The GGP Collective: January 2023

The GGPCollective

Cover Art: Khosrow Mokori

“The capacity for hope is the most significant fact of life. It provides human beings with a sense of destination and the energy to get started.”

-Norman Cousins

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!

Follow @glassgatespublishing on Instagram for more announcements and future calls for submissions.

● linda m. crate

● Lydia Elste

● Brittany Moore

● Cathy Blue

● OyekanmiAdedolapo

● Donna McCabe

● John Dennis David Keane

● Tshering Namgyal

● AmandaThuy

● Dee Lister

● Leah Horlings

● Beverly M. Collins

● A. M. Fritts

● Kaylin Weir

Table of Contents

● for the coming year

● Offerings ofYou

● Journey

● BEAUTYOF BROKEN

● Mixed Signals

● ANewTomorrow

● Chelidonium

● Hurting, Healing

● the tempest breaks

● Salutation to Sunrise

● The Bridge

● Spoils

● Hope x Hatred

● No Man’s Land

for the coming year

nothing blooms year round, and so next year i hope that along with grace i give myself some credit; may not be where i need or want to be but i am thankful to be better than i once was— hoping for blue skies, more memories spent with friends, less worry and anxiety especially over things i cannot control, more dreams, making some dreams in reality so i can dream bigger dreams; learning from mistakes and growing myself into the best person that i can be— these are the hopes i have for the coming year.

linda m. crate

Offerings ofYou

I saw a picture of a little girl the other day. And I wished that I could Copy & Paste her smile.

Because even with her crooked teeth And birthday crown that had slipped Half way down she was happy. And she was beautiful.

And If I could just meet her in peaceful sleep and give her the advice that wouldn’t allow that smile to become a weep, I would offer her this:

Fall in love with your eyes closed. And make sure to keep them closed. Until you feel the ground beneath you.

Because falling in love is beautiful, terrifying, and confusing and in the midst of it, the colors will be brighter than you could have ever imagined them, and you will feel more alive, more able to seek out the small details and pause to feel the wind over your skin.

But when the fall starts to come to an end, and the colors feel dull, and you no longer pause because all you want is for this moment to end, the one that leaves you feeling as though your breath was stolen and the climb back up requires too much energy, Keep your eyes closed.

So that when that terrifying moment hits, and the fall ends, and shades of black surround you, because the love has been lost, You can then, open your eyes. So you can see that the world is still full of colors and even though you can’t climb back up there is so much ground to explore. And who knows maybe even end up finding yourself ready to fall again.

So close your eyes, until the only thing left to do, is open them. ————————————

Be sure to say hello to the strangers you see.

The one in the nail salon who looks to be without sleep from the baby by her knees and needs to be reminded of her beauty.

The one in the coffee shop line, as you are waiting for your morning tea who can’t contain her excitement about the surprise visit for her daughter’s birthday.

The boy at the gas station trying his best to support himself through college and create the life he dreams of.

these strangers teach you how to appreciate, Each & Everyday.

Be present with the people you hold closest.

Because in your moments of grief & despair,

You will never forget the ones who made you get out of bed and wash your hair.

Call your mom and ask her how her day is,

Then sit in silence and open your ears to her vent.

Send your dad a picture of your morning coffee mug, signed with a witty remark because it’ll make you both smile, even on opposite sides of the phone.

FaceTime your sisters, to notice the days when their faces look glum and remind them of how proud you are, of how far they have come.

Send old pictures to the people who you used to see every day, and cherish the fleeting moments when you see them again each may.

Make time to sit on the couch and banter with your roommates when one of you had a miserable day.

Most of all,

Don’t forget to say I love you. Because this love is what kept you together, Kept you as one.

Life is similar to that smile, a little crooked and at any given moment can put you on the side of your head. And like that smile It’s beautiful And Happy.

And p.s., be sure to always make your bed.

For these are my offerings

My offerings to, My offerings of, You.

Lydia Elste

Journey

She steps out into the world from her warm outgrown home Black boots hit frozen barren ground while new life gestates below

There is no sound but the rhythmic beating of a once jaded heart

Snowflakes whirling around her create a white haze, she treks on in her shaken snow globe maze

As she strolls, she is not cold

Hope burns within her, guiding her like a lighthouse finally seen during a most treacherous storm

It beckons to her playfully, leading her safely across the threshold

To the place where she was meant for all along, a haven where she finally feels like she belongs

Brittany Moore

Art: Khosrow Mokori

BEAUTYOF BROKEN

Watch it all fall apart, Broken pieces Of life, Wait for time to bleed it out, It will cut throughYour soul otherwise. Be patient, trust the time, Believe in your amazing self, Watch it all fall, Fall back together

Into a masterpiece of new life.

