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and the stars gently whispered in my dreams. flowers bloom from tears and skies that weep. and silver moons strung pendants glistening. moonlight fluttered on gentle angel wings. blue petals fall and shadows dream of sleep. ABOUT Emma Huang is the artist and author for the webcomic Hotel Praemorior. You can find her on her…
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A Haunted Walk Home
Rain runs a cold finger down my neck. I shiver. Wind screams through the branches. I close the door behind me. The crescent moon looks like a sideways, crooked smile. I run, run fast, away. ABOUT Emma Huang is the artist and author for the webcomic Hotel Praemorior. You can find her on her Instagram.
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In the Dead of the Night
In the dead of the night, In the dark of the night, How many of us will scream? How many of us will fumble for the light, Sure that we saw something? ABOUT Emma Huang is the artist and author for the webcomic Hotel Praemorior. You can find her on her Instagram.
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Moving Statue
Before I knew it, I washugging you for the lasttime. Wishesdissolved into blaring silence.My blood hydratedcement in my limbsas my soul hit the floor.I drifted through a photoalbum that day. I don’t knowif for you or for me.Posed pictures with plasteredsmiles, sitting on our semi-circularsofa. Lively pictures with spirited laughssealed with steam from pots of…
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Afloat to Ahead
Bags of cash lay openwounds atop a rockbombarded by the river.Takers rowing are teststrips for test stripsuntil drinking water becomesdrowning water.Watchits inundatingflow, a dress on the twirlingtoken. ABOUT Ariya Bandy is a writer of poetry and fiction who loves to surround herself with many types of literature. Her work appears in The Creative Zine and…
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Jack
Jack Kerouac, American, Beat, Poet, Did it, And so can I. Penny-pinching, Body aching, The West took more, Than just my family It took me too. That’s the price, Of poems. Beat. Beat. End. ABOUT Arthur DeHart is just a guy okay? He publishes things sometimes. You probably have never heard of him. You can…
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Jesus
Sweet hot, Heat lightning, Crackling, Popping. (Do you think God ever came?) Volcanic eruption, In the ocean, Maybe we should, Use less plastic. (Do you think Jesus ever came?) Thunder, Rumbling from, The stomach hidden, Inside the earth, She eats our dead, And turns us into flowers. (Then why do I say their holy names…
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Pit
I long to be a peach pit, Less like the band, Or the one in Call Me By Your Name, Give me no screentime, Just plant me, And let me provide supplement. ABOUT Arthur DeHart is just a guy okay? He publishes things sometimes. You probably have never heard of him. You can find him…
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untitled prose poem 1
sometimes i say your name and it feels like an exorcism; it feels like catharsis. it feels like i’m cleansed. then your eyes lock onto mine and it is painfully clear how we are—and we are, we are, but we are cruel and callous, we are occupier and occupied, and somehow you still manage to…
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The Sinking Ship
Exhausted And frightened, Female workers. Showing off their little prizes, Dressed in miniature clothing at a playground. The bigger prizes running and tumbling playfully on the sandy area. The worker’s yawns filling the air. Like a contagious, Sweet disease. But their hearts, Beating gloriously. And their smiles, Fluorescent in the daylight. On the outside, A…
Moonbow Magazine 