Mike Maggio

The War Within

What they cannot see are the damaged thoughts
punctuated in the dark,  the sweet erosion amplified, 
and the salt of silence, broken, 
 
It all implodes, and blossoms again, in the infinite 
landscapes and riverbeds of our minds, a wilderness 
running through itself like tumbleweed, 

The quiet chaos, the war within flowering the darkness, 
distorted as silk sheets raised above the breastbone of a 
mattress,	
the heavy things they leave behind,
we cannot lift in the dark,

The sacred interruptions of love and acceptance and sorrow 
are the bright shadows that still hold church in us, 

The mind is a vulnerable thing stretched and bent, a nomad 
of soft voices clothed in  black dresses,  echoing the silent 
shells that cannot hear themselves break open at night,  

We cannot control the unfurling thoughts, no more than we 
can control the disruptive greed of yellow irises, stitching their 
roots in the tender earth, spreading their seedlings across 
ageless abstraction. There are no boundaries here, only the
sound of hope drumming the earth, as it paces back and forth. 

Who is tending the wild horses traversing the uneven
grasslands shaking loose in our heads?

When can we remove the pestilence from  the open 
fields of our defenseless mind?

The mind is a vulnerable thing, stretched and bent, a nomad 
of soft voices clothed in  black dresses,  echoing the  silent 
shells that cannot hear themselves break open at night,  

And if we become dislocated from the frayed edges of 
erupting thoughts, and locked inside the hems of our own 
bodies,  let the flesh of our papers write us as unfinished songs.

Copyright 2025 Diane Wilbon Parks 

Bio:

Diane Wilbon Parks is a visual poet and artist; she was brought in as an Expert Consultant to the National Trust for Historic Preservation through a National Endowment for the Arts Grant, and has a permanent installation of one of her poems and artwork at the Patuxent Research Refuge, North Tract in Laurel, MD.  Diane is a USAF Veteran and Sr. IT Program Manager. She resides in Maryland with her family.  

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Dear Cancer,

Wherever you are, I’m not sure, 
I do thank you for not coming into my body 
though you certainly have come into my orbit. 
Not even a year ago, we learned you 
were having your way with someone close to me, 
worming your way in, causing pain that still haunts her, 
though her medications have gotten the best of you.

You’ve tortured others close to me, 
both family and friends, some multiple times, 
and I want to scream, that’s not fair! 
You’re responsible for the massacres of their bodies.
One was stopped from having a second child; 
at least the other has announced one on the way.

Why do you deserve to be so colorful–
the bright hues of children’s toys
more colorful than healthy cells.
Perhaps there’s an advantage–you’re easier 
to target in bright pink, purple, and periwinkle
In spheres and splats and tentacles of overlapping 
tints and tones, occasional amorphous blobs.

Now you’re in cahoots with MAGA and DOGE, 
destroying our hopes–the research 
we’re counting on to assassinate you once and for all. 
Don’t get too comfortable. I assure you, 
we will succeed in reinstating research and funding. 
We will succeed in obliterating you! Get out of my life!


Copyright 2025 Cathy Hailey

With thanks for the idea to the Eastern Shore Writers Association’s 
Epistolary Poetry: Arriving at “Truth” by Different Means–with David P. Kozinski

Bio:

Cathy Hailey teaches in Johns Hopkins University’s online MA in Teaching Writing Program and previously taught English and Creative Writing and sponsored the Eddas Literary/Art Magazine in Prince William County. She serves as Northern Region Vice President of The Poetry Society of Virginia (PSV), co-hosts Virginia Voices, and organizes In the Company of Laureates. She administers the Student Contest and Young Poets in the Community Program for PSV and the Jacklyn Potter Young Writers Competition for The Words Works. Her chapbook, I’d Rather Be a Hyacinth, was published by Finishing Line Press. Recent and forthcoming poem publications include Little Free Lit Mag, First Frost and Foto Specchio.Visit cathyhailey.com.

