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a life without pain is wholly impossible because the pain of loss is in direct proportion to the depth of love so while I’d truly love a life without pain love makes it worth it Jennifer Gurney lives in Colorado where she...

LAYERS OF TODAY BY JENNIFER GURNEY sitting here, now parts of myself are returning to me and layers of today are covering over dark of the past so through the eyes of today I see myself anew and the past feels lighter...

a mourning dove calls over and again there is no reply my lonely heart hears and longs to call back grief knows grief

soft strobing star night comet tails flash speed secret wishes demand dreams I never caught a falling star some falling stars caught me   Richard Eric Johnson has authored five volumes of poetry. His poetry has appeared in...

At the gondola deck we gathered, perched just at tops of trees. Tiny ships waltzed over waves of white noise, harmonizing with our chuckles and the caws of distant gulls. Fingers laced, we lifted with the setting sun, sliding...

I feel your body in your fingertips. I see your soul in the pathways of the prints. Silent channeling of want and need flow via ten-point connection, electrically recharging through epidermis. Pulses beat beneath. Nerve endings...

The heart draws near, submitting as it falls. Vessels filled with light unfurl, pulsating into pockets prior unseen. Illuminating them briefly, a kaleidoscope of colors swirl. Warmth wakes life there, begging to be beheld...

We crawled in sand like children, eyeing objects high and low, observing overlooked beauty, securing it on film, silent, focused, free. Imaginations ignited, we paused side-by-side studying our shots like fireflies in jars....

I watch the oaks through sylvan grammar, Their furrowed bark, their wreathes of lobe-leaved twigs, Their scraggly, dangling catkins, All details ripe enough for noticing. If overlooked today, these stay Tomorrow on through...

Things wear out. Like this shirt They gave me, a t-shirt emblazoned With the school’s full name and colors. How many more washings, I wonder, Can it withstand before it’s threadbare? Such fading is a nothing-at-all-to-be...

It still feels naughty, like getting off scot free from an infiltration Of a private, secretive, night-dark natural world Where I had no business to be, And look! I’ve come back with a trophy of my triumph For your...

My clothes Might as well be scrubs My hands Pink and raw From steaming water washes Seemingly hundreds of times During the dinner rush Inescapable That hunger Returns every evening Like a thin cat Staring down a hole For as long...