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Welcome to Poetry Corner

Poetry Corner is a space for poets and lovers of poetry to have their work published and read other's poetry, connect with readers and poets.

Best of all it is totally free to submit your work, there is no specific topic or word limit just a great place to collaborate with readers and poets and get your work published.

Submissions are received by email, elisebrooke771@gmail.com

  published weekly on Thursdays (New Zealand time.)  


If you know of any other poetry or prose writers interested in submitting their work, please pass the word around and let's grow our “Poetry Corner.”

Our Poets

Michel Lee Johnson

Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson is published in more than 2033 new publications. His poems have appeared in 41 countries; he edits and publishes ten poetry sites. He is the administrator of six Facebook poetry groups; he has several new poetry chapbooks coming out soon. He has over 533 published poems to date. Michael Lee Johnson has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018. Two hundred thirty-one poetry videos are now on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetrymanusa/videos. Editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762; editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089. Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry, http://www.amazon.com/dp/1722130717


https://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?keyWords=Michael+Lee+Johnson&type=. Member Illinois State Poetry Society: http://www.illinoispoets.org/.  Do not forget to consider me for Best of the Net or Pushcart nominations.











Showers & Rain

By Michel Lee Johnson


I’d like to see you in showers,

shadows, memories, final hours

that end this rain.

Daisies reveal your simple secrets,

yellow perverted pleasures, complicated,

often unseen mysteries like

COVID-19 virus.

Forget your sins & dance with me.

All petals at some point fall

in season come to despair

same as a desperate ending.

I focus on memories now,

represent all short stories shared,

a poem or two no one will remember,

a Hemingway legacy funeral,

one family member,

one suicide at a time. 







Death Certificates

By Michel Lee Johnson


We all wait for our death certificates—

aging bodies, sagging arms, necks with wrinkles.

We drag our bodies around shopping malls

in all shapes, funny forms, walk

around in tennis shoes early mornings.

Don’t stretch out here too far.

Just get our groceries, see our grandchildren,

Lucky Charms, no witchcraft, but Jesus

finds our way home.






Kansas, Old Abandoned House (V4)

By Michel Lee Johnson

(Photo Available/Ekphrastic poem)


House, weathered, bashed in grays, spiders,

homespun surrounding yellows and pinks

on a Kansas, prairie appears lonely tonight.

The human theater lives once lived here

inside are gone now,

buried in the back, dark trail

behind that old outhouse.

Old wood chipper in the shed, rustic, worn, no gas, no thunder, no sound.

Remember the old coal bin, now open to the wind, 

but no one left to shovel the coal.

Pumpkin patches, corn mazes, hayrides all gone.

Deserted ghostly children still swing abandoned in the prairie wind.

All unheated rooms no longer have children

to fret about, cheerleaders have long gone,

the banal house chills once again. It is winter,

three lone skinny crows perched out of sight

on barren branched trees silhouetted in early morning

hints of pink, those blues, wait with hunger strikes as winter

that snow starts to settle in against moonlight skies.

Kansas becomes a quiet place when those first snowfalls.

There is the dancing of the crows−

that lonely wind, that creaking of the doors, no oil in the joints.

Jasper (V4)

Michel Lee Johnson


Old Irving Park,

Chicago neighborhood

Jasper lives in a garret

no bigger than a single bed.

Jasper, 69, clouds of smoke

Lucky Strike unfiltered cigarettes.

He dips Oreo cookies in skim milk.

Six months ago, 

the state revoked

his driver’s license-

between the onset 

of macular degeneration,

gas at $4.65 a gallon,

and late-stage emphysema,

life for Jasper has stalled out

in the middle lane,

like his middle month

social security check, it is gone.

There is nothing academic about Jasper’s life.

Today the mailbox journey is down

the spiraling stairwell; midway,

he leans against the wall.

Deep breaths from his oxygen tank.

Life is annoying with plastic tubes up his nose.

