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Poetry 3



    by Carolyn Wolfe
When did I let the extraordinary, become ordinary?
A reminder came to me today, bringing back wonder...(tharr be more) 
And I had to ask myself, when did I lose that?
Tea, sits waiting to be drunk
In fanciful bags
Getting dusty
When centuries ago, it was a mysterious
Fought over
People died
For this that sits and waits now
Hundreds of years later
In bags
Begging for attention
Was it convenience that took away
The magic of things?
Was it too much, too soon?
Is it that there is so much that I have here, in a world where so many others want
And cannot possibly have?
Is it apathy? depression?
But somewhere, a light went off
And the darkness
Once to be avoided
Became familiar
When a light 
Tried to shine through
I ran,
I hid
I misplaced my sense of wonder
And replaced it with the mundane
I used to know I could sit on the moon,
Travel to Middle Earth
And fly…
But that was then…
Until today
I sat
And finally drank
Bio: Carolyn Wolfe is a free-lance writer, published poet, and author of seven books, which range from children's picture books to adult Sword and Sorcery novellas, and are all available on Amazon.com.Her other body of work includes writing articles for local newspapers including two Winchester VA newspapers, The Compass , and the Winchester Star (for a  six month Special edition section).  Ms. Wolfe also free- lances for local organizations.   When not writing her books, she keeps herself busy hosting local poetry events in the Winchester area.  A compilation of her poetry titled "Notes From The Shadow Self" is available through amazon.com. Ms. Wolfe lives in the Shenandoah Valley with her photographer, husband Scott and a houseful of animal companions.


     by Richard Fein


A green leaf is never green, for the leaf has rejected green.

A true green leaf is black, green is the only color left for our eyes to behold.

We never see the real colors beneath surfaces but only the reflecting light

which gives our eyes no insight beyond the surrounding facades.

White light finds no gateway in,  while black allows all other lights an easy passage.

Now reflect on  myriad shades of skin for flesh is never all black or all white.

The physics of light blinds our vision to the natural truths within——

that the spectrum of all possible human hues spans all human complexions.


Bio: Richard Fein was a finalist in The 2004 New York Center for Book Arts Chapbook Competition

A Chapbook of his poems was published by Parallel Press, University of Wisconsin, Madison.

He has been published in many web and print journals such as  Cordite, Cortland Review,

Reed, Southern Review, Roanoke Review,  Green Silk Journal,     

 Birmingham  Poetry Review, Mississippi Review, Paris/atlantic, 

Canadian Dimension, Black Swan Review, Exquisite Corpse, Foliate Oak, 

 Morpo Review, Ken*Again   Oregon East, Southern Humanities Review,

 Morpo, Skyline, Touchstone, Windsor Review, Maverick, Parnassus Literary Review,

Small Pond, Kansas Quarterly, Blue Unicorn, Exquisite Corpse, Terrain Aroostook Review,

Compass Rose, Whiskey Island Review, Oregon East, Bad Penny Review,

Constellations, The Kentucky Review  And Many Others.





  by John Grey


We set out to genetically engineer the perfect human being

so why do we make it in the image of ourselves.


The intention is to play God but can't get by the folly

of playing man playing God.


Such brilliant DNA and how we dumb it down.

Operon, cistron, nucleotide, double helix,


stirred up in the same old recurring recipe.

No fancy concoction to hurry the race on


but the 99c special in the same old diners of the world.

All this work and what do we have... more of us.


Another round of head-scratching at life's meaning.

Same old fibers and machinery, eighty years of obsolescence.


Same loneliness when the crowds dissipate,

sorrow when the train of love capsizes.


We reinvest our creations with our flaws, our failures.

For us to move ahead, it's back to boring evolution.


Once again, we just think of what a man should be

and our brain slowly grows to accommodate our conceit.


Bio: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Rockhurst Review and Spindrift with work upcoming in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Sanskrit and Louisiana Literature.    




Sunshine on the Rubble

         by Holly Day


We approach each other’s present-day

as civilizations in decline, look beyond

the conquered walls and shattered windows

scars carved in flesh by unmentionable acts

remnants of wars that must be acknowledged

but written and spoken only as

fixed, immutable points in the past.


instead, we revel in the struts left standing

despite the damage, point out the fine detailing

in frescoed hallways and ornamental lintels

find beauty in even the most accidental of places:


a line of tiny flowers blooming in a sidewalk crack

a spray of green lichen obscuring decades of decay

a statue of a girl I used to be, still standing guard

over the last of the locked doors

I will open only for you.


Bio: Holly Day was born in Hereford, Texas, “The Town Without a Toothache.” She and her family currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches writing classes at the Loft Literary Center. Her published books include the nonfiction books Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, A Brief History of Nordeast Minneapolis; the poetry books Late-Night Reading for Hardworking Construction Men (The Moon Publishing) and The Smell of Snow (ELJ Publications); and a novel, The Book Of (Damnation Books).Her needlepoints and beadwork have recently appeared on the covers of The Grey Sparrow Journal, QWERTY Magazine, and Kiki Magazine.