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Breathe life in

Breathe life in
Let things out

With your rooms overflowing
It's hard to stay light

Let life in
Breathe things out

Have a rest if it helps
Have a walk in the wild

There's no need to go far 
Nor to escape from the crowd

Let life in
Breathe things out

Put your feet on the street
And go seeking the world

Which is there to be found
And to fill your soul

Greet the light
as day begins 

Breathe things out
Let life in

Copyright 2025 Mario Badino

Bio:

Mario Badino was born in Turin in 1975, grew up in the Alps and then moved to Apulia, in the South of Italy, where he lives with Silvia and their children, Emma and Riccardo. He teaches Italian in middle school and is the author of three books of poetry (“Cianfrusaglia”, “Barricate!” and “Santificare le feste”). He’s a member of the poetic collective SlammalS, that promotes spoken-word poetry in Apulia. You can read more about him on his web site cianfrusaglia.wordpress.com.

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Come L'Acqua

La poesia finisce
nei corridoi, di notte,
il tuo respiro irregolare
i passi strascicati
per la schiena dolorante
e il sonno scappato via
tra i molteplici effetti collaterali.
La poesia non regge
l'avvelenamento costante
a cui prestiamo il tuo corpo
nella statistica ricerca
di una sopravvivenza.
La poesia fa male
come fa male vivere
al ritmo di una terapia aliena
che se aggiusta guasta
chiedendo di aggiustare il nuovo guasto
in una interminabile catena
di impossibili compensazioni chimiche.
E il corpo, come la poesia,
si fa acqua e si arrende,
accoglie quel che viene
come il fiume segue la corrente.
La poesia non basta
a dare voce
a certa contraddizione.
Il male minore
la biologia non lo capisce.
Perchè la natura è cruda e violenta
quanto indifferente
alle tragedie dei suoi abitanti.
Sono seduto sulla riva
una penna in mano e un foglio
o forse sono anch'io acqua
rumorosa e ribelle
a torcermi le budella
a non sapere la cosa giusta
mentre nostra figlia
ci guarda dalla scialuppa di salvataggio
i salvagenti in mano
lei che ha la saggezza dell'infanzia
e si stringe a te
tutte le notti
come se fosse la prima volta.



Copyright 2025 Piero Sanso

Like Water

The poem ends
in the corridors, at night,
your uneven breathing
the uneasy steps
the aching back
and the sleep that escapes
from multiple side effects.
The poem can’t withstand
the constant poisoning
to which we lend your body
for research
for survival.
The poem hurts
as it hurts to live
to the rhythm of an odd therapy
that if fixed, breaks
asking to fix what is now broken
in an endless chain
of impossible chemical compensation.
And the body, like poetry,
becomes water and surrenders
welcomes what comes
as the river follows the current.
Poetry is not enough
to give voice
to this certain contradiction.
Biology does not comprehend
the lesser evil.
Because nature is raw and violent
as it is indifferent
to the tragedies of its inhabitants.
I am sitting on the riverbank
pen and paper in hand
or maybe I also am water
noisy and rebellious
my innards twisting
not knowing the exact cause 
while our daughter
who watches us from the lifeboat
life jacket in hand
she who has the wisdom of childhood
and who hugs you
every night
as if for the very first time.

Translation by Mike Maggio
Copyright 2025 Mike Maggio

Bio:

Piero Sansò works for the Ministry of Justice, Juvenile Division. He lives in Puglia, Italy in the city of Putignano. An impulsive, passionate writer, he published a fantasy novel in 2014 which takes place in Puglia (I Ciclonauti/The Cyhclonauts). Hi latest poetry collection, Poesie In-sostenibili (Unsustainable Poems) was self-published in 2024.

Piero Sansò, lavora nel Ministero della Giustizia, settore minorile. Vive in Italia, in Puglia, nella città di Putignano. Grafomane per passione, ha pubblicato nel 2014 un romanzo fantasy ambientato in Puglia dal titolo I Ciclonauti. mentre la sua ultima raccolta poetica, edita in autoproduzione nel 2024, si intitola Poesie In-sostenibili.

