The GGPCollective
Ⓒ Glass Gates Publishing, 2024
“Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or a sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical, and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure to grief is to grieve.”
Earl Grollman
Acknowledgments
Avery special thank you to all of our contributing writers. Without the courage to share your words and work with others, our little publication could not exist.
Please find our contributors and follow their pages on social media for more!
Follow @glassgatespublishing on Instagram for more announcements and future calls for submissions
All art for this issue is credited to IrinaTall (Novikova).
● Donna McCabe
● Adam Brooks
● Christen Foster
● Dominik Slusarczyk
● N.C.
● Chelsey Jordan
● Laveena Serra
● K. Christine
● Dave Kurley
● Stephen Carbon
● Debarati Saha
● Megh Patrice
Table of Contents
● AMother’s Love
● REHAB
● Journey of a Poet (I am Poetry 3)
● Thieves
● Many Mistakes
● Sand
● The Woman I Long to Be
● Decay
● Between the Pages
● The Doll
● Storm
● WILDFIRE
● My Cosmic Garden
● My Sources Say, “NotAnymore”
Ⓒ Glass Gates Publishing, 2024
AMother's Love
Amother's love, food for thought
Rich and nutritious to the soul
To the table so many ingredients brought
Seemingly full knowledge, wisdom abound
Learning, thinking on her feet
No manual or guidebook around
Yet prevailing under many a pressure
Her love and protection knows no bounds
The epitome of nourishment
On any given ground
Generosity and sound advice
Avirtue to her overflowing pot
Alight in many a dark time
Helping no matter what the cost
She will always enfold you
Make you feel brand new.
Donna McCabe
REHAB
slipping away beyondAmber moonlight. trying to retrace my steps. the air feels cold and constricting. Inviting.
some man walks by me with his dog. this beast snarls at me. is it afraid of what I am? does it know where I’ve been? i still snarl at myself. with every cigarette. every time I look in the mirror. at least the wind has calmed. this is all just cycles, isn’t it? it’s a shame, really. we could have been great friends.
Adam Brooks
Bio: Adam’s work can be found on Instagram: @lightdarklove and can be reached at lightdarklove@yahoo.com.
Journey of a Poet (I am Poetry 3)
Apoet dreams, a tale to tell, With ink-stained fingers, heart aglow, He wanders paths where wild thoughts flow.
In valleys deep where echoes dwell, Apoet’s soul weaves tales to tell.
Through bustling streets and the still of night,
He captures whispers, the world in sight, He sails on dreams, Finding beauty in moments, but never at a cost.
He scribes down visions that float in the sky, In laughter and sorrow, in love's sweet embrace,
The poet finds solace, a sacred space.
As doubts creep in, and the nights turn wrong,`
Yet with every stumble, a lesson learned,
He learns that truth wears many a faces, In the silence, the chaos, the mundane routine, The poet discovers what living can mean.
So he journeys on, with the world at his feet, In the language of longing, where passions meet, Forever a seeker, in verses unchained,
He weaves his legacy into the night, For the journey of a poet is never complete, It's a boundless odyssey, where hearts and words greet.
Apoet finds their sacred space; With every stanza, every rhyme, They carve their mark upon the time.
For every journey starts anew, With ink and passion, they pursue.
Christen Foster
Bio: Instagram: @original_poetree Website:.poetryrootz.online/ From a young age Chris always loved art and creativity. Although he did not know its at the time this local event would be the Catalyst that would eventually lead me into becoming inspired to writing Poetry. The moment of inspiration came when he saw a spoken word performance from a youth member of an organization called “Teen Empowerment “ Perform a poetry line where they mentioned letting everyone go who either hurt them Or did no longer served a purpose in their life because he was moved by how reliable this Verse was to my life and the many people who no longer served my inner peace or mental health And just like that a frame of inspiration was sparked within me and since then he has dedicated his life to expressing himself through creative writing in poetry and spoken word performances.
Thieves
You were choking
On air that was Atouch
Too warm when They stormed the shop. I begged them to stop. I even said please and Got down on my knees. They said we Will leave when we Want to leave.
Men are like this: They lay siege to Towers populated By pigeons.
Many Mistakes
We spent all Summer
Learning like lions. When we were Finally finished they Told us they Had come to The wrong house. We spent all Winter
Forgetting like flies.
Dominik Slusarczyk
Sand
Life is a blue Plastic spade full Of sand.
We spend our whole Lives trying to Count the grains but It doesn’t really matter How many there are.
