Featured Poetry - December, 2025

SOMETHING’S MISSING FROM MY PLATE

By Rita McDermott


A roof over my head

home cooked meals on the table

clean and often handmade clothes

on my frame

Installation of a worthy set of values

right versus wrong

concrete, even rigid rules to live by

a hard work ethic to get through life

respect for elders and others, and their property

Parents that gifted me these things

to help me along the path of life

Yet, I always felt something was missing

from my plate

Three simple words

“I love you”

Something I’ve always hungered to hear

wishing it had been added to the food on my plate.


ABOUT THE POEM: "I grew up in a household where I barely remember it ever being actually said."



A FADING LIGHT IS STILL A LIGHT

By Megan Diedericks


you’re a light –

it won’t be any better

if you’re snuffed out:


it would just be

d a r k.


power outage, melted wax,

ecliptic, grave in the backyard,

apocalyptic- kind of dark.


please take your trigger-finger

away from the light switch and

s t a y.


you don’t have to glitter,

shine like the sun in a cloudless

sapphire sky –


just be the luminescence

in a hall of shadows.


as long as there’s a flicker,

it’s still

e n o u g h.


ABOUT THE POEM: "This is a more hopeful piece, a reminder that I often need myself – that your light, or whatever metaphor you’d like to use to describe you, your life – is still enough and worthy."


ABOUT MEGAN: Megan writes poetry and fiction; everything from meek to macabre can be found in between the lines. Her debut poetry collection is titled: 'the darkest of times, the darkest of thoughts'. Among others, her poetry has been published by: Querencia Press, Last Leaves Magazine and Sublimation.

W: www.bit.ly/megandiedericks

Instagram: @meganreflects



DISTURBED REMINDED

Dr. Roger G. Singer


hidden within

a standing place

quiet crouches

in the shallowness

of shadows

where the

unnoticed scream

crosses the line

without reserve

as they desire

to be free

of sorrow

 

ABOUT ROGER: Dr. Robert Singer is a Poet Laureate Emeritus of Connecticut, and past president of the Connecticut Shoreline Poetry Chapter, in association with the Connecticut Poetry Society. He has had over 1,600 poems published on the internet, magazines and in books and is a 2017 Pushcart Prize Award Nominee.

WINGS AND WEIGHTS

By Christina Luca


Keep moving forward,

But not too fast or too slow;

For if I misstep, my demons might show.


They tear at my insides,

Can't be contained by my skin,

Trying to escape the trap

That resides within.


When I’m up, I am up —

And it's such a great high

I’m content with the fact

That one day, I’ll die.


And if death finds me soon,

That will be okay;

Because when I’m down, I’m down —

I barely get through the day.


Constantly trapped adjacent to happy,

Never quite through the door,

Always rooted and slowly sinking,

Or can't get my feet back on the floor.


Mania grabs my wrist, spins me dizzy toward the sky,

And whispers in my ear:

“If you jump, you just might fly.”


I believe her.

She makes me think I can outrun time itself,

A captain sailing a ship

Of many unknown parts —

An adventure that ends

As abruptly as it starts.


Now I’m in a crater,

Water slowly rising;

Depression pushes me under —

A sinister baptizing.


The two fracture my mind;

I forget who I am.

I stare into the water’s reflection,

Give myself an exam.


What’s left of me are broken pieces

Of who I used to be,

Losing the will to fight.

This disease might end me.


Mania tells me to run faster, says:

“The world is yours to bend.”

But depression reminds me:

“All good things must end.”


Mania builds castles

With great speed and trembling hands--

They collapse overnight

Into barren, desolate lands.

Depression plants weeds,

Entangling me, choking out the light;

I stumble in the darkness —

A prisoner of the night.


Mania leaves scars — blistered and raw;

Depression leaves nothing — no feeling at all.


They don’t trade places politely —

They fight over me,

Battling inside, never agreeing,

Both wanting control;

I’ll never be free.


I’m stretched in the middle,

A rope pulled too tight:

One drowns me in darkness,

One blinds me with light.


Mania gives me wings

To fly into the sun.

The burns blister and scar —

The damage can’t be undone.


Together they unravel me,

Wearing me down to my bones.

I look at my reflection

And see someone I don’t know —

A face once etched with precision

Now falling into decay.

I must trudge through this, not around it;

There is no other way.


Building myself up

Just to tear myself down for no reason.

Will someone learn to love me,

Even in my harshest seasons?


