2 new love poems by Neel Trivedi : Then Aroused, Now Devoted & Casket to Universe


All dreams lie shackled in my fist
When nestled up in your arms
on a cot of supple grass blades

Goosebumps of exultation
being my sole attire
Serene under a luminous blanket
Stars apprenticed by your eyes

Paying no heed to the absence of breasts
For inside the wall that hung them
lies your most intoxicating & attractive organ your heart

Casket to Universe

A body that’s been breathing for 30+ years is only now infused with life
with your acknowledgement

My heart that was just an ash of a wing is a vibrant bird again
with your head nestled against it

Once the waterfalls that overflowed from the eyes are now priceless pearls
when brushed against your fingers

I steal a glance of your coruscating eyes & see myself more limpid
than in any mirror

Locutions like “love” & “romance”
are innominate to my soul

All I perceive…
Is that you complete me
Without you, I am a casket
With you, I am a universe

Bio: Neel Trivedi is a writer, editor and artist and in the advertising business in Dallas, TX. He was a Pushcart Nominee for 2020 and has been published in several online magazines as well as several print anthologies. He can be reached on Twitter @Neelt2001.

Poetry by Dave O’Leary : There it Is

His parents
He can’t understand
where the love went,
how it could
end and leave
nothing but a hardened
rectangle of vitriol
and a slew of insults
that he tries sometimes to bury
in the backyard
and sometimes
in intoxicants.

His first real love
ends without insults
after three years
and they part
like long lost
who won’t recognize
each other when they bump
into each other around town
after months of not bumping
into each other in their apartment.
He looks for it
in photos though,
and he sees it in one
from that time at the zoo
when they bumped into a friend
from work and the secret
of their new love
became known.

He says, “I do.”
His second love
says it too
and after the honeymoon
they set their pictures
about their apartment and sit on the couch
with beers
and binged shows
and foot massages
and silent books
and they settle in,
sink in,
into each other,
each other’s lives,
and he marvels
at their secret to happiness.

His own
The sunken couch
that had so needed
never was and he drops
it off
at the dump
when they both move
out to different
parts of town
and then she
to a whole other town
and in the evenings
he thinks
about how she’d said often in person
these last few years
and through her lawyer
at the end
that it was never
really there,
not really. But he doesn’t
believe her. He just doesn’t
know, still doesn’t
know, where it went,
and she took all the pictures

and still single but in a new town
in a new state
by the sea.
The last woman he asked
out turned him down.
She told him he
was sweet but she
wasn’t looking,
wasn’t interested
in that sort of thing,
not in the now
anyway but thanks
for the drink.
And that was fine.
And he went home
to sit on his new couch
with an intoxicant or two
knowing he’d be back out
because it’s always,
at least so he thinks,
he hopes,
just around
the corner
and down
by the swooshing sound of the sea.
Maybe that’s it
just over there.

Dave O’Leary is a writer and musician in Seattle. He’s had two novels
published and has published work in, among others, Slate.com,
Versification, and Reflex Fiction. His collection of poetry and prose–I
Hear Your Music Playing Night and Day–will be published in May 2021 by
Cajun Mutt Press

Twitter: @dolearyauthor

Instagram: @d_o_leary

featured photo by Fadi Xd on Unsplash.com

2 poems by Shiksha Dheda : Old Things & If I Ever

Old things

I tried new things
but the carcass of the old things
took up too
much space

If I ever

If I ever wonder within the realms of fantasy, 
the sombreness of your voice 
will beckon me back to reality.
If I ever get lost in the sheets of disillusionment,
the gentleness of your touch
will waken sleeping hope.
If I ever roam around helplessly in the endless maze
of life’s predicaments, the exuberance
of your smile will brighten the dark road;
guiding me back home.
But if I ever forget you:
you are;
let the unsung hymn that you kindle in
the depths of your bosom
sing loudly to my silence.
For I
-being blinded by reality-
-spurned by fantasy-
will grope onto each 
rhythm-less and clumsy note and 
find my way back.
To you.

Bio: Shiksha Dheda uses poetry(mostly) to express her OCD and depression roller-coaster ventures. Sometimes, she dabbles in photography, painting, and baking lopsided layered cakes. 
Her work has been featured (on/forthcoming) in Off Menu Press, The Daily Drunk, The Kalahari Review, Brave Voices, Anti-heroin Chic, Versification, and elsewhere. Twitter: @ShikshaWrites

Pandemic poetry by Liam Flanagan : Say the Word & Vicious Circle

My minds in a mess
Everything is upside down and back to front
Off you go to the Florida keys
Keep hitting those wayward drives off the tees!
Complications with the vaccine
Worried about their exams
Sick of attending the classroom with their video cams
United top of the league!
A season with no fans providing some intrigue
A time in history parallel with no other
Home schooling the kids whilst trying to avoid blowing their lids
Everybody hoping and praying this will be all over
Laughter and smiles are as rare as a four leaved clover!

Vicious Circle
Round and round we go
Lock us up lock us down
Drowning in a sea of uncertainty and unrelenting tides
Washing away hope and optimism every single day
By the incessant rise and fall of the numbers
A feeling there is no tomorrow
Every day is the same
Roll out the vaccine as a matter of urgency
Otherwise the whole country is going to go insane
We will never forget living in these horrendous times
And the long term effect it is having on all our minds

Liam Flanagan is a 47 year old living in Galway, Ireland. Degree in English and Philosophy and a Teaching Diploma. Ten years experience in the IT industry. Likes Sport, Film and Music.

2 poems by Lisa Mary Armstrong : Auld Simon & Bird Song

Auld Simon

A full moon casts a yellow glow
illuminating the clock face of
Auld Simon

The old cemetery sits comfortably
at the bottom of the Jonshill
A proud village relic
surrounded by cobbled stone walls

When we were children
Our nana would tell us stories
of the families buried
in the grounds

Pestilence had claimed the
lives of many
diphtheria, smallpox, cholera
and tuberculosis

Death didn’t discriminate
It came for the young, old
And everyone in between

When dusk falls in Old Lochineuch
Sometimes you will catch a glimpse of
the lost children playing
Hide and seek
in the shadows

Bird Song

The day the earth
Stopped moving –
I found my voice,
No longer drowned out
By the incessant chatter of the

I spread my petals
Like butterfly wings
I was blooming in adversity

My bird song
Rang out over the rooftops
Skimming the skyline
as it looped and soared
There was a lightness in truth
An honest moment
I was the beginning of
something beautiful

Bio: A writer/poet/mother living in Scotland. A big fan of Greek Mythology and feminist reimaginings, old Hollywood Actresses/films, the theatre, ballet and music. I’ve always written creatively for the catharsis and only started tinkering with poetry in the pandemic. My inspiration comes from poets such as Mary Oliver, Carol Ann Duffy, Emily Dickinson, Sappho, Anne Stevenson, Sylvia Plath, Dorothy Molloy, Derek Mahon, Dylan Thomas – the list is endless. To read more about Lisa go to her website at https://lisaarmstrong2179.wixsite.com/website

4 poems feature for Lisa Mary Armstrong

photo by Laura Vinck (unsplash)