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King Midas' Oasis

Midas in the desert beheld a head
Removed from statue of a king long-dead
Removed from any other mark of land,
A golden head staring up from the sand.
No carved skull but a chiseled face
Thin and muscular, full of grace
One must assume, but with a stare
Fierce and greedy: an angry glare.
There in the desert stared that head
Blind to how past it, time had crept;
As the sun rose up, it illuminated
The sand: gold, unkept, wind-swept,
Devoid and as bodiless as the head

He beheld himself in the sand and wept.

Mark Herron

North and South

Mark Herron is a Midwestern American poet and information professional in higher education and healthcare, as well as a Community Teaching Assistant (CTA) for the Modern and Contemporary American Poetry (ModPo) MOOC offered by the University of Pennsylvania through  Mark got started formally writing poetry at Oberlin College (B.A. English and Theater, 1989) and then went into the sciences at John Carroll University (M.A. Biology, 2000).  Mark lives in the Great Lakes area and writes on many topics and he typically writes shorter works early in the mornings.  Some of Mark's poems and other works are available on his blog at


Where night was, now

a flush of light.

One thousand miles an hour and still

it comes slowly.

A silvery rill, a rising.

We turn

and turning, lean

into day.

Another revolution revealing

tree, stone, bird.

This is how it is made.

This is how it is remade.

To turn toward the shore of morning,

hug the cusp of sleep

as the world takes shape and we name it.

Julie Naslund

summer solstice

the sky bursts

into sparrows


© Martha Magenta


Martha Magenta lives in England UK. Her poems focus on a wide variety of topics including: love, loss, spirituality and meditation, environment abuse, and violence against women. Recently, she has begun to write haiku. A number of her poems and haiku have been published in online journals. Her other activities include: organic gardening, herbalism, and aromatherapy. She is co-owner of POETS, the second largest poetry community on Google Plus.

Julie lives in the high desert of central Oregon, anchored to the west by mountains scribed with snow, to the east by sage and distance.  She says, "I write to translate the world."

The roaring sound of the fighter jet deafens the inhabitants of far north

A regular occurrence

They are used to the sound but not for the consequences

Over them is the suspicious sky

At any moment the monstrous bird could loom over

Uncertainty is what they experience


Mothers keep watchful eyes on their infants, mindful at the children at school and husbands at field wondering whether they will return to her safely

And praying at the same time for their safe return


The heart thumps fast even to the smallest sound

Being alert is the key for survival

When will the bombs rain down?

When will the guns whizz bullets?

In a fraction of second anything could happen

They could lose their homes, the lives of their beloveds, the part of their own body

Torn between power greedy lunatics

They have lost the right to life.


The buses and trains at rush hours in the south are filled with suspicious and fear filled faces

Uncertainty looms in their eyes

A fire cracker would be enough to scatter them as wild bees

A fear always nestle in their hearts

A fear for a human bomb or unknown parcel that could blow them up

A silent prayer is always on their lips for safe return to their loved ones left behind

The right to life, the basic human right, denied


A mother, a wife, a sister live far south

The haggard faces demonstrating anxiety and fear

Always in expectant of news from the front of the north where their son, husband, brother battle with terror

They live on the edge

Burdened with uncertainty

Praying for the safe return of their beloveds

The right to live with peace and happiness denied


In north innocent suffer

In south innocent suffer

In north and south same prayer, same hope, same whisper for peace.


Piyangie Ediriwickrema

Sri Lanka

Pirouette Confessions    By Doren Damico


             Pirouetting salsa diva

                       Permutations of the ideal



                                                       Stare into 


                       Tomorrow night

            Rivulets of perspiration

                      Perfumed pheromones communing



                                                   Swing over


                     Night after tomorrow

             Diffusing pristine fantasies  

                     Plethoric and piteous step





                    Night thereafter

              Passion phoenix resurrection

                    Perspicuously percussive twins



                                                   Turn become



              Pertinacious flick of the wrist

                     Falsely passive domination



                                                   Sex in the



Doren Damico is a lyricist and poet with a passion for the art of being human.  For more poems and poetic commentary check out her blog archive, Poetry, at:

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