Life by Emily Butcher

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

Life is at the tree’s branches,

Swaying in the wind.

Wondering as a bird searching

For a landing ground.

Asking a small child in a

Clueless world.

Rising, falling, as the ships at sea.

As dark as a cave underground.

As hopeful as the beauty of sunrise.

As wonderful as hearts of pure gold.


Endless sorrow and joy.

A cycle of love.


When I Remember You by Katie Buchannan


I drink the tonic of your eyes

And the sweet, dreaming scent

Of your skin,

Like the scent of cool flowers

Like your arms around my shoulders.

Meeting you on the street at noon.

Your soft twilight voice

Follows me through the waiting hours.

Dreams by Alex Dunn

The place is too small for you.



You, just waiting for your cue.

No opportunity,

No chance,

No room to just kick off your shoes and dance.

You feel claustrophobic, closed in,

So much to do and you don’t know where to begin.

People will judge you along the way;

They may hurt your pride, yes, they may.

Your dreams may take you very far,


But never be ashamed or disappointed of where you are.

Know in your heart you gave all you had.

Just put a smile on, and be glad.

You can’t win every fight,.

But you’ve got to try, try with all your might.

Keep your head high and never look back;

the ones that you love will help keep you on track.

Gone Fishin’ by Steve Warren

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

it’s really simplebait the hook-throw the line
no judgement
no remorse

in the silence
speak to our personal god
turn inward-listen sometimes
seek what we already are
when the line breaks
there are no tears
only laughter as
joy brings us power

when we land a catch
the power becomes
all the more
amazingly obvious

as we lose ourselves
the find ourselves
in the glory of the day
you think we are only fishing

The Other by Sean Lance

Bluestone Review, 1998

Bluestone Review, 1998

I saw him again today
You know the one I’m talking about
I see him every day
I see his knowing eyes glaring through me
He knows the things I have done
He knows the things I’m doing
He knows all the things I will do
I know every contour of his face as he knows mine
I turn to him for help; he doesn’t
I go to him to comfort me; he won’t
I reach out with trembling hand to him
All I feel is the cold lifeless surface of the
Mirror that separates us

Do I Smell Like a Poem by Salvatore Buttaci

Bluestone Review, 2009

Bluestone Review, 2009

Do I smell like a poem? Like flowers
or the scent of the sky and sea? What’s with me?
You who hold the pen, stare blindly at screens
in dark rooms, what do you know of pain and
hardship? I am a poem!  Forget what makes me
tick. The measures, the accents you might
dance me through. I live a full-life in
lines of desperation and of love (or hate)
but when all is said and done, on this paper,
on that screen, in this magazine, I stand
proud I’ve made it here, made it one more day.