This isn’t living —

I’m barely treading water,

Yearning for my past self;

For years I’ve sought her.


Barely treading water,

Hoping to fly again.

Depression tied bricks to my ankles and told me:

“Learn to swim.”


As I sink to the bottom,

Disappear into the night,

Know I didn’t go

Without a desperate fight.


Battered, bruised, and bleeding,

I dragged myself this far.


Now I find peace

Amongst the depths.


Because once I reach the bottom,

I will rise again amongst the stars.



VOICES

By Grace Kenney


I wish 

I hope

Voices scream my name

I scream His in vain

They tell me

I am nothing

I am worthless 

How can I belong 

To a world full of 

Judgement?

I wish

I hope

They poke at my skin

They laugh at my skull 

I am punished for all

I have done.

I am beaten 

I am bruised 

I go to battle 

Each morning 

I look in the mirror

I wish

I hope

For the silence 

To ring in my ears

But yet I hear

Their

Laughter

They hear my cries

In agony 

Why won’t they die?

I hope

I wish

But I will not pray 

For He gave me

This brain 

Why?

Must I wish

And hope

To feel

Normal

Again

Why must I 

Endure this pain?

Why?

I wish…

I hope…

I pray.


ANXIETY

By Jackie Chou 


You make me flinch 

in all my senses 


Your voice 

squeaks and squeals 

like a creaking old door


You crawl on my skin

like a procession 

of wet worms


I tiptoe around you

as if you were a trail

of brittle snails


When I try to shrug you off 

you attack me tenfold 

like an insect outbreak


I cover my ears

like the figure 

in The Scream painting 


My heart is racing 

my knees are shaking 

my lips are trembling 


Still you would not 

go away

and let me be

PETITION

By Jennifer Alukonis 


Wounds by words embedded in my soul often resurface and grow.

Humble me, Lord, and heal these wounds.

Penetrate my soul with an outpouring of your kind words that echo whole.

Take control


ABOUT JENNIFER: Jennifer writes under the pen name, JLA Poetry. Jen has PTSD, PNES, and Epilepsy. Writing helps her confront her emotions and manage her conditions.


ANXIETY

By Syeda Khan


Heart racing, stone cold

I don't want a hand to hold

Thoughts racing back to back

I am now starting to crack 

Body is shaking so fast

I don't know how long this will last

Throat is starting to close in on me

How can this possibly be?

No one understands me

I just want them all to let me be

I can't eat and sleep

All I just want to do is weep

I am trying to take a deep breath 

But I still feel all out of breath

Why do I always worry so much?

It shouldn't have to be this much

I tell myself to calm down

And not to put myself down

It will be alright I say

We will get through this okay?


ABHASANA

By Farblos Artem


Beauty’s an illusion

A room full of mirrors

Flickering candle in the midst

Each mirror is a reflection

An Abhasana

Angles differ

One from the other

Appearances of faces

Same source

One Flame

Flickering

Dying and Living

Dancing with the wind

Glisten and Quiver

What do you see?

What I see around me

Is what I am.

Inside me

Behind my eyes

Inside my mind

Everyone’s a reflection

Of the same flame

Re-living every moment

Six directions

Four dimensions

Or maybe Anant

All of you

All of me

Maybe you are me

Maybe I am you.


REVENGE FANTASY

By Victoria Krivo


childhood room re-modeled to a nursery; 

journals in the attic, sports medals thrown out. 

you watch as I’m relegated on further side-shelves 

to make space for her growing family. I keep

my mourning out of sight, celebrate 

when I’d rather sleep through the day.


but then comes your careless brand of cruelty,

snide remarks dressed as jokes. 

why–when you see tender skin–do you insist 

on digging until a wound takes shape? Oh,


I could show you how to miss me. I could freeze you

in our last memories, searching for signs in hindsight. 

turn your jests into a bullet that ricochets through us both

a last note burned in your brain–& when you hang me

higher than the stars with ornaments on the tree

would you finally understand the depth of this grief? how it bleeds

into what should be others moments of joy, corrupted 

by guilt & shame.


ABOUT VICTORIA: Victoria is an emerging writer based in McLean, Virginia. She double majored in English and Economics at the University of South Carolina, and her poem Euthanasia has been published in Harrow House Journal.



UNTITLED

By Sasha Aket


I am going to refrain from showing my pain.

I want to hide my feelings as high as the ceilings.

And every little task, I'll wear a smile, wear a mask. 