Bio: Dominik Slusarczyk is an artist who makes everything from music to painting. He was educated at The University of Nottingham where he got a degree in biochemistry. His poetry has been published in various literary magazines including California Quarterly and Taj Mahal Review. His poetry was nominated for Best of the Net by New Pop Lit. His poetry was a finalist in a couple of competitions.
Dominik Slusarczyk
The Woman I Long to Be
In the urban jungle, she navigates, Awoman in today's world, she debates, The pressures, the judgments, the stares, She's more than just what everyone declares. She's a melody in a chaotic symphony, Adance in the midst of cacophony, She wears her scars like battle paint, In a world where she's often quaint. She's the graffiti on the city walls, The wildflower in concrete sprawls, She fights, she loves, she dreams, she dares, In a world that often glares. In a society that wants her contained, She's the wildfire in the rain, Breaking norms, shattering glass ceilings, In her, there's no fear of reeling. In the pulse of the city's heart, She finds her rhythm, plays her part, Asymphony of strength and grace, In a world that often feels misplaced. She's a novel in a world of clichés, Amasterpiece in grayscale, With every step, she reclaims her ground, In her, a universe is found. In the chaos, she finds her peace, In the pressure, she finds release, Awoman in today's world, she thrives, In her, the world truly arrives.
Bio: N.C.’s work can be found on Instagram: @quotes2_inspire_u
N.C.
Decay
He acted as if I were nothing. So I became nothing in his life. Arainbow he thought he'd stolen all the gold from.
I'll be nothing to you until the day I die, maybe even nothing to you from the grave. Asilent, mind-numbing tune.
I'm the breeze blowing amongst tall oak trees, staying hidden from poisoned beings. My roots weather storms greater than you could ever produce.
Scatter black petals–I'll never feel it. No loving feet above me, six feet deep. I'll be your nothing as I turn to worm feed.
Don't visit me at the mausoleum, I swallowed the key. Atomb of death's bones, no one will ever seek.
I'll save my battered heart for a deserving soul in need, one with endless strength in a world full of disease.
She kind of reminds me of a girl just like me.
Bio: Chelsey Jordan is a contemporary poet and artist based in Michigan. She is known for her vibrant watercolor doodles and distinctive writing style. Her creations can be found on Instagram under the handle “cjwordsandotherfeelings.”
Chelsey Jordan
Between the Pages
You chose to sit by the riverbank I held on to my song bird Both looking to find peace
We both, children of blue sky and grey shadow; we know peace is a gift wrapped in chaos Like scavengers we look for it in the dark alleys and scattered stars, in the end finding it in the little corner of our lonely rooms our tired fingers tapping away at the doors of our ribs.
We know heart likes to be caged if we let, but we know better; We set it free in the ruffles of the wearing pages
Bio: A stay-at-home mom of two, Laveena Serra is a poet by heart. An ex - Mental Health professional she revisited her passion for writing during the lockdown year, and currently shares her work on her Instagram handle @myblue_shadow . She is based in Mumbai, India.
She has an eclectic style and enjoys telling stories through her poems. Many of her poems are on social issues or human behaviour, and/or include take away messages in them.
Her poem 'The Art of Letting Go' has featured in the the 8th issue of Poetic Reveries magazine '��������������'. She has co-authored ‘Eternal Flames – Tales of Romance’, an anthology published in September 2024. Her short articles have appeared in the local Parish magazine 'Communique'.
Laveena Serra
The Doll
Pick the cloth
Pretty floral designs
Porcelain face
Pretty fake smile
Sew together
Long dark hair made of yarn and secrets and sadness
Make the dress
Sew it on
Isn’t in pretty?
Looks perfect
Seems perfect
Tie the hair in shiny bows
Bright blue eyes
all so fake
Everything is perfect… …right?
She’s all ready
Carefully put together
All dressed up…
…did you really do all that work just to play with her?
k. christine
Storm
Sore words, swollen, hang
Resentfully between them
Pressure building, tactile
Atemple pulse in the Fading ochre light
Could blow any minute
But nothing is said, unaware
Of clouds, candy floss thickening
Cauliflowering, darkening
And glowering overhead
Until the pressure becomes Too much, and the Apocalyptic thunderclap Makes them both
Jump
Then laugh together
As the rain drums
The clay roof tiles
And from the open front door
They watch raw electricity.
Bio: Dave lives in central Portugal with his wife and two cats. Irritating the Silver Lining, his first book of poems and pictures, is available to order from most good bookshops.
You can find his poems and photos at @kurleybobspoetrycorner on Instagram, Facebook and/or Threads.
