Between Crosshairs

I’m the fawn, in the sights of hunters
Stalked and scorned by their rounds
That crack and wheeze overhead,
They will find their mark
Before I’ve grown old with fear


Faded Phenomena

I’m miles away in this hazy tempest of thoughts
Surrendering daydreams
To be swallowed by the rush

Paris, Nairobi, Belfast
Are but faded phenomena
That echo, in the fury until lost

Friends, foe and family alike
Are inwoven inside of its greed
Then scattered out of reach

I’m miles away
On a dead-end trail,
Beaten into silence
For this long haul to peace

Featured Writer: A.M. Torres

Creative Talents Unleashed

Baby Boy

I thought those were tears

When he brought you to me,

Your cries sounded faint

As I passed out again.

Oh, sweet baby boy

We waited all night,

My pain from induction

You were quite the sight.

You burst in the heat

On that summer day,

The incision hurt

But you’ve made your way.

You were sweetly wrapped

The adorable hat,

My precious newborn

Your mother loved that.

They all watched you

I could barely stand,

It could have been rough

You slept so well.

© A.M. Torres

16114216_10211501972693427_681925726885534340_n About the Author

Ana M. Torres also known as A.M. Torres is the author of the book Turmoil, and a few other publications. She was born in New York City, and is the third youngest of seven children. She grew up in Brooklyn, but currently lives in Staten Island with Walter Lewis, and is also the mother of two boys…

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Light, Love, Life


Something Shifting in the Sky
Another poet with a bled and broken heart –
oh, gag me with both of your silver spoons
Another poet with a jealous ego –
hell, I thought art was designed to be more creative by half
Another poet with a grudge to grind –
here, let me kiss first your chip and then your shoulder
I have yet to see it all
(and surely never will)
but I have seen enough
to start singing thrice
on every Sunday
about the trinity
of God, glory
and holy grace
without fear
of any repercussion
because the light and love offered by life
is not a theory of guilt
I would weep for
or ever wear
as a millstone
instead of this
The Visions of Verse event this weekend was an absolute joy. It was good to see Cliff…

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Down and Out/Up, Up and Away


Funny How It Goes Sometimes
Considering how everything was wrong
when our ship went down,
the situation could not have
ended up any better.
Insert your next parable here
while I keep busy
never figuring out
this paradox called…
Shift so subtly with the spin;
cycle when the circle sings.
Open wide my weathered ears;
bless me with the sounds of spring.
Considering all I failed to learn,
I’m still happy being dumb.
Basking in new season’s light,
I realize life’s just begun.

Visions of Verse tomorrow is going to be dope. Poetry is the only high I need in life. Though I’m surely not adverse to several other methods of reaching out and touching sky.
Visions of Verse (3-25-17) promo 2
Five of my poems were published here at Medusa’s Kitchen earlier this month. Thank you to Kathy Kieth for hosting such a great site.

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Feed Your Head


Midnight Wonder/Wander
Head in the clouds,
soul on the brink
of salvation and/or annihilation
at any/every moment.
The signs in the sky
appear to point out our future in space.
The signs in my mind
seek to find the path home to source.
But the signs on the street
are marketed for entirely different ends,
singing their songs about realtors
who have erected
new neighborhoods
as far as the eye can see
in this suburban wonderland
(Call Alice;
she might know
the truth by now).
Chopping down trees,
chasing deer
from their home.
Come meet me at midnight,
my friend;
we’ll stare straight
into heaven’s void together.
I too know
what it is
to roam.
Thank you to Raja Williams for posting “Platitudes toward Paradise” at the CTU Publishing site recently. The poem is an excerpt from my full-length collection, Happy Hour Hallelujah.

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From Gilded Ages

I’ll never live as well as my former self
In the slew of gilded ages
Full of unmatched beauty

The past, bears a deep shade of green
So charitable and lush
While the present, is dying and ashen and brown

Tomorrow, is cruel and elusive
How it stirs the high hopes, of former years
Then dashes away
Leaving trails of dust

The allure of the past
Is nowhere to be found
In the ongoing rush and ramble of today

Author William L. Wright, Jr.- Among the Unfulfilled

Creative Talents Unleashed

You lead

And I follow devoutly

In pursuit of inner rapture

Bestowed, in each scrap of melody




The harmonies pour

In unwavering torrents

A bounty

For scouring hearts

Sprung open, by their savage thirst




They’ll nurse their young

And vibrant tales

Laboring for the swell

Of crisp, synchronized emotion

You lead

I follow


Among the droves

Dream-brimmed, yet unfulfilled

To reap

And to sow

Our timeless and unified song

Our desperation

Our cold and unheeded refrain

©William L. Wright, Jr.

 Excerpt from the book “Poetic Melodies”

poetic-melodies Preface . . .

There is a human language that encompasses the globe, regardless of race, color, creed or country. Much the same way as laughter or tears, or any of our human emotions. When we see someone laugh, there is a universal language that is communicated by all of us. We know they are…

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From the Maze of Trenches

I retreat for secluded daydreams
When the smoke and lead
Has siphoned the air from my lungs

To the woods
Where peace of mind, abundantly flows
So I may have my fill
Until I’m wholly restored

As the fires of life rage on
Below in the trenches
Where forsaken screams fly