Cathy Blue

Mixed Signals

Hope is a sweet sweet poison That flows through my veins And it keeps me alive through all my pains. It’s a deadly elixir that I can't resist So I drink it in with each new day, Waiting for a change in some small way.

Hope, the poison that keeps me from coming undone; It's a burden and a blessing wrapped in one. It is a treacherous drug, a double-edged sword That gives me strength but leaves me gored For you can shatter and leave me in despair But without you, I'd have nothing else to compare.

In moments of despair, it tightens its grip So I see a glimmer of light that is oh-so crisp! And like a moth to a flame, I am drawn. But alas, it's an elaborate illusion Yet still, I drink this poison called hope For without you, I cannot cope.

Hope is the only poison that fuels my flame; In my insides, it plays a twisted game, So here I stand, a victim of my desire Choking on the poison that feeds this fire, For hope, it seems, is both my bane and blissThe only poison that somehow keeps me from the abyss.

Oyekanmi Adedolapo (SmalleeWrites) is a young Nigerian writer.

The pen is her sword and the paper is the battlefield where she fights to capture the essence of the world around her, by exploring themes like love, sports, sex, personal identity, and life in general.

Follow on Instagram: @smalleewrites.

Oyekanmi Adedolapo

Photo: Beverly M. Collins

ANew Tomorrow

Picking up the pieces of a broken yesterday

Putting them back together

But in a new and re-arranged way

Looking from a new perspective

Taking a new angle on what went wrong

Knowing it wasn't all your fault

You weren't the one in the wrong

Feeling the weight lift a little

Some of that grey cloud lift away

Knowing that the sun will one day shine fully

When the wind finally blows them away.

Donna McCabe

Chelidonium

The vernal sun

Kissed the hiemal horizon

Turning frost

Into drops of dew

I hear Phoebe’s song

On a juvenescent breeze

Arousing the primrose from slumber

And hope from my heart

John Dennis David Keane

John Dennis David Keane is a writer residing in Westchester County, N.Y. He was one of the inaugural recipients of the Mark Pleasant commission from Working Theater in N.Y.C. and has written several one act plays, each one having a one night only performance Off Broadway. Follow on Instagram: JKay____

Art: Khosrow Mokori

Hurting, Healing

And just like that, we all heal. From our deepest scars, and severest loss.

Through festered wounds, that would race your heart.

Regret, that crushes a man, will, in time, be overcome. We heal inevitably, just like we'll always hurt.

Tshering Namgyal

Art: Khosrow Mokori

the tempest breaks

there's a storm on the edge of the sky, darkened clouds of grief and goodbyes. lightning bolts of fury lashing out, from funnel clouds of sorrow and doubt. still the thunder cry of hope beckons me, weather this storm; life remains to be. by and by in solitude i wait; til the tempest breaks, and so lifted, this weight.

Amanda’s earliest memory of writing is from the age of 8 – a poem about the color black. Since then, writing has remained a constant throughout her life. She majored in English Literature in university and has had her prose/poetry published over the years. Her inspiration for writing is drawn from many sources including love, nature, literature, and the exploration of life’s beauty and complexities. Her poetry offers both personal insight as well as a journey through imagination. Follow on Instagram: @mezzo.strada

Amanda Thuy

Salutation to Sunrise

Stirred into being Joy and wonderment!

Gentle morning light Colours my senses.

Dee Lister

Dee Lister is a photographer and artist based in Bolton, UK. Their work can be found on Instagram and Twitter @deelisterphotos.

The Bridge

Darling, wait for me at the edge of the bridge

Just wait for me at the edge of your relief

I’ll bring you back home, we’ll go to sleep

And when you wake up this will all be a dream

So darling, wait for me at the edge of your sanity

Just wait for these lies to stop distorting reality

I’ll bring you back home, we can pretend to be lost at sea

But darling, know that I’ll be there as waves crash against the beach

I know when you walk, you’re just feeling stressed

When the weight of the world has your conscious hard-pressed

I know when you stare, you’re just feeling tired

But the glaze of your eyes is tangling wires

Inside your head, I know you’re upset

Angry, confused about all left unsaid

I know you’re afraid of what may come next

Of the thoughts in your head and all they possess

On the brink of it all, walking northwest Is not easy, but hasty, your footsteps distressed

And I followed you there to make sure the pain

Wouldn’t last through the night and you’d come home again

Darling, it’s okay to feel so alone. But remember through all, you’ll find your way home. And if you need help, I’ll be there to give it. Just stop in your tracks and let me, too, live it.