Dave Kurley
Taxidermy Sister and Brother
The mounted moose head in the lobby of Dave’s Eternity had dust on its antlers. Rick needed to get up there on a stepladder with a dust rag, so when Dave said, Did you dust the moose? Rick wouldn’t have to say, I intend to.
The two-by-fours that led to her bother’s double-wide kept our feet out of the mud. It was night. Inside eternity a fox kept company with a squirrel and a raccoon. He wasn’t there. We looked around. We went back out to her Cutlass with the busted tail light.
As Shawn filled a glass with water from a faucet, he remembered a deer head on a wall in eternity. Its glass eyes. He remembered a glimpse of a badger in a bush near a sidewalk. Kay collected giraffe dolls.Aparrot pecked James. Blood ran down James’cheek.
Susan wondered if eternity works on giraffes, elephants, and rhinos. She had read somewhere skies are green roses. She pictured herself placing a green sky in her sister Lisa’s copper hair.
In San Diego, a block of tattoo parlors, and in NewYork, down from the Gotham Book Mart, shops sold diamonds, thought Richard. He read, “even when I’m not alone I’m alone.” He wondered if there was an eternity district in a city. He thought the difference between a real cat and a stuffed cat is a pulse. With a person, he could put his fingers on a wrist and feel for a pulse. Only with the cat …cats get lonely, he thought.
Peter Mladinic
Bio: Peter Mladinic's most recent book of poems, House Sitting, is available from Anxiety Press. An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.
WILDFIRE
In revelation of our shared poetic verse of artistry.
We write the story of fabled virtue and prophecy.
To plant our seeds in fertile valleys of island majesty.
Amelody in perpetuity ever calling.
We nurture new realms upon our thirst of a summer rain falling.
To unite our eternal love in vibrant gardens of belonging.
I awake with her essence of feminine charm still beating against my chest.
Our passionate dreams ebb and flow as tides crest.
The rhythm of her heart surging like wildfire in the cauldrons of mythic journey between us.
I lay with my spiritual Goddess.
My Venus in the ascension upon the clouds of Mt Olympus.
Enshrined in temples our scripture of divine gift.
Asoothing vision to immerse my eyes of pale blue innocence.
Her breath of lung and oxygen coarse through my arteries.
We dissolve into one in the mortal flesh of sensuality.
Atouch of enchanting delicacy envelopes me.
In opal eyes of romance and mystery.
To explore her landscape of earth, moon and heaven.
Coalescing in the thick palate of emotion.
Paints our true love in a masterpiece of natural sublimation.
Stephen Carbon
My Cosmic Garden
From Mars’dusty plains I Borrowed hues to paint my garden in Martian blush, It narrates a tale with the colours, With every stroke of my brush, Blooms several flowers, roses, tulips, poppies geraniums, hibiscuses, amaryllises zinnias and peonies, Prime vigour and sovereignty, a canvas of a garden that I can call mine.
They are fearless and luminous, a blazing sight from an oxidised surface, Inspiring lives in my garden.
I dip a brush into some carmine shade, to add valour to the garden, Where I witness, rust-coloured canyons and mountains, Amber and tangerine-coloured sky.
Wind whispering inspirations from Mars, The stars have allied me to them through this bond, While spreading red dust over Mars’surface on my canvas board, I feel as if I am nearer to another world, Wherein I will never go but forever shall be, my shining star.
Debarati Saha
Bio: Debarati Saha is from India. Saha pursued a B.Sc. and M.Sc. in Geography, focusing on Applied Geomorphology and qualified for the National Eligibility Test-Junior Research Fellowship and West Bengal State Eligibility Test for assistant professor. Saha is particularly interested in the environment and ecology, and loves to write about nature. Saha has contributed as a co-author of seven anthologies.
My Sources Say, “NotAnymore”
Take this letter opener and do what you came for
It’s the key to the coffer your shovel hit
When you were digging your own hole
You hit rock and called it gold
Getting off on my misfortunes
And the guilt that made me question my own truth
Your lies made you living proof
That the wicked walk among us
When you compromised my soul and my suspicions
You wanted more than just three wishes
So you trapped me inside an eight ball
And I got high on all the liquid
I gave you every answer that you wanted
Til you shook me too hard
And made me see a different kind of blue
I really should be thanking you
For being such a goddamn mess
You tried one last time to make me feel bad
You are my past.
Bio: Megh is a poet based out of the Greater Philadelphia area. A self-proclaimed “slow burn enthusiast”, her work can be found on Instagram at @meghpatricepoetry.
Megh Patrice