Sketchbook  Photographs by A. D. Winans, US     4

 

A Photo Essay

 

Homeless Man

 

Betty Kaplan, US the heat from the grate ah, I feel the comfort and now can sleep

 

 

Karina Klesko, US Wake up! It's the hour i have the power to make a difference in your life— in the distance

 

 

Free Verse Gerry Bravi, CA Needy up and about out on the town utility vehicles they abound some with logos like Lexus or Lincoln others with emblems from Wegman's or Wal-Mart each stacked with material goods and us, still empty yet full of needs we travel our routes for bargains we look that others have missed or cast away then home to our castles of brick and of cardboard we carefully cache and fiercely defend those items to which our lives we append up and about out on the town everyone always filling their needs     Heirlooms Day dawned in a sullen mood. Cold emptiness replacing embracing warmth. Body enveloped in lonely sheets of space. Craving curves and hollows draped in satin, exuding luring musk and electric desire, but that's gone. Only memories linger, blurring and fading in vapors of bitterness that seep into my being and corrupt the past. A past my body still recalls with longing on cold, winter mornings after fitful sleep.

 

 

Terra Martin, CA Spenserian Sonnet Shadows What are these shadows in front of my eyes? Perchance the light into a new day A gleam of insight diminish my cries Learning from pain pursuing its bray Knowledge a struggle that's seeking to pay Words upon words like baleful bloodhounds Creative beggars in such disarray Poetic ears keep echoing with sound Shivering skin craves to dumfound The immortalized name is what we seek Oh, inspirations, those seeds that astound To live forever in that one great shriek Poem has spilled on dog-eared page Capturing the senses it binds to assuage.

 

 

Brian Strand, UK Elements of Change set in steel— floating horizontal blocks.

 

 

John Daleiden, US Fibonacci I Went To The Fair . . . Wimo Weh . . . like King of the savannah sprawled in afternoon shade, he sleeps, oblivious to us as we pass and stare then mumble, unkind bold words— his life a book of public pages we all read never understanding one word because we can park our Mercedes in a garage owned by The World Bank . . . relentless waves crash on the rocky shore— a full moon tonight

 

 

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