And if you decide to walk to the bridge, I’ll meet you there.

If this is your fate, darling we’ll change it Just wait for me at the edge of the bridge, we will make it. The sun will come up, and we’ll make a truce No longer waiting, oh yes, we’ll come through.

Leah Horlings is a lover of poetry and writes as a part of her healing journey. She lives in Kitchener, ON and can be found on Instagram as @leahwroteapoem

Leah Horlings

Spoils

Did you catch the view of our neat little ducks-in-a-row as they scattered Like drops of spilled lotion, missed by Skin, and fell purposeless onto soil… Nothing there to soothe nor soften. Or hear silent wishes sail on stolen breezes, free from being tacked under a nail of continued-expectations. However crooked, rusted or hammered, Some are pushed into an unmovable-hold. Many are unable to melt under kisses or the heat of anything proven temporary. Like the spoils of broken eggs with souls of thick-yellow exposed to a thinblank-openness unshielded, I walked barefooted up a back staircase to dreams that sat waiting.

Beverly M. Collins

Art: Khosrow Mokori

Hope x Hatred

Hope—birthed from hatred.

Birthed from rage-filled loins.

Revolutions begin with crying on bathroom floors, Despair painted on scarred skin.

Hope is no facile victory.

The word itself stained in the blood of those who have brawled for it.

Fought for it

Died for it.

Hope is the fervent hatred of one’s situation.

So much so, that execution is a finer fate than stagnation.

Hope—messy, sharp, forever stained maroon.

A.M. Fritts

A.M. Fritts is a poet hailing from Eastern Tennessee, USA. She writes poems spanning various topics and styles. She can be found on Instagram @amfritts_poetry

Art: Irina Tall (Novikova)

Irina Tall (Novikova) is an artist, graphic artist, illustrator. She graduated from the State Academy of Slavic Cultures with a degree in art, and also has a bachelor's degree in design. The first personal exhibition "My soul is like a wild hawk" (2002) was held in the museum of Maxim Bagdanovich. In her works, she raises themes of ecology, in 2005 she devoted a series of works to the Chernobyl disaster, draws on anti-war topics. The first big series she drew was The Red Book, dedicated to rare and endangered species of animals and birds. Writes fairy tales and poems, illustrates short stories. She draws various fantastic creatures: unicorns, animals with human faces, she especially likes the image of a man - a bird - Siren. In 2020, she took part in Poznań Art Week. Her work has been published in magazines: Gupsophila, Harpy Hybrid Review, Little Literary Living Room and others. In 2022, her short story was included in the collection "The 50 Best Short Stories", and her poem was published in the collection of poetry "The wonders of winter".

No Man’s Land

Catch

me if you can I’m in No Man’s Land Of the year

The week that is known for its limbo

Its loungewear and lazy

An undeniably weird, chaotic undercurrent Stemming from excess sugar, alcohol, And self-judgment

Of surviving the trials that we’ve faced And reflecting on all that we wish we’d Done differently

Calling it a wash andYOLO-ing the Final Days Making resolutions to be a better version of Ourselves in the NewYear

The Big Moment for diet and detox companies Cashing in on our insecurities

Preying on the messages we’re consuming about Our not enough-ness

The -er fallacy:

If only I were thinner, fitter, richer, better Than I am, Then I’ll be happy

But the inverse is true:

Accepting and loving, gratituding The life you’re in You minus -er Breeds joy

TheYear’s Bookends are always the saddest Part of the year for me

Bittersweet, harsh and hopeful

And yet, I’ve always loved movies that induce tears

Because I like to be moved

The intensity of sadness can unlock a full color palette Of feelings, revealing how we relate to the world

And each other

I exist to feel that undeniable power of connection that can Only come from knowing that we are inextricably linked In our fallibility

Here’s a resolution for us:

Let’s be kinder to ourselves

More gentle and compassionate

Mindful of our feelings

And our shortcomings

But stable in our belief that they don’t make us Nor can they break us

We are never alone

We are always enough

Kaylin Weir

Follow Kaylin Weir on Instagram: @kaylinwrites

Europe, country: Croatia

Instagram: toni_writings

“Hope is in the Faith”

Photo:Antonio Kraljić