Relief, back in the attic, with just his oxygen tank,

his Chicago Cubs, losers, are playing

on his radio, WGN, 720 AM.

Equipment, enjoyment at last,

Jasper leans back in his La-Z-Boy recliner.

He reaches for a new pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

Jasper grabs a lukewarm Budweiser beer from his mini-fridge.

Deep breaths, a match lit near his oxygen tank.


Amrita Valan

Early Love


Early love is sundance

In mid-air

Just before the rays ravish earth

Just before they warm 

The human hearth

It is dawn

Crispy clean, pristine, ,

New hope's sweet beginnings.


Early love is a dream

That puts out a bud

Tender tentative true.

Yet to blossom 


Or connect with gnarly roots.


Early love is breathless anticipation

The thrill of the chase for some

For me, it is the slow promise of fruition

Riding the rising arc of the swing 

Before it climaxes in

Heart-stopping zenith

To start a swift downward spiral,

Touching base with reality.


Glimpse of bliss

Blue, white infinity,

Early love is trust, not a touchdown

A slow burn lingering start 

Gnosis of the rich treasury to plunder

A tryst with sun entrenched kiss.


(c) Amrita Valan 2020

Photo Credit:Trent Haaland Unsplash






Forests - Restless New Leaves


Tender tight rolls of green leaves slowly emerge


Feeding off sunlight galore


Shy no more, they open up, budding


Green scholars of heavenly wisdom


The lovely moist green ripens, reaping 


Bright sun stroked yellows,


The blazing fire of carnal cornucopia


Spread word through the forests,




Restless new leaves

Rustle and crackle,


Whispers in ephemeral woods

Of advent,


Of a rustic ravishing beauty


In a frenzy of yellow-red gold dappled fire,


These nymphs of nature conspire, 


Run amok on Spring

Drunken with Sunshine saké


Bellissima leaves and leaflets are outdoing flowers today


They adorn woods and dales, glens and copses, 


Tchaikovsky's bewitching ballerinas 

Tagore's lovely sparkling damsels,


Even the bleached yellow old maids 


And rusty red-cheeked wenches


Flitter and flutter 


Glitter on their skin


flirtatious hot tamales

Chasing butterflies drunk on mead


What a bacchanalia

In the gold-hued breeze!


Who is coming, 

I wonder,


 In this eternal cyclic wake,


Of Nature's ephemeral tease?



© Amrita Valan 2021

Photo Credit: Kunal Shinde Unsplash

Cracks in the Faultline – by Del Gibson


There’s a Faultline and its running through my heart, and there’s a freight train coming for me, my love, the end the start, is always magic until it finally all falls apart, and I am waiting, watching, living a nightmare, hear my words as I depart.

The voices whisper and yell at me, telling me I will soon be dead, hey you! Is there a god? If so please, let me know that you are here, so I can be safe in the knowledge that I don’t have to live here in this fear.

The ghosts they live, and they are touching me, frightening me, creeping in the night, they crawl, they slither, creeping through my head, my body, and my sight, is inhibited, and blurred, there is something here not right.  

Crack me open, open me up and have a taste of what I see. Am I the monster in the mirror there staring back at me? All the pain, all the love, all the torment in my dreams, turn into nightmares, turn into anguish, turn into torturous, vicious screams.

Coming from deep inside I try to hide I know this might end bad, all of these tears, my fears they screw with my head and I know it’s very sad when I see myself a shell of the person I have now become, no more rain, no pain, no moon, no more languishing in the sun.

I am afraid and my anxiety makes it so I can never leave the house, hiding away, pitter-pattering in this tomb-like I’m a frightened little mouse, too scared to admit I messed it all up by letting myself go, and I am too unwell and messed in the head to even let it show.

Life flows and ebbs and it has been said we seek what we miss most, in the dark, in the night, someday I just might leave this place and heal my soul, heal my wounds, heal the scars, though I think when I look I’ll see, it was me the whole entire time destroying my life for me.

