Moonlight Sonata

Sarah Doughty

“It was then that I remembered
how much my heart could love.”

Ghosts of silhouettes danced on the wall where the pale moonlight cast its light through the window. It was an unheard melody, but the synchronization made me feel as though I could imagine the tempo, the chords playing on a quartet of cello, violins, and piano. It was slow, like a sonata. A gentle, sad little dance that left me feeling empty with longing. It was as if it was a memory I couldn’t quite grasp with my fingertips. And the more I tried to focus, the more distant that tug of a memory became.

So instead, I watched as those shadows continued to dance and allowed my eyes to drift closed. In my sleep, my heart ached for the love that was lost long ago. Yet somehow, knowing it was once me. Dancing through the night with…

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Published Works- March!

Go Dog Go Café

Good Morning Everyone!

Megha has had another fabulous month. Below are the list of publications where her works were published for March, and she is kind enough to share it with us all. These are great resources for all writers should you decide to pursue them. Please join me in congratulating Megha on her tremendous accomplishments!- Linda

1. Beneath the Rainbow

2. Marias at Sampaguitas

3. Drable

4. Royal Rose Magazine

5. Visual Verse

6. Poetry reading at the Jersey City Writers for the NEA event

7. Vox Poetica

8. Quail Bell

9. Best Poetry Journal

10. Writer’s Cafe magazine

11. Al Khemia Poetica

12. Poetry Quarterly

13. Free Verse Revolution

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Poem: Sandpipers in the Bright Sunlight

Crow On The Wire

I walk the beach to heal,
feeling the sand cushion and comfort
my tired feet.

I hear the sound of the calming wave,
see the sandpiper’s
long pecking beak and skinny legs
scurry in the bright sunlight.

With each mindful step, with each crashing wave,
I walk the beach as the rocks line the shore.

I find ease in each deep breath,
more freedom to stay in the vastness
of time and space.

I pass the ocean’s creations, its windy inventions, monuments of driftwood, objects molded out of seaweed—a shoe, a vest, a boat’s bow jutting from the sand.

Beyond I see the earth’s rotation, the universe in motion, feeling that my walk will be an endless circle of my imagination.

I stop and stand patiently as if on the skinny legs of the sandpiper, realizing that this was my first home, where it all began.

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