Oatleaf

 ... Long live the untouched village. Long live the odds every villager adores. Only rivers where they row to home, and their language is unique. The heart, in the middle of nowhere, when it beats, dances the tribes. This land has spirit and souls. The land where people fear to enter, the sound of the drums allure. They say there are crocodiles on the way and zero millionaire. If you got your car dead, nothing can repair. If you disappear, nobody will care. Would you still dare? Rich with beauty green, but dangers it spares. Upright is sky blue until downdraft it stares. Like the Blair Witch moves the silent wind, and the forest echoes Bird Box by Bier. Once caught eyes, you finally reside. Twice the steps, your feet ground ties. No crawfish out, you are possessed. Tone deaf blindfolded, lost in the middle of nowhere. ... Marsal Soren is a writer based in Bokaro Steel City, a major city in Jharkhand, India. He started writing poetry to share his thoughts on various subjects, rangin...

 ... when i was younger, ( arguably more so than i am now ) i hopped, bank  to slippery bank to wade up to my knees in river water and steal crab apples from  the tree of my grandmother’s neighbor. and before that, i plucked ripe satsumas from the  green-stemmed tower in my aunt’s yard. everyday, i grow younger than i am now  and i often indulge in picking fruit: gooseberries pierce  and split the very tip of my tongue on the daily. this  is why i say i grow younger;  though my red lips are  puckered by sour fruit, my fingers do not cease  to pluck. i consider myself lucky, for not many grasp  the footing to plant themselves on wet riverbanks  or the gall to compromise the safety of their tender tongues in  search for sweet berries. ... Sia Moon is a young New Orleans-based writer and poet of Black and Buryat descent. Her work has been featured in the Riverbend Review, the Eunoia Review, and Chewers. Her poetry has won a S...

... In the silence of twilight, your laughter lingers a tender echo that fills the spaces between the stars. Though your touch is now a memory, it is a warm embrace I carry. Your love, a guiding light, leads me through the shadows of longing. In every sunset, I feel your presence, an enduring strength that lifts me. As I look up to the heavens, I find solace in knowing that you are at peace, watching over me, a beacon of resilience and boundless love. ... @wenohwhen | Instagram & Threads

 February has come to an end and we'd like to say thank you to our wonderful contributors! We are so, so glad that you chose Oatleaf to showcase your work. ... We are grateful to: Manlio Valenza | Museum Jessica Cortez | Crows Gregg Shapiro | Questions About Economic Collapse Oliver Kleyer | My Daughters Are Playing in the Shade of a Tree ... We appreciate the work you put out into the world!

 ... I don’t like poems beginning with I. Every poem should begin, and end, with you, no matter what happens in between. In the middle, there should be a tree, so the poem is firmly rooted and the lines have enough fresh air to breathe. The daughters I never had play in its shade, climbing the branches and skipping rope. The poet is standing by the window, watching them, smiling, with a cup of tea in his hand. And someone is sitting beside him, reading this poem. It’s you! ... Oliver Kleyer is a teacher & poet from Northern Germany. He teaches German as a Second Language in a refugee camp. He writes in German & English. His poems have appeared in Duck Duck Mongoose, Five Fleas, Disturb the Universe & elsewhere. His poem "A rambling meditation", published in Raw Lit, was nominated for Best of the Net. When not teaching or writing, he's trying to make his mandolin sing. @funnyfrogget.bsky.social | Bluesky

 ... Why are the banks on fire? What happens when the coins melt, denominations dissolving into pools of molten metals? Who will tell the tellers? Who let the greedy in? Who left the needy out? Are you lonesome? Did you bury your dead or leave them soundlessly sleeping where you found them? Do you know how to patch holes in threadbare fabrics? What about the shredded fabric of a society? Can you sew a button on a shirt, on a hungry mouth? What if it rains? For days on end? Do you have enough fuel? Who is in charge? Do the seasons know? Are you my mother? What time is it? If you eat a battery, how long will it take? How many questions are too many? How do you calculate, measure the losses? Was it worth it? ... Gregg Shapiro is a poet and entertainment journalist based in South Florida where he lives with his husband Rick and their dog Coco. @greggsha.bsky.social | Bluesky @greggsha | Instagram & Threads

... Nature never favored a straight line  as the crow flies          in dips                               and jags  trees bend in waves  pictures of wind, of sun, of time itself  I have stood straight against the wind  something small  and rigid             lines and angles       favoring the break ... Jessica Cortez is a poet-librarian residing in rural Minnesota. Her long, rambling nature walks often provide writing inspiration as she listens to the wind and watches the seasons change with familiar unpredictability. Her work has appeared in The Covid Logs, Maya’s Minis, and The Closed Eye Open. She lives with the exact right number of children, more than enough animals, and too many mature cottonwood trees to count.