It doesn’t take a scientist to know what we give out comes back to us three-fold, what we think comes out in words, what we say comes out in hurt.

Memories they break us, make us, feel the tears I cry, under the ground, and six feet deep beneath the soil I lie, it was fun while it lasted, now my words have just been blasted, and although my words are deep, we always sow what we do reap.


Copyright © Gibson, Del 2021

POISON – by Del Gibson


Hey there,

I’ve got something on my mind.

And there are people,

I’m gonna have to leave behind.

But hey,

If that’s the way it’s got to be,

In the mirror, I see myself, and my heart bleeds.

Facing monsters in my head that are my family,

Ripping chunks and bits and pieces. Take it all from me.


Deep inside me,

The ghosts are coming home.

I feel them creeping, cracking, screaming, breaking every single bone.


The silence is deadly.

The night is heavy.

My head is splitting in two.

I’m getting really sick.

I think that I’ve been,

Poisoned in the head.

By your words,

Your broken promises,

And every word you’ve ever said.

It makes me sick knowing,

You’ve got a way with murder,


And now I’m dead,


Taking poison just to hide.

You took my soul,

You broke my heart,

You killed my dreams,

Ripped me apart.

You are toxic, violent, lying, hurting, hating on me.

You are not my friend or lover,

You are now my enemy–poison.


Copyright © Gibson, Del 2021

Save my Soul –  by Del Gibson


In the night I scream, is this a nightmare or just another dream?

Counting shadows around my room, I fear their presence; feeling doomed.


Cast their darkness, spread their fear, at the end of the bed they near.

In my fright I cannot move, the lights flicker in the room.

On the ceiling, they crawl across the floor, along the wall.


Knock, knock, knocking in my head

Bang, bang, banging, am I dead?


The mist it spreads, it doesn’t take me long to discover that something is very, very wrong.


Distorted faces in my face it smells of death my heartbeat races in the darkness it takes me places through my fear I can taste it, my bed is shaking the room is spinning the ghosts are pacing my head is hurting.


Will I wake from this, I wonder?

Outside my window, the rain and thunder.

Lord, bring me mercy tonight, bring me back into the light.

Save my soul, I ask you this, give me release and endless bliss.


Copyright © Gibson, Del 2021

Michael D. Kellett

Poem One

Upon a bitter dream, we live

A mountain echo we become

A shadow of what once we were

With nothing left to give


We stand upon a silent shore

The seagulls lofted high above

In a daydream, stance w idle there

While we do ignore


But soon we’re called to wakefulness

To strange sights never seen before

We fight and struggle mightily

And try and pass the test


All dream worlds always have their place

And oftentimes we must escape

To rest our tired and weary mind

And slow our driving haste,


But always we must ready be

For life is full of twists and turns

And any road we’re forced to take

Cannot be driven idly

Poem 2

Life isn’t full of red roses in bloom

It is not a game won by chance

And nothing worthwhile is ever done

If left to happenstance


Bumps on life’s roadway aren’t smoothed with a wish

And mountains aren’t climbed by a dream

An effort is needed for things great and small

And all of those things in between


Never a job will be started and done

If you think that you do not know how

And everything takes on a satisfying hue,

With a measure of sweat on the brow

Peace on Earth


“Peace on earth and goodwill toward men,”

The angel was heard to say

The message, alas, has now been lost

Discarded along our way,


Man is on a mission from which he can’t turn,

A mission too much in demand

As he works and works for brand new ways,

To kill his fellow man


Is all our hope gone in this fast-paced world?

Have things worked out for the good?

Could we right the things we know are wrong

If we did the things we should?


Or are we all doomed to our selfishness

As we rush headlong into the day?

And are we not guilty of stabbing wounds

When we don’t watch the things we say?


Answers don’t come from the TV set

Or from the writer’s pen

The angel said, “Peace on earth,

Peace and goodwill toward men.”

