Clockwork Dolls

My clockwork sparrow is caged in bars of fear.

Its song is lonely, but it’s so clear.

My wooden rose was planted in a pot of glass.

It grows root bound, as time begins to pass.

A bronze sun blazes free to be who it wants to be

A moon trapped in its orbit, fails to see what the sun can see

She smiles so brightly, but so alone

As stars fall, only we believe what is known

It’s hard to fly, but it’s hard to fall

So we glide until we lose it all

We forget the sun and clouds on our crown

We forget the freedom of tumbling down

We simply wait to live

While we have nothing to give

We slowly wither away

With nothing good to say

Let the clockwork dolls fill with life

Let them escape this world of strife

Let them shake off the rust and age

Let the rose grow and the sparrow out of the cage.

 

 

by Stormy Headley

 

Stormy Headley is a young and fresh writer working toward her bachelor’s degree in creative writing at SNHU. She thrives in her poetry, short stories, and novellas, and carries her own style in her work. She’s excited to share her creative worlds with those who are willing to read.

Losing Teeth

Someone once told me that

if you dream your teeth

are falling out,

it means you’re dying.

 

It happened in a breast cancer

support group. Nancy said she

dreamed her teeth came out

in four great clumps,

and two weeks later,

she was dead.

 

Grandpa only dreamed

his false ones fell out,

but when he woke,

he couldn’t find them.

He walked around the

house for a week

looking like a mummy,

sipping from straws.

 

The sign in Dr. Wong’s waiting room said,

You don’t need to floss all of your teeth—

only the ones you want to keep.

That was fifty years ago, and I still have

them. But when I broke my lower incisor

on a crust of rustic bread

in a trattoria near Campo de’ Fiori,

I swear to God

the Angel of Death sped

by in his Vespa, whining

down Via della Corda.

 

 

by Abby Caplin

 

Abby Caplin’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Adanna, Forge, The Healing Muse, Night Train, OxMag, The Permanente Journal, Poetica, Tikkun, Willow Review, and several anthologies. She is a physician and practices Mind-Body medicine in San Francisco.

Darren Demaree

Emily As a Fifth Tattoo

 

The spell

& form

of Emily

 

is no longer

temptation

only

 

& when I

didn’t fidget

at all

 

as the needle

action(ed)

into my ribs,

 

Eddie said

my skin was

really soaking

 

her up

this time.  He

was impressed

 

by Emily, her

dark math,

her mining

 

of my body

that rejoiced

in being

 

an element

found to be

possible heat.

 

 

Emily As a Correlative Truth

 

Emily is Emily

because I am

me. She would

 

be a different

Emily without

me. That Emily

 

would be better,

but far less

important to

 

the Emily in

this poem that

exists beyond

 

this poem.

Emily is Emily,

but that is

 

a certainty

based on Emily

& based on me.

 

by Darren Demaree

 

Darren’s poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including the South Dakota Review, Meridian, The Louisville Review, Diagram, and the Colorado Review. He is the author of “As We Refer To Our Bodies” (2013, 8th House), “Temporary Champions” (2014, Main Street Rag), “The Pony Governor” (2015, After the Pause Press), and “Not For Art Nor Prayer” (2015, 8th House). Darren is Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology.

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