Poem: The Witch’s Wedding – by Gwen Murtha

The Witch’s Wedding

The witch’s fingers trembled, so instead she whispered.

Her soft breath carried the needle and thread through the unseen cloth

Stitching the dress together so it hugged her tightly.

A second skin it was, but invisible

Like the emperor’s suit, but real.

The dress was both weapon and shield

It held her body safe from the brilliant embers leaping from her roaring fireplace.

She was safe from slings and arrows

And from the man sitting to her father’s right

In the hall of the forest king.

But the imperceptible thread could unravel itself

And the last thing that man would see

As the thread snaked up his arm to reach his throat

Was her naked body. His imaginings made flesh.

From her father’s hall she heard the man call for her

Voice smooth, strong, and unsuspecting:

Was she dressed? Was she ready?

The wedding gown slipped off the corner of her bed to the floor

Just as she pulled the last stitch of her undetectable armor tight.

She was not dressed, but she was ready.

Copyright @2016 by Gwen Murtha

Poem: Breath of Inspiration by Jorge Castillo

A breath of inspiration

How can we breathe inspiration when

the act of breathing is involuntary and

inspiration is given by the gods to us, to make it alive.

Inspiration can come at any instant and if we are

ready for it, we can create some of the most

beautiful pieces of art, be it poetry, prose, paintings

or any other artistic manifestation.

Like the breath which God used to give us life,

inspiration will give life to our thoughts, in

the form that we decide to express it.

So a breath of inspiration came to us

as life was given to us, without asking,

without expecting, not even wanting,

it is a free gift that should be honored by

turning it into something that others can

admire and delight on it, not for our Glory

but for the sheer pleasure of giving life to that

breath of Inspiration. As yours, as your life and

so alien that you may not recognize it, by

looking from afar.


Jorge Castillo

Jun 2016

Poem: Writer’s Block by Charlotte Ehney

Writer’s Block

My muse –

she must be on vacation

‘cause I can’t find her anywhere.

So I stare at blank pages,

not a breath of inspiration

to be found.

My pen

quivers in my hand

longing to record

beautiful words,

vivid images

but it’s just not to be.

No, my muse

has abandoned me.

Impatiently, I wait

yearning for her return

to once more inspire me.

Charlotte Ehney


At the Intersection – poem by Jorge Castillo

At the intersection

When you get to an intersection

what way will you follow, the easy one,

the short one, the one to the left or

to the right, the familiar or the

unknown one, there is a choice to make

and you have to do it.

This is not only for the road, where you

always can turn back and retrace

your way, this is for your life. When it is

acceptable to compromise and take the

convenient choice, or cheat by going

around instead of how it needed to be done.

What are you willing to sacrifice

just to get where you want. How many

will be left behind just to get you there.

Remember life is a road of character

a road of principles of discipline.

How you sail through life will define

how you arrive at the port of destination.

Be sure you take the right way.

Jorge Castillo

May 2016

Passing By – poem by Jorge Castillo

Going back home I saw a driver in trouble

Parked at the side of the road

And I did not stop to make my hair if I can help.

Then I told myself

He already

Then I told myself

He already called someone 

somebody else will help 

why I need to justify my passing by.

It is not my responsibility; why not?

I don’t know who he is; what difference does it make? 

Next time I will act differently 

And there it was another person in trouble 

and I passed by.

By Jorge Castillo (c) September 2015

Poem: Stop the Killing by Jorge Castillo

Stop the killing

When are we going to stop killing each other?

senseless killings everyday

some in the name of justice

some in the name of religion

some in the name of race

some for no reason at all.

Did ever exist a killing that make sense.

Who deserve to be killed

who has the authority to decide

who can make sense

of ending a life.

God may need to intervene

but the wrath of God

always end killing most of Us.

Jorge Castillo – September 2015

Truth – Poem by Amaryllis Turman


When a woman asks you a question twice, this is a chance for you to tell her the truth.
When I called to ask you a question it was an opportunity for you to prove to me that you had changed.
The years of telling me your lies were supposed to be behind us.
You were now committed to this relationship. I was supposed to be able to trust, not doubt, your word.
his was your last chance. I did not think it was too much to ask.
What I wanted from you was for you to tell me the truth.

When a woman asked you a question twice, most likely she already knows the answer.
This is not a ploy. This is only an affirmative confirmation of what I already know.
Semantics do not come into play.
Yes, this is a test. This is the final exam for our relationship.
Since you have a proclivity to speak falsehood, I would have hoped that you would choose your words carefully.

When a woman asked you a question twice, it is not the time to try to stick to your story if it is not accurate.
I asked you several times the same question because I wanted to be sure there was no doubt in your mind what information I was trying to extract from you.
The twitch of your cheek and lack of eye contact reinforced to me that you did not respect my right to have the truth. Had you gave my face more than a cursory glance, you would have realized this interrogation was with a purpose.
I had hoped that your conscience would have picked up on the underlying pleading urgency in my voice and urged your brain to do the right thing.

When a woman asked you a question twice, have the sense to know that your reckoning is near. Your refusal to be true gives me no other option but to reveal your dishonesty.
When I expose you, you claim entrapment as if I set you up to fail.
Ignoring the blatant fact that you lied yet again as if it is of no consequence, you ask me “Why did I put you to the test?”
I learned from my past mistakes.
I used to give you passing grades without checking your answers, but that only led to heartache and disappointment.
I asked you a simple question and you continued to be duplicitous. Your treachery runs deeper than the Grand Canyon.
Then say the first true statement “You don’t trust me.”

Your belligerent tone implies that I have insulted you.
It is offensive to you that I question your movements, check on your actions, confer with others for confirmation as fact. It is far outside your realm of understanding the concept that trust is earned.
Your reputation is sullied by the untruths, fabrications, lies that flow from your mouth like rivers after torrential rainstorm. I am drowning in your deceit.

Truth is my lifeline. I will pull myself to higher ground. You flatter yourself thinking this was all about you. THIS is about me.

When a woman asked you a question twice, it is not trick you.
This is about saving herself.

Amaryllis Turman

August 2013