You don't know the hurt that's deep in my mind,

So be patient with me and please be kind.

Sometimes I just want to scream and shout,

Go to the mountains, let it all out.

People say, don't quit, but that's hard when your life gets s**t.

I'm sick of the anger, I'm drowning off-shore

I really don't want to hide anymore.


ABOUT SASHA: "I'm 33 years old and have no prior experience in writing or poetry - I have just started it a few months back and I find it's like a outlet when I'm struggling; everything I've written is raw, pure and straight from the heart. I struggle with a lot of things and it definitely helps writing poetry."


MY CANDLE'S STILL BURNING

By Jason Kirk Bartley


My candle’s still burning,

though a different size,

and a different length,

My candle’s still burning at near to full strength,

As It’s perched here in the window,

And you can see it flicker from afar,

You can see it through a night’s sky wherever you are,

Though my candle still flickers and threatens to be no more,

Like a light house in the bay,

leading ships to the shore,

I have a great testimony,

to help others along,

When they’re stuck with life’s decisions,

crushed in the middle of life’s throng,

as the wind whistles through the bay,

the turbulence becomes more to bear,

My candle still flickers to let others know it’s still there,

to show others it can be done,

Do not drown in life’s problems,

Persevere to the end and help others find the way,

Be a brother, sister, or a maybe even a friend.


Your experience matters,

It matters where you’ve been,

And you’ve overcome so much,

Do not keep it to yourself,

Let it burn and be real,

Put it on your candlestick no matter how you feel,

For everyone to see,

Let your light so shine,

Set people free,

from the bondage you carried for what seemed like an eternity,

Your candle still burns brightly,

The darker the night,

Lead others in the pathway,

In the middle of our fight,

Where happiness can be,

Be that light on the window sill for all to see,

That casts its shadows upon the wall,

Be an encouragement be a blessing,

Be an inspiration to all.


The more problems that come your way,

And they surely will,

Defines who you are,

As your light flickers brightly still,

to everyone near and far,

Let’s be that example,

wherever you are.


ABOUT JASON: Jason resides in Ohio. He is 50 years of age and struggles with paranoid schizophrenia daily, but has been stable for close to 20 years. He has a Masters degree in ministry from Ohio Christian University in Circleville, Ohio. He has won many awards and been published in various places.


OVERTURE

By Ted Halm


Tossing and turning in my dreams,

I slept for seven years on the sofa,

finding some solace in the soft cushions. 


I’m slowly getting better at sleep;

somnambulant in my new bed.


Is it You?


Perhaps I wasn’t the person you were looking for.

It does take a long time to actually know me.

I’m still trying to find myself 

and who I am.


You were someone who wanted to enjoy the finer things in life;

forcing all your longings to the surface,

throwing aside emptiness and sadness,

and seeking serenity in the madness.


And knowing this must end, no matter how deep the seduction.


Why are you wanting to change ourselves,

I once asked when we were together.

I had the answers;

I wish I had had more time.


I must transcend from the ground up

and get-a-way, now and then;

break free from the smirks of strangers

while wandering through crowds, seeing your face.


Accept things as they are, 

let go if I can’t control, 

discover inner peace by the wayside.


Because, after all, I am a big person now,

and ready to face the failure I felt, in this, 

the hole where I live.


Where I found you defiantly in the corner of the cellar,

and the note you wrote that was torn from your heart,

falling to the floor just a few inches below 

the dangling and stretching of your skeletal feet.


ABOUT THE PIECE: "The poem is a lament by a suicide survivor mourning the death of the one he loved."


ABOUT TED: Ted is an author of short fiction who has retired to write full-time from his home in rural Michigan. He had a 40-year career in university relations as a writer, broadcaster, and webmaster in Big Rapids, Michigan, winning 10 national awards for his publications. His writings examine characters searching for their identities and a brighter path, while coping with depression, despair and loneliness.



DISGRUNTLED MENTAL HEALTH CLIENT

By Freddie Obregón


“You’re not allowing yourself to feel depressed”

Says my therapist after I ask her, 

“Why am I abusing caffeine, cannabis, and nicotine?”

She continues,

“Just like you get food poisoning,

And your body naturally vomits to rid itself of the disease

Your body needs to naturally work depression out of its system.”

I just wish I could somehow 

Open up so many holes in my body

Open up so many holes in my mind

Open up so many holes in my soul

And let this stuff pour out.

“You’re just looking for the easy way out!”

