By Ella Alsop A wet swallow muffles a cry, Before the maw of something unseen closes upon its neck and it is silent once more. A hidden...

By Parker Penwright We learn to love in tight spaces, find balance in the turning of the clock, become close with our innermost...

By Courtenay Schembri Gray To the calling smudge I wake; a pearl between lumps of cotton.   I bunch myself as a spider would. Brooding, I...

By Megan Romaine Bill The Butcher asks “Do you have the sand?”   “Do you have the sand necessary to keep going in this miserable hell...

By Julia Ireland At least once a day I form a path to his grave. Sometimes it’s as open as his mouth in the bar, sometimes it’s as...

By John Francis Antal a monologue of the lonely    this world is full of hidden celestial blockages and pipe cracks   in the evenings the...

By Ash LaVictor grief was supposed to get easier. the crying should have stopped. each day felt heavier and the wound did not clot. grief...

By Verity Sanders She has this endearing habit, Of covering her mouth when she speaks. But no one knows the real reason, It’s to hide the...

By Isabel del Rio Look at my hands, not aging hands just yet but you can feel a draught between the crooks and a barrenness in the...

By Paris Rosemont the very thought  of it frightens me so i feel compelled to try it on for size—ready myself, taste this particular...

By Rebecca O'Hagan When I have you under the light, your eyes reaching up into it, it’s like having god serve himself to me on a table. I...

By Mark Fiddes You want me to love your shadows like some matinee Dracula in blue jeans. You say to turn all your Rorschach bats into...

By A. M. Rossiter I am she: wicked, wretched,         poisoned thing, crawling              aphid skin,   living our only dirty...

By Abbi Ruggles The doctor scrolls through the slices of my brain, My skull split into parts on his screen, Like frames taken from a...

By Ben Bruges The clanging animal carrier takes pig to convert to pork, or maybe calf to veal. We stand at the lychgate among nettles,  ...

By Helga Lockheart My love for you began like the small stones of a riverbank, rough and unpolished. As time passed, it blossomed into an...

By Stephen DiLauro Hemingway did not threaten death often. He just did it. No going back on that. Socrates was forced to drink the...

By Emma Keun Only in lightless chambers And narrow places Walls enclosed Like fists, clenched As a snail-shell, wound Like bared teeth...

By Angela Cheveau whisper it amongst the sting of summer the path through the trees shadow look hunched in the...

By Nisio sometimes when I peek at that reflection  every intention involved in letting the world see me instantly goes away #darkpoetsclub