by DOREY COOTE (Canada)
It is not pleasant to be torn between two worlds you love.
I know what it feels like.
by GENEVIEVE SMITH (United States)
Herring fish gather in the shallow stream behind the lake and through the trees.
by JOSIE JOHNSON (United States)
Propped up on my elbows, on the stiff gym floor.
Planks: a climax in the battle to stay healthy.
by BIBEK LIMBU (India)
Hands that once felt too small to lift burdens
are now clenched into fists
by KEREN-HAPPUCH GARBA (Nigeria)
The stories they tell me spill out a feeling that the spider web defines perfectly.
by DAVIN FARIS (United States)
From the sky I saw endless gray rivers,
older than the cliché of arteries
by AMALOU OUASSOU (Morocco)
We think it was a lit cigarette
flicked off the wrist of a driver, racing past
by JENSEN LEE (United States)
Once under the light of dawn
there sat a singing lark.
by RYDER KEREOPA (Australia)
You think this poem will preserve the breeze,
preserve the dark and oaky trees
by JAYDA BRAIN (Australia)
Pollen stuck to his thighs, the man feels
something unnamable growing in his chest
by GENEVIEVE SMITH (United States)
"Bye," she says. "Love you!"
I freeze, almost tripping down the steps.
by ELOISE DAVIS (United Kingdom)
My dad and I have come to the mutual realisation that he can't force me to help him out in the garden.
by JONATHAN CHARLES STEPHENS (United States)
Ingrain yourself in a wild honey: flail a standing ovation with petaled hands
by LINDA KONG (United States)
moonlight kisses the clouds. It rings, the moonlight, like church bells striking.
by ZARA VALE (Australia)
You cringe as the door opens with a loud beep, but no one comes running.
by IZRAHMAE SUICO (The Philippines)
Today, nature is fit in an open, square bus window with Mama obstructing the moving, alfresco greenery.
by SASINDIE SUBASINGHE (Sri Lanka)
It begins with patter, like the impatient tap
of painted nails, the rain thrums on the roof
by OLIVIA GOLDSMITH (New Zealand)
"Quark querk arck erk,"
That's what the tui said.
by BETHANY ADDO-SMITH (United Kingdom)
I drink the elderflower air,
poured by the 4am sky
by ELIJAH LIU (Singapore)
Water waits and wastes away in wilted states. It waxes and wanes in winter weather and slips away in the spring fever.
by PIPPI JEAN (New Zealand)
Of all the swimmer summer and the dust, sun, rain, you are what sticks out.
by ANNA O'CONNOR (Ireland)
I do not see the stars from where I stand
but I know they are there.
by SHERRY SHU (Canada)
He scuttled furiously from beneath the undergrowth, pausing every few seconds to catch his breath.
by LIORA SCOP (South Africa)
They say 7 billion people stayed home today
2.2 billion children stayed out of school
by MARIANA SANTIBANEZ (Mexico)
As we turn into ghost towns and ghost stories,
I memorize the steps, the corners, the edges.
by NEERAJA KUMAR (India)
I never imagined they could be so close.
by CAROLINE DINH (United States)
Sometimes I like to collapse infinity
into a single point in time I label "now."
by MARGHERITA MORO (Italy)
The grass stings my thighs and whispers at me to move my legs so that it may look upon the stars
by ELLA GREEN (New Zealand)
I try to think of death as an ocean; uncharted and unknown, but vast.
by ELEANOR LEWIS (Wales)
i have come back
to the village i swore i would never see again
by ENLING LIAO (Australia)
Late afternoon. I never knew a whisper, soft and sweet, could sing
by ELIZABETH BUNTIN (United States)
There is a certain inscrutability in the mercurial ebb and flow of life in the woods, an unassuming cadence that settles just beyond my naive circumspection. The dry sweep of the wind’s touch is fond and insidious in turns . . .
by MAI MCGAW (United States)
On a frosty October morning, I walk to a field
And lie flat on my back in the dewy grass.