Says the confusing therapist.

   Depression is a bitch.


ABOUT FREDDIE: Freddie is a Texan who struggles (not "suffers"- he refuses to be a victim) with Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD). He is currently on the long road to addiction recovery and picks himself up after every relapse. Feel free to send him poetry at: freddie.obregon@yahoo.com.



UNTITLED

By Lewie Gentilella


Struggling to get out of bed

A lack of motivation

And a banging head

It's been years of living this hell

Putting on a mask

The one that's served me oh so well 

For all these years

My 'normal' mask

It hides all my fears

My alter ego, worthy of an Oscar 

An actor and entertainer 

The famous imposter 

Dedicated to reciting his lines

Perfecting his craft

He's rehearsed this over a thousand times

The show begins

Playing the lead role

He helps to hide all stims

Yet underneath

I'm hyper vigilant

Stressed and grinding teeth

My eyes dart around the room 

Feeling anxious

With a sense of impending doom

The lights all blur into one

A tunnel of illumination 

All I want to do is run

Hoping they won't catch me out

I sit at my desk

Wanting to scream and shout

Trying hard not to let the mask slip

Can't let them see the real me

But all the voices make me want to flip

Nervously bouncing my leg under the table

Subtly rocking back and forth

I don't want people to think I'm disabled

Finally, I take off the mask

Exhausted and burnt out

Pretending all day is a tiresome task.

Tomorrow, I must do it all over again

But the show must go on

Until I don't know when.


ABOUT LEWIE: Lewie is a 34-year-old amateur writer from Bedford that lives with his wife and two children. He doesn't have any formal training or writing experience; he just writes poetry from his own personal life experiences. His poetry themes around his personal journey with mental health.


WHAT I KNOW 

By Rob Sienna


What I know is changeable


A ruby throated sparrow perching on a branch

telling me a thing or two

about what I know


Privately I think 

no one can tell

what the future brings


I feel a certain melancholic

moment of despair

weaving through the air 

 

Everything is breaking free

meditations reassure me 


I continue on despite 

countless problems

gingerly


Sensing healthy intuitions

gathering nearby

all is as it should be


Like a sparrow flying off 

considering my song 

in spasms before heading

into the sky again


Aligning well getting clear 

the honesty between my ears 

a righteous well placed bundle 


Obstacles show up then fade

they will not diminish

my resolve at any rate 


What I know is changeable

feeling that's all right


Quirky as my inner light

winks distinctly

outta sight


ABOUT ROB: Rob is a writer and artist who has suffered first-hand the consequences of the American society’s systemic disconnect with, and mistreatment of the natural world. Rob has studied and taught writing at several universities, and has toured North America as a solo singer-songwriter. His ethos is to investigate, discover and share meaningful, potentially rewarding revelations and spiritual insight - discoveries intended to improve the human condition, help others to manage, to better balance and grow a healthier more vibrant cultural community. 


POETRY THERAPY

By Igor Goldkind


Everyone wants to be free.

Even from the things that once gave us comfort.

We are like children constantly swapping our blankets for softer ground.

So why do you wait to be free when the keys to your cage 

Are hanging just outside your door?

Reach through the bars with your hands,

Stretch your fingers and bend your will around the bars.

Your mind is your best doctor, best teacher, best friend.

Whether you believe it or not.

In spite of everything you’ve done to yourself,

our mind really does care about you and thinks of you often quite fondly.

Just let your mind repair itself.

Heal itself with a few choice words.

Your own words.

When you say to yourself:

The Truth is not a tombstone,

The truth is not a judgement,

The truth is a living realisation inside your own mind,

Pulling you forwards, enraptured by time.


When my breath and 

My will are as one,

the universe swallows me

Whole.



I'M JUST HURTING

By Annie Walsh


I am not a drama queen, 

Because of how I react, 

I have lost too many,

That is just a fact.

So when I start to cry, 

And I think the worst, 

Don’t tell to calm down, 

Listen to me first. 

I know life can be cruel,

It can also be so hard,

Just when you’re content,

It catches you off guard.

So each happy moment.

So lightly I do tread,

When I should enjoy it,

I’m full of fear instead.

That is a part of life,

I have often been told,

Each and every moment,

Is worth its weight in gold .

I’m better than I was, 

The fear I slowly face, 

The blessings that I have, 

I’m starting to embrace. 

I might not be the same,

Grief does that to you,

But the love around me,

Is what helps me through.




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