Lobster Under Harbor | By J. Samuel Thacher

A yachty harbor lobster

On a sea-smooth stone.

Translucent underbelly undulating.

Little scuttles and sand flea specks

Moving quick under tail.

Sea grass decomposition,

Of dark green-black sea grass

And blotchy leprous grain.

A feast for little sea grass creatures

To fatten them up and be food

To larger creatures, that feast

On little sea grass eating creatures.

And the waves lap and move,

And they keep lapping and moving,

Ebbing and flowing, and foaming,

And spurting, and splashing, and bashing

Against big, jagged rocks full of

Sea lichen-clamshells and barnacles

Hanging on tight to the jagged rocks.

And the rocks just sit there

All fat and spectacular in their stubborn

Stillness there, with the lichen all stuck

And slowly growing to cover the whole

Jagged rock face with its ruffled brow,

And big fat jagged rock belly.

Then there's worm country

In the lower forty,

during a good wet wormy day.

All the grubby worms, worm themselves

To the surface and move themselves

Around all wild and worthy

In their worm-dance.

They dance for the rain,

And thank the sky, and writhe around,

And move about their little wormy bodies

In the mucky mud-covered crabgrass.

And the seagulls circle,

Screeching with their gull bellies hungry,

And gurgling and wanting for worms.

They screech their siren seagull sound,

And scream, "Worms, worms, worms, worms"

And the worms just keep on dancing.

And a rowdy robin comes thumping up

And gobbles one good worm up.

Gobbles the good worm

Right down it's robin throat.

And the robin stares

blankly at the big blue sky,

Where clouds no longer obscure

The sunshine there.

Where the rain moved away,

And the clouds turned white-fluffy

And began to flow like the water flowed

In the yachty harbor bay down there.

Where the big rock just sits,

All fat and still, with its big, ruffled brow.

Where the lobster scuttles backwards into

The foamy sea,

And the little sea grass creatures

Get eaten, and eat,

And the whole big thing

Just keeps on ebbing and flowing.

Ebbing and flowing.

Intoxic | By Varsha Patt

She wandered into the darkness,

Wearing moonlight on her skin.

Hair kept loose like the dark night,

When the day couldn’t help her.

With her claws out sharpened,

Her eyes focused and darkened,

She plucked the rose and

Ate the thorns away.

Mouth red with blood,

She at last tasted

the essence

Of the flower.

A tear dropped from her right eye,

And a scream from the left,

She stained her lips in Burgundy,

But her blood was wine.

She wrapped her legs

In ringlets of twigs;

Swirled and caught in,

She danced to a silent tune

Laughing and cheering,

Drunken on the nectar.

Trees, grass and the pond

Owls, crickets and ferns

Frogs and fireflies,

Everyone saw her

Solemnly pouring her intoxication

Around Everywhere

And getting

Everyone Mesmerized.

Drowning | By Camryn Shaver

I’m drowning, 

Battling a wound filled with salt on my heart. 

It is impossible to carry on a heavy smile 

while being weighed down by an anchor.

People on the train keep talking, 

mumbling words that make my heart and fists clench at the same time.

I want to scream underwater, 

As I’m already drowning in waves of self pity. 

My lungs fill with water; 

A thick blood consistency 

gripped between sheer terror 

and simply white noise. 

Your heart is in your throat, 

But it lasts for hours and hours without an end. 

Anything is possible, 

but only the bad things 

The highs and the lows grip at my throat, 

Pulling each other in opposite directions… 

trapped. 

A feeling like being in a constant battle with a person that is ill.

Constantly dictating, 

Constantly feeling guilt. 

Alas, I’m still here trying to become a better me.

Trying to swim to the surface…

Trying to undrown.