you broke me first

I envy the leaves
that grow from the trees
They’re all so carefree through the seasons, 
unaware of the fall

How evergreen
our group of friends
don’t think we’ll say that word again

And I don’t mind bleeding
I’m glad we crashed and burned
I’ll pack my memories and go
The lies you sold me all saw the light of day

You broke me first

bulldozer fish

bulldozers hanging over them like vultures.
you can see dying fish,
flopping on the dirt ground and drowning in air.
they say the world is chaos,
others say it is dying.
perhaps they are one and the same.
drain our air and watch us drown.

a garden in a shoe closet

honey yellow scent of warm potted soil around
             packed cracking kitchen

murmuring flowers streaming back onto the
             shoe racks from humming pots

split plants rusted in green sun
             carved in the coloured tray

stems blossoming through
             scattered tiny air chatter

petals haphazardly watering the floor
             wild sweet dirt hanging off dark shoes and cigarettes

tattooed stains of leafy walnut water
              shimmering stars in the window

Regina Kim is a high school student in Seoul with a fervent love for literature and creative writing. She draws inspiration from her cultural surroundings and personal experiences to craft narratives that resonate with authenticity and emotional depth. Regina’s writing explores themes of identity, belonging, and the human condition, reflecting her curiosity about the world and her desire to connect with others through storytelling. When she’s not writing, Regina enjoys reading classic literature and exploring new cafes in her vibrant city.

Guernica

Blood.

            Chaos.

                         Remorse.

I remember
It was a sunny bright day and
I wore a yellow shirt
with princess Belle imprinted on it.

“Catch me if you can!”
“Vroom Vroom”
“CRASH”

“Rinse with water!”

She screamed in pain.
“Be quiet, don’t tell mom! It’s going to be ok.”
She held back her tears.

Blood showered the bathroom sink.
I tried to rinse it off
but the splattered blood dried
Gravity pulled hard on my chest.

“I don’t know what to do.”
“Can you resist the pain?”
She shrieked as the water pricked her scars

The ambulance came.
All eyes glared at me.
What have I done?

Now I have outgrown my yellow Belle shirt
But that stain of blood on it,
had not been erased.

The contract says: Perhaps in the future we will all be one

When you come, bring your brown
-ness so we can be sure to please 
The publishers. 

Share and pass on the stories from the griots. 
Be sure to reminisce and remember what had happened. 
Don’t forget.

Will they tell us stories that make us feel
Uncomfortable? Will they value something
That we have never heard of?

Almost like a black hole. Their thoughts are unclear.
Thoughts are filtered. Thoughts are dragged into
darkness by the force of gravity.

Wish we could drop a mouse into their poems
See the way it probes his way out. 
Wish we could know more about their maze of thoughts. 

There’s more to learn. There always will be.
But now, inquiry fades away
and people became reluctant to learn.

Perhaps in the future, 
diversity is acknowledged and valued 
Perhaps in the future, 
We will all be one.

Ah-young Dana Park is a creative seventh grader who loves to bring her imagination to life through both writing and art. This is her first submission to a literary magazine, marking the beginning of what she hopes will be a lifelong journey in the creative arts.

Preserve Beauty

A rose
In hollow plains
Bristling the wind
Whispering to horizon

A rose listens
Charming tingles it feels
Waiting for the man
Flourishes towards horizon

A rose listens and hums
Fluttering on each rhythm
Following the footsteps
Notes float on horizon

A rose listens
Bleeds from herself
Gazing at the man
Covered in horizon

A rose
In hollow plains
The warmth she felt
Remembers in the thorn

Lost in Blue

Remember life

You used to be so blue

Satisfied if I play along

First embrace I shared with you

Above us, only sky

I can paint the world

It was all just make believe

Moving Further

This is where the race begins

With all might they pedal and climb

Until they let go and stride with the wind

This is where they build

The more, the better

The bigger, the better

This is where a child wonders

On pirate ships,

Afraid of touching the lava

This is where she hides

Laughter surrounds

Until the name is called

This is where a girl cannot go

Tries to reach,

Moves further away

Jian Yeo is a student of poetry based in Massachusetts, where the changing seasons and scenic landscapes serve as a constant source of inspiration for her work. She is currently a student, balancing her academic pursuits with her passion for writing. 

A Glorious Day

A glorious day
In May
so green.

