Steve Klepetar

Honey Cat

She fed him liver and cream,
her wild familiar—
bruised, bleeding killer of birds

and in the sky a sickle,
a scythe, and a boy falling
from a great height, his hair aflame.


Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the backyard just before the sun went down.


 

Steve Klepetar

The Other Key

I was alone, rain beating
windows black,
alone with your voice
as it echoed down the hall,

alone, but not alone,
book slipping
from my hand, words
like minnows scattering

in the house of dreams
where you held the other key.


Steve Klepetar watched two large deer stroll across the backyard just before the sun went down.


 

Bill Rector

Next stop

If all the Martin Luther King Jr.
Boulevards in America
Were lined up end to end,
Where would they lead?


Bill Rector is an admirer of and frequent contributor to the many journals published by the enigmatic Ambidextrous Bloodhound Productions. 

 

Ron. Lavalette

Truth Be Told

If the Secret Police come knocking
late at night, armed with terror bombs,
their visors reflecting moonlight
into the dim interior of my room,
I will freely surrender, eagerly confess
that just before they arrived
I sent out a song
on the clandestine airwaves;
that the coded lyrics, deciphered
on distant, receptive shores,
will lay all beings bare of arms,
bereft of all supposed defenses.


Ron. Lavalette collects his many published works at EGGS OVER TOKYO


 

Diane Morley

Here

Living out radiant days
in the slow curving way
vigilant deer step in fields
littered with pine cones.


Diana Morley is a college dropout who writes obsessively (chapbook Spreading Like Water 2019) and is fully engaged in life.