The NY Literary Magazine

A Distinguished Selection of the Finest Modern Literature

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Poetic Thoughts and Dreams

Drop Your Mask by Maria Thompson Corley

Drop your mask
and let me watch you
unfold
like the tongue
of a butterfly.

Probe my pistils
and my stamen.

I am
the rarest flower,
the chocolate orchid;

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Ode to My Body by Natalie Swain

You carry me.
So heavy is my
Soul,
A burden on the
Soles of your feet.

Your curves
Flow like a
River to the
Sea of
Becoming.

How I have abused your
Unassuming welcome –
Ravished receptacle for my
Loss of
Faith.

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Awake at Night by Palma Mingozzi

How many chills
Spent in a restless night
They come and go
Between turns in light-stars
in the shaded dark

And how many thoughts on my mind
Papers thrown out in a basket and
How much nonsense exists in a sigh

How primitive is
Man at first rising in the early morning light
Celestine is the color of the sky today
And she smiles at the scent of coffee
Poured in a ceramic brown cup that steams vaporously

Today I am no longer attracted by the
Chasing after of a dream
For those who want it
They can go and get it

Today I am alone with my thoughts
In my silence
I have no worries
I am convinced that life is sincere
That death is accepted

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Fever by Louisa Heno

I’ve got a fever inside ready to break out
I’m angry at my thoughts and all my self-doubt
I’m angry at the people who doubted me, too
But that’s a tiny flame, it can barely reach through
The tunnels and chasms I’ve built around me
But it’s burning, I feel it, and I’m hopeful you’ll see
It well overboard in a simple, brave act
And I would be free
And there’d be no regret

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Sad December Moon by Marjon van Bruggen

December evening;
long, grey spirals of dusk
skirr in.
The moon hangs
out of its socket,
dripping.

The lovers don´t touch,
final lies freeze their breath,
a brittle, vertical icicle.

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When I’m old and lonely by Tina Marie Winslow

Will you find me, when I’m old?
Even if I’ve sagged and wrinkled
would you find me beautiful when I laughed?
Could you possibly recognize what will
be me in so many years, or will you pass me
by? Even if I do not recognize myself?

Will we ever even speak again, like we used
to, like good friends should? Or will a nose be
turned and no words spoken as we walk back out
of each other’s lives. I sometimes wish I knew,
so that the time I waste wondering is not in vain.

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The Painter and the Poet by Katie Lynn

A Poet took his gilded pen
And wrote a line or two,
Then read aloud his magic words
To mould the world anew.

A Painter heard the Poet’s words,
Then took his golden brush,
To paint the world alive again,
Down to the river’s rush.

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Lonely Girl (Shooting Star) by Akshat Thakur

Lonely girl, how does it feel
Knowing that nothing in your life is real?
The world, and you, are just so fake,
How does it feel to be something that you hate?
Wake up and dread your existence,
(I know you do)
Burn all bridges to create some distance,
(Life’s hard to get through)

The whereabouts of your mind are anybody’s guess,
Wearing nothing but a smile, you look so well dressed.

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Je Suis La Lune by Keri Marable

I’m not sorry.
What should I be sorry for?
The moon doesn’t apologize for causing the
rise and fall of the tides.
Why should I?

You say that I’m conceited.

Just because you don’t water your own flowers,
doesn’t mean you get to stomp on mine. 

My garden is healthy and strong.

I won’t let you crush what it took me years to grow.
Instead of hurting mine, tend to your own.
Maybe your garden can grow too.

You say that I’m a dreamer, 

That my head is too far up in the
clouds to watch where I’m walking.

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Here We Remain by Winslow Des Totes

We may breathe the same air
but not the same lungs
hold the same blood
but speak different tongues

we cry the same tears
and wash the same pains
but we are not one
and yet here we remain.

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Rose Gardens by Julia Cirignano

I have galaxies and rose gardens in my head
They come out as whispers and rolled eyes
I blink, and a rose blooms but no one notices

I hum, and life is found on a new planet
A melody is created but they only see me walk
They see my curves but not my angles

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The Secret About Being Poetric

Free yourself from expectations,
likewise too for explanations,
send them off on long vacations.
Harken to your soul’s vibrations.

Give yourself this simple treasure,
“Openness” without a measure.

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Remember When by Winslow Des Totes

Years pass,
without fail,
no time to wonder
or unveil,
but as the future unfolds

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Push by Stephen McGurk

Try it. Just try it.
Celebrate towards success,
Do not mourn its loss.

Wear an open face and keep smiling,
Breathe in the sweet jaunt of their sound;
A moment is a lifetime,

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Dreamland Fantasy by Fran Marie

I saunter through a dreamland fantasy
in steamy waters of ecstacy
my heartbeat quickens
my pulse races

In an amber moon your face I see
A sudden rush of pleasure enchants me
as a soft night breeze gently flows
palm trees sway
a free spirit plays

In a midnight dream you call to me

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Ode To Music by Emily Bilman

Ode to Music

Like a village beacon lit for a celebration,
The mind’s halls are lit up, all by music.
Each note, sustained by that intuitive

Leap of faith, restores doubt with rock-strength
As the virtuoso hand trembles and resonates
On the chords of our innermost essence.

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Exodus by Ananja Chatterjee

I’ll shut the blinds
let Ciaos choke
under miles of steel.
The train won’t let me
memorize its trails
nor commit to memory
the secret pleasure
of sobbing wheels
when they hit the rails.

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Joint Venture Adventure by Ruth Elwood

We could stay here till sunrise
Both knowing neither will compromise
Like traders glamorising a business deal

Ignoring anything that’s real
You know there’s a connection
Too busy, insecure of the reflection
The lads would think you’re under whip
Need to inform them if I stay the night

Being honest I can’t say much
Don’t want to be labelled slut

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A Nobody by Julia Hones

A “nobody” who writes for the voiceless
swims against the tides of fate,
clashes with uptight currents,
is buoyed by gentle waves
like a bolt into a dream made out of nothingness,
crowns of hope
along the touch of nature.No golden shoes enfold the feet.
They are bare and wounded.

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Sands of Time by Tate Morgan

We meet many men of sorrow
oh much deeper than our own pain
Wisdom and strength they all borrow
washed by waters of life’s own rain

Each of us ponders life’s reason
looking deep within our own soul
We follow each path and season
that vainly we seek to control

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