Your heart is
so grand
a jolly holiday

No wonder
that we love

Your heart is bright
Oh, bloomin’ daffodils

When your heart starts beatin’
It’s no wonder that its’ love

Your blood is
Pressing your advantage
Of your creed

Fear
Is crystal clear.

Gardens

and gardens hummingbirds head for Bees
plants come from your sides
the fruits nectar is the life
creating as when Looking
and when fruit pleasantly falls
too a buzzing bounces of the skin
an apple which was way too beautiful also falls
we digest their unintentionally taste
surrounding sugar
With bees
A beautiful sad space
Gardens, sunflowers and tree

I’ve Never Seen a Governor Shoot a Pup Before

I expected sweet and somewhat kind

But Kristi Noem my master was not that refined

She acted strange, and then did more,

I’ve never seen a lady shoot a pup before

It’s time to hunt. She knows what’s up…

But she’s not hunting for some deer, she’ll shoot a pup!

A puppy’s dead, at her front door,

I wonder why nobody saw it there before

Sean Kim is a high school student living in California who finds joy in the written word. Sean Kim’s writing has been recognized in local competitions, and he is eager to share his voice with a broader audience.

Paralution

Life is absurd
In the world of spinning electrons and quantum states
Boredom reproduced with creativity
is a way to say who you are silently
Opens the new generasion
To allow human civilization to function under a masquerade of
              “normalcy”

Envy

Leave all the viridis madness
Green with envy like vegetables
Lift off, past the moon
wearin’ my truth
call me carpet
Why so serious

Unknown

This is where the childhood summer memories are
Fountain water splashed across the ground under my pink crocs
no longer runs

This is where winter strikes first
cold, but not quite alone

This is a place for the ones in red to rest til green
Strong against light, but weak against water

This is where predictions were made
might be slightly certain, as time drifts away

This is where all the burdens were to be unloaded
temporary, but hopeful
An oasis

This is where I believed in the beauty of unknown
turned out to be known, never to be re-unknown

Lauren Kim is a high school student with a fervent love for both poetry and visual art. Her work delves into the intricacies of identity, the nuances of nature, and the emotional currents of teenage life. Through her poems and mixed media artwork, Lauren seeks to capture and convey the beauty in moments of introspection and everyday experiences. When she’s not writing or creating art, she enjoys exploring the outdoors, reading contemporary poetry, and experimenting with new artistic techniques. Lauren’s work has been influenced by her diverse cultural background and her deep connection to the natural world. She aspires to continue growing as an artist and a writer, sharing her unique perspective with others.

A seamstress working from home in the 90s
I barely know this wall, so new
wood dust drifts to the ground with each
chatter from the machine on the other
side. I rub my hand on plywood,
rough like miners’ calloused fingers.

I creep through to that room at the back
of the garage, ironclad with cold,
daylight forcing through a window,
grazing only walls, cobwebs
and bags brimming with hosiery.

Gripping the door handle, I watch—
glasses on the bridge of her nose,
hands steady in fingerless gloves,
breath billowing like clouds of steam—
until her red-rimmed eyes meet mine.

Robert Cutillo is a writer who explores dysfunctional relationships, family, childhood, loss, grief, loneliness, bullying, power and work life. His short story Blacksticks blue was recently published at Literally Stories. Robert also recently completed his MA in Creative Writing at the University of Derby. In his dissertation, he explored the negative effects neoliberalism is having on charities and the people they support, drawing on his own experiences of having worked in the sector.

1961 – the wall has been built
once sixty-one stars glowed over the native land
the East Germany rife with butterflies sparkled in the night
the Western Germany full of west wood garlics glinted in the evening
the fall of the Berlin Wall was an indulgence
then shooting stars fell down
at the moonglow
the night reveals the policies
with the most amazing dreams
the dream about roses
from 1935
was killed forever
by the murkiness of comets
that never could be blazing fiercely
the night crawled
the German Bundestag was light-filled
by all kinds of lights of the new wizardry
thousands of laws are glistering
at the stars-shine
the myth of Germany
is an ancient legend
from the emperor Otto the Great
the history is a night rainbow
awakened in some dreameries
of a dazzling thinker
Hitler wants to be forgotten
forever and for sempiternity
of a night sorcery

(glister –glitter)

Paweł Markiewicz was born 1983 in Siemiatycze in Poland. He is poet who lives in Bielsk Podlaski and writes tender poems, haiku as well as long poems. Paweł has published his poetries in many magazines. He writes in English and German.

