A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

Author Sandra Reynolds

Sandra earned her B.A. in English. She works part-time as a freelance writer and proofreader. Sandra was born in Massachusetts and currently resides in NYC with her fiance and their adorable pug.

Bleed by Emily Marie

I am going to sit here
And just bleed
Just bleed
Until there’s no more bleeding to be done

I am going to hurt
I am going to hurt real bad
Until every single bone in my body is broken

I am going to scream
Scream until I lose my voice
Or scream until I lose my mind

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Free to Enter Poetry Contest with Cash Prizes by the New York Foundation for the Arts

If you’re a gifted poet or nonfiction writer living in the state of New York, enter the 2016-2017 poetry grant by the New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA).
This poetry contest is free to enter and you may win cash prizes.

About the New York Foundation for Arts

For the past 31 years, NYFA has been supporting artists from diverse cultural backgrounds at all stages of their professional careers. Each year, NYFA provides over $650,000 in cash grants to individuals pursuing artistic excellence in all forms, as well as a variety of artist-in-residence opportunities.

NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowships are Read More

Interview with Helen Harper Author of The Highland Magic Series

Best-Selling Indie author Helen Harper talks about her writing career, her self-publishing secrets and how she started writing her series of Urban Fantasy books.

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My God Loves Me by Debra S. Joseph

My god loves me and I truly know it,
for if he did not love me,
I would not have been where I am today.

He loves me every second of my life,
He cares for, he watches over me,
He guides me from evil,
and protects me from danger,
My Lord truly loves me and I know it.

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My December by Katie Lynn

My moving hand writes on and on,
No matter what I say,
I cannot bring him to erase,
That cold December day.

The day was sad and wearisome,
It chilled me to my core,
I’d known that something would go wrong,
Though I could not be sure.

I’d felt so tired and lonely, still,
My heart had ached for him,
Beneath the Christmas trim.

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Melon Eye Mask – Love Poem by Deirdre Dunne

Never believed in love at first sight.
That was something only Romeo felt for Juliet.
Didn’t ever believe he really loved her either.
Five minutes before he met her, he thought he loved Rosaline.
He cried in the bushes and made his days artificial nights.
But when I saw you I wasn’t so sure.

Those greyish, green eyes.
Dimples when you smiled
Like raindrop wounds.
You looked too familiar for a stranger.
Maybe you had appeared in my dreams from the future.
Sent back in time.

Stalked you on the Internet and found out your name.
Social media and company websites,
The hunter’s paradise.

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Flowers, No Son by La’Erica Conner

Just a child,
born into this world,
Pure innocence,
wrapped up inside of him.

No knowledge of how this life works,
Unaware of death,
awaiting his soul to keep.

A hysterical mother,
a bewildered father,
Begging for answers
about the unexpected leave.

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Symbolism by Eunice-Grace Domingo

Unmentioned strangers whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
Formidable enemies with intentions so unclear.
I am forced to sit down, to listen and respect
Their unceremonious chatter and values they reject.

One wears a halo, glowing like the future:
White robes, golden smile — heavenly composure.
This one’s got vows and rules that I must follow:
Ways of ensuring that I have a tomorrow.

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Equus by Redhors

The horse is
Beauty in motion,
A loyal partner,
An honest friend.

A portrait in disguise.
Manes like cascading water
Tails proud, silky banners
Coats shimmer in the morning sun
Muscles ripple beneath slick pelts.

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JAWS by Debra McQueen

We watched it opening night
at the Capitol Drive-In.
The VW’s black vinyl
stuck to the backs of my thighs.

I sat in the passenger seat,
a habit from when I was little.
There was a smell
I hoped my parents wouldn’t notice.

I was allowed to hang
the heavy speaker on
my half rolled down window,
to control the volume.

We brought our own cans
of pop in a cooler stashed
on the floorboards.
Slunk low during the trailers,

Dad reached through
the bucket seats into
a bowl of popcorn from home
balanced on the parking brake.

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