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Love is the Way

Only by God’s grace 
Mercy, Mercy me
Self detection of a small 
tumor in breast, smaller 
than a M&M.
No devastation 
No worries, no fear.
Following instructions and
preparation for surgery.
Faith and Prayer saving grace.
Feeling goodness of
“Footprints in the Sand”.
No anguish, no pain.
Early detection, bountiful gain.
Radiation treatments were
applied.
In like a lamb, leaves like a tiger.
Time came to ring BELL with 
Family and Friends, colorful 
Balloons, fragrant flowers and
lovely thoughtful gifts waiting 
outside.
Time keeps ticking into the 
future. 
Four years in remission.
Living each day to the fullest.
Hoping to brighten someone 
else’s day.
Patience, kindness, consideration 
and love are the way.

Copyright 2025 Sylvia Beverly

Bio:

Sylvia Dianne Beverly is a native of SE Washington, D.C. and alumni of Anacostia H.S. and The University of District of Columbia.  She is an Internationally acclaimed poet, presenting poetry In Brixton, London, England, at the Lewisham Theater.

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The Biopsy

Genius is seeing things as they actually are
                 after Irving Layton, Canadian Poet

In a drug-induced quasi- real realm I dread
the drill of the needle about to dig deep into
the bone to determine why platelets would
vacate my lifeblood, escape like helpless
leaves carried out to sea by a sudden storm.

A velvety blanket covers my panic with strange
calm but  illusory smoke unfurls big C words
like cancer and chemo scribbled in the air,
not in ink but in pencil, so faint I can barely
read them; I make them disappear like ether.
 
When the sting of the needle pierces the core,
the bone is shattered, the marrow retrieved, 
will I be able to unmask what is transparent 
rather than smudge the surface with prejudice
or magical thinking, fancy thought…?

Let me brush off fairy dust vaguing the air,
scrape sand from my ostrich head stuck 
buried and gasping. Whatever the finding, let
it be written in ink; now that I’m a genius for seeing
clear, I can invent something to erase indelible ink… 

Copyright 2025 Arlene Wohl

Bio:

Arlene Wohl – Fiber artist, poet of self-published poetry and art book A Jagged Line and a new manuscript ready for submission To Stave off the Night.

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Everything Gives You Cancer

Bio:

Susan Notar is a Pushcart prize nominated poet whose work has appeared in a number of publications including Gargoyle, Artemis, Burningword, Gyroscope, Joys of the Table:  An Anthology of Literary Verse, Alianza Latina Antologia de Poemas, Written in Arlington, The Forgotten River, American Literary, Poets for Ukraine.

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Secrets

Murmuring her morality’s 
expiration date
like a lost radio tune 
undone by bad reception
Mom tells Grandma’s
memory care nurse
she forgot to arrange
a carpool for me. 

“I’ll be back soon”, she tells Grandma.

The snow swirls
switches sanity off.
The road is blurred
sightless and blinding white.
The car almost planes
as she veers 
towards the school.

“Always stay this good, sweetie,” 
and Grandma’s
comment takes on
tumorlike significance.
An impossible commandment. 

Mom repeats 
the imperative. 
I’m too young but to 
believe the order
is easy to obey.

Mom’s tumor
stays secret 
from the family
as if silence 
stops it from
metastasizing.
Or as if guilt
can’t metastasize until 
everything turns black
as radio fuzz. 

Copyright 2025 Juliana Schifferes

Bio:

Juliana “Jules” Schifferes is a Washington DC native and resident. She has published
several times. She values her chance to publish in Wishbone Words, The Mid-Atlantic Review,
and Poetry X Hunger in particular, and was the inaugural Luce Prize winner in 2023. Outside of poetry, she loves opera, following politics, and Romantic-era classical music

Donation Appeal:
To help victims of cancer and to help foster continuing research into this deadly disease, please consider donating to either The American Cancer Society or The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

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