You can find more of Paweł’s work here on Ink Pantry.

Keep Tahoe Seductive

Fully vested in five years
At a gallop down the mother lode
Of sacredly androgynous momentum

This was the insistence of shown parenting
Procedures (thinking therefore ambling)
Toward receivership-shape dollops of blue

Sparring from the heart zone
To the prickly pear-shaped furry
Pet’s domestic best-kept

Sieve-through pours (thoracic left
In park) to capture the amen
Ities (teased) from scratch

Your back replenishing of pheromone
Mid-wintry seizures interruptive of
The palace breast inducing seepage

“Keep Tahoe Seductive”
Keep the backhoe busy
Keep tobacco dry

Your powder or mine
In Brackets

As You Were

“My modular home is your modular home,” said he
With tongue in checkered
Pastiche yielding triple
Flutings ribald as blond
Bomb bombast versus nocturne

Qualitative braggadocio mentions
Center selfhood
Where it hurts most
In a moving car
Far flung from captions overflown

The remedy proposed is merely welding
Sadness to the dome (“surely goodness”)
Imparting patterned walking
Patterned speech
And patter by itself

Hell’s briefings linger where we lurk
Awhile impeaching history for all its
Franking privilege unaccounted for
While unaccountably indifferent
To generally accepted practices

Remove vermouth from home base
While you’re at it, and revoke
The privileges afforded an untimely
Youth displaying comfort via back brace
In the dim moonlight of inner space

Sheila E. Murphy has books forthcoming from Lavender Ink Books, Unlikely Books, and Chax Press. Her most recent title is Permission to Relax (BlazeVOX, 2023). She lives in Phoenix, Arizona. Wikipedia page Sheila Murphy.

My Woman’s Body

In the long nights when there is no light
and the dark looks like a mass of coal,
I eavesdrop on my body: my heartbeats,
the nightmares that frighten my sleep.

I don’t know why. I cannot recognize it.
The heat invades me like a desert storm,
my body is taken from me and
the winter and summer are thrown together.

You sleep blissfully next to me, my arms –
outstretched, don’t reach you in your dreams.
Who knows what exotic lands you explore there?
And you ignore my feeble cry for help.

One day you won’t recognize me anymore
and a stranger will appear in front of you.
I will be less child, more adult, thoughtful.
Surely you will have lost my first wrinkles.

You’ll be sorry that you weren’t closer to me
to accompany me, holding my hand,
to cross together the bridge where a woman
grew up and threw her frailties far away.

How do you feel, little child?

Tell me, how do you feel in this world
where sorrow knows no boundaries?
Your Mom departed too quickly, to
where there’s no pain or suffering.

Who will caress you with a gaze and
who will put the joy back in your life?
Whose eyes will you watch as in a mirror,
and who will call you “my son?”

Who will whisper sweet words to you,
and where will you find enough love?
Have you begun to see the world without
colours, entirely in black and white?

Fate abandoned you; you are an orphan.
By an evil hand your Mom was taken.
Will luck find its way back to you, now
that shrouded in fog seems everything?

Your Mom is in heaven, above in the sky.
Believe it, until you grow up one day.
Fate abandoned you, and now you are only
an orphan. Will fate ever come back this way?

The Last Walk

We were walking together, mother;
and I couldn’t understand
why you said nothing, as in silence,
you cried.

I was more confused than you
as I asked “Why do you cry?”
Your glance was fixed in space,
your hand touching mine.

I didn’t know that was our last walk,
though you seemed to understand.
You were sorry for yourself, for me
on the way to leave this world.

You felt sorry—you wouldn’t see me,
you wouldn’t hug me anymore,
you wouldn’t enjoy those green parks
and the kiss of the sun’s rays in the morning.

If I’d known it would be our last walk,
I would have kept you in my arms.

Irma Kurti is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist, and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She lives in Bergamo, Italy. Kurti has won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry. She also won the prestigious 2023 Naji Naaman’s literary prize for complete work. Irma Kurti has published 29 books in Albanian, 25 in Italian and 15 in English. She has also translated 20 books by different authors. Her books have been translated and published in 16 countries.