up The Storm

That has (had)            no

CLAIM

To OUR GRAND-SAFE

UNTOUCHABLE

ISLAND

Of LAWS

Now A-BREAK

CRUMBLING Before us

As BRITTLE as CHALK

Only DUST

In Its WAKE

By Cheryl Caesar

(What one reader said of Cheryl’s poem: your poem sent chills throughout my body! I love the juxtaposition of the moth and spider and the rally of people with wings of resistance~At first, it is only a blurring of wings,”

a frenzied sphere of movement. So fast

I cannot discern color or shape. Nearly all

its mass has turned to energy, vibrating

in the lower left corner of my kitchen window.

I go to lift the sash, and see

for the first time a small dark dot

gliding down the white frame, its eight

legs motionless. Arriving at the captive,

who is not trapped between panes, but tethered

By Traci Neal

(What one readers commented on Traci’s poem: Thank you for your deed of words...Registered! "Dig Through The Darkness"...Yes! "Fight to be a sanctuary"...What an amazing goal to fight for. LiVe Long Enough to LoVe Your Self. Nourish inner power. Reach farther .”)

in the mind. Thinking is a thing

to be thickened. Shadows are shells.

They suffer sadness at certain times.

Depression dumped its lies on me.

I debated with death as a teenager,

but won wellness by choosing life.

I left bitterness alone, threw it away.

By Neil Vincent Scott

respect and honor
    courage and compassion
           gratitude and grace

these i wish for you
as we recognize and remember

those
     whose
          lives
              were
                   lost

in the countless battles of our lifetime

By Becca Lavin

and if nothing more
she would feel some connection
to whatever myth she could conjure
in the moment

somehow she would gather strength
weathered, worn and beautiful
like autumns’ leaves
to her basket-bosom

By Craig Kirchner

We left the trash sit too long, chicken paper,

they call it, the scraps and packaging

from what was a delicious Marsala,

made the kitchen unbearable.

The smell gags, the mind knows

immediately, the deterioration of flesh.

By Cheryl Caesar

Nothing has ever been

seen before, nothing like.

Mind without memory.

Life without history.

Actor and audience,

each day he plays anew

on the exhausted screens

of our unwilling eyes.

By Richard Wells

without light
there is no vision

without vision
the people perish.

 our leaders are
hollow men

 as far from the border
of redemption

 as any who have lived

 soul sick men
who inflict suffering 

as if they had
invented it

By  Craig Kirchner

I wrote about it, we argued, not nasty,

but disagreed about whether to leave.

We stayed, I made risotto. We planned

to sleep in the master bedroom closet,

Swedish death cleaned, stocked with

bottled water, a small mattress.

Its closest to the middle of the building,

furthest from the windows, very stable,

if this condo complex blows away or ends up

under water, so will the rest of Florida.

By  Craig Kirchner

There is a routine, it starts with getting out of bed
and squirting the sleep from my eyes with Refresh.
I won’t bore you with the bore of the rest,
you have your own to remember.

There have been interruptions to it over the years
that usually involve an infirmity or natural disaster.
I used to play golf twice a month, practice during the week,
now arthritis in my knees makes it too hard to turn.
We had the strongest storm to ever form in the Gulf
relocate sleeping to the closet, away from the windows. 

But never in 75 years has the government altered my life,
it always held up its part of the bargain. I paid taxes
and voted. It kept the roads open and the food safe,
never interfered with my daily regimen.

By  Lyn Coffin

please hear our

pleas

lord

heavy laden

we are here

hear

your flock

flocking here

By  Miriam Bassuk

No way to encapsulate this period.

No rhyme or reason can iron out

our daily terror squashed deep

in the gutter of our bellies. What

makes it hard, there are no safe-

guards against a regime that lays

waste to all we hold dear, a regime

By  Peter Asco

Burdens will be cut down to size

Workload will become much lighter

Regrets will make you laugh

Impossibilities will look within reach

By  Robert Kokan

Beneath the tower of the fourteenth street bridge

it's dark and it's the last tired night.

All men now with sorrow filled eyes

and sad contentments of heart 

have given over to the dreams of new birth

(when your time comes, it comes

there is nothing a hand or a blood-borne

can do to prevent it).