Sunset of Red Roses

By Rebeca Aguila



 Beautiful nevertheless, thorny. The color of love, beauty, affection, and passion. What could this elegant yet delicate flower symbolize? A secret? Romance? A secret lover, perhaps? Woe is for me to let my mind wander in this manner. A rose can be mysterious yet compelling to the eye of the beholder. The colorful perfume of an exquisite and impeccable blossom infusing the timeless fragrance of a classy as well as dashing floret. Touching a petal from this fragile flower is magical. In the aspect of cloth, it feels as if you were wrapped in a silky cotton, hugging you like a summer breeze. Whenever someone sees a red bloom, what they hear? Robins singing? Paint doused on a canvas? A heart beating? To me, a rose means everything to me

Amrita one.jpg
Amrita two.jpg


What's it going to take to help you fight the blues,
Where in your mind, it's a snooze, & all you do is lost; 

To fairy dust up your nose, it's ruining your life, a prisoner to the booze, which invokes the coke, & all you do is cruise; 

From day to night, night to day,
It's all a blur, your heart is bare.
You're caught up in a snare,
A victim in despair; 

When are you going to wake up, 
To the people who really care,
While you kill all of your dreams,
Buried inside your screams; 

You're only fooling yourself,
The coke has got you trapped.
While life is passing you by,
I wonder what makes you cry,
Not the fact that your kids are sad,
Where is our dear Dad; 

Or your brother whose heart is aching,
For the brother who is forsaking,
The love & care he needs,
While the inside of your heart just bleeds,
For a time when life was bliss,
Don't you miss a tender kiss; 

All I can do is pray, while your life's in disarray.
But you need real help now darling,
Pushing us away is not the answer for today; 

Do I send this verse to you,
You can make fun of this, it's true.
But the person you're hurting the most is simply, only you; 

So reach down deep inside, let go of your precious pride. 
coz that ain't gonna help you much, you've got to get back in touch,
And face reality today, because life's too precious for you to stay.
in an addicted world that's fueled with fear.
Because the coke has made you steer,
Into a world of madness, sadness & mayhem,
You know it's time for help; you need a safe haven; 

But it's up to you it's true, there's only so much we can do, while you deny the facts, 
It's not too late to get off this beaten track; 

But I fear for you, it's true, how can your body renew, 
when day after day, you deny, while we can all hear, your heartbreaking cries; 

By the silence that's so pervasive, your absence is not persuasive.
for it shows us all, it's true, we all know you feel so blue; 

So reach out for us, we're here, 
we care so much, it's clear, 
But only you can take the first step. I know it's the barrier that's left; 

but you know how life is for living, take a leap of faith, otherwise, the coke will start it's killing,
For you have much to do, start realizing it's true.
Then maybe life can help you too, on a better path that's new, I pray you take it too! 


By Dhananjay Singh


Love is a string of emotions.

Love runs in nerves with strong vibrations.

Sometimes love hurts.

At other times, love bursts.

Remember that love never ends.

All lifelong love sustains.

People ask why do we love?

Friends, this is the Twenty-First Century.

Emotions are fake.

And love is imperfect.

THE CLIFF OF DEATH – by Del Gibson

Flying through a cloud of emptiness,
soft shadows of dark caress
my solo flight is becoming
the sweet solitude enriching
the pale glow enchanting.

Along a path of glass, I walk
lonely as a stranger in the night
and as lost as a blind man in the light
yet I have chosen to walk this path alone.

On a journey to pure simplicity,
stumbling gently on sands of fire
shall I stand on the ground so warm and familiar?
to stand on these legs would surely mean
that I will be walking alone again.

To wither like the autumn leaf
portrays a picture of satisfaction
I stand upon feet of clay
through a sprinkle of sunset dust
upon the never-ending road of desert stones
silently gathering frostbitten memories
of how grand life once was
and how beautiful it should have been.


Pranaw Santvan

Inside, we carried

two different seas

But when my palms

clenched your fingers,

our tides were 

found in each other's