Edge Of Humanity Magazine
Poetry Anthology
May 2026 · A

Edge of Humanity Magazine

1 month ago

Poetry By Drew Martin

And the February Rain

The depth of your perception

And the February rain

Both will lead to chaos

Fractured by the pain

A cold wind’s a blowin’

But the frost don’t come to freeze

Thinkin’ of a snow globe

Shattered glass with ease.

Poetry By Isaac Sweeney

Four Disorders

1-Personality

Put me on the spot, I’ll

rock like Woodstock Hendrix,

stars all spangling, releasing

pain and pleasure in a performance.

You can see it in my face as

I adorn these riffs with all

expressions of myself.

Put me in a crowd, I

fold into the corners,

quiet as a cloud drifting by,

looking down on the ground’s

good times from the sky, wondering if

I should be writing and why I’m

even here in the first place.

Put me in the well-

lit corner of a dark room with

my mind and mettle, maybe

WiFi and keys.

Scratch that. Don’t

need tech, just

pad and pen please, like the

good old days when all

I had was imagination and play.

Put me among sheep, I

eventually become the black one.

Even among the black sheep, my

dark wool swelters and melts in the sun.

2-Emotional

Sadness festers like a sore

and then runs,

until Anger comes, stinking

like rotten meat. Pain

sags – such a heavy load.

Either it all dries, like

sweltering raisins outside,

or it all explodes.

3-Mental

You take whatever progress I get and

roll it between your palms like you’re

molding a meatball.

Swelter it in simmering oil until it’s

crisp and black.

But peel back the layers and

it’s all pink-red wet within – a cold,

mushy mess of

saint and of sin.

4-Physical

I was at the stove, jarred

Italian steam humidifying the range-back.

Your arms enveloped me from behind,

your face pressed dead

center between my

shoulders, at my neck base, the

force of the lean-in

pushing my waist into the range,

sliding and splattering scorching

spaghetti sauce on my hand.

It would be hours before cool compresses

would ease the sweltering burn there.

I didn’t wipe the sauce away, or

move much at all, really. The

only heat I was feeling at the

time was how your lean-in rippled chemical

waves within my very bones – the kind of

heat that causes chills.

Poetry By Andreea

Illusions of change (environmental poem)

Yesterday I wanted to save the planet,

Today I think it’s us humans who need saving.

Trapped in the illusion of our grandeur and our values,

It’s easy to forget that Earth has been long-standing.

Humanity evolved in time through learning,

And inspiration came from all the shapes and sounds around us.

Our earthly teachers taught us how to live and how to build,

But we were open then, and we could hear their guidance.

Nature has done its thing and thrived, without our intervention.

How could I be so vain and think that I’m its salvation?

Some say we are connected, and that we need each other,

My truth: nature can live without us, but we would die without it.

It makes me sad to see how much it gives us, not asking a lot back,

Except that we respect it, but we’re too self-absorbed for that.

Stuck in the land of old habits, how can we find some meaning?

Maybe by looking at our issues as wounds that need healing?

What if things are not changing because we’re pointing fingers?

Because we focus on the problems, and not on fixing things.

I felt a lack of power when I looked up to our leaders,

Demanding justice for the planet in a childish demeanour.

Though I might feel small, I’m also clever and I’m strong,

I think the giants have grown tall because we fed them,

Consuming with our pain and void, and not with our soul.

I’m hanging on to the belief that in my hands I hold the power,

To make them shrink the moment I’m awake or when I’m whole.

Bucky’s wise words invite us all to hope and dream.

He said: create new, better ways, then watch the old ways fall.

So, how will I choose to live my life while I am here?

Will I stay small and scream, and hope someone will hear?

Or will I choose to dream and find in me the power,

To heal myself, and maybe help another feel empowered?

I choose the latter, and won’t rest until I find a way,

To play my part, even if small; to build another step.

We’re all in this together, trying our best to stay alive,

But I dream of a world where we’re all whole; and maybe even thrive.

(Inspired by R. Buckminster Fuller quote: “You never change things by fighting the existing reality.

To change something, build a new model that makes the existing model obsolete.”)

Poetry By Stavros Makridis

Silent poem

Some day, I will write a poem that will talk about silence.

Poetry By Alexander Lothian Wilson

You Miss Her Too

In our garden
under a cool
October sun,
I watch as
you crumble,
fall slowly
in your grief.
Crushing plants,
Dislodging petals

I slide my hands
beneath you,
Between the cool
leaves and
your warmth
I gently lift you.
Cry into
your limp body,
Weep soft tears.

I carry you
to your bed,
Cover your grief
with her gown
A shroud of scent
to remind you
of her.
You miss her too,
You faithful friend.

Poetry By Ivan Pozzoni

COMMONPLACES

It is true, fate changes,
sooner or later love will arrive, friendship is a fine thing,
and, dulcis in fundo, one swallow does not make Spring.

Tell it to those who died without ever loving,
without caresses;
ask those who,
having gone out, cannot get back in,
those who live in the street without knocking.

Shout it to the seven winds, in the illusion of cradling
those abandoned to the betrayal of friends and acquaintances;
whisper it to the swallows shot down in flight, no sound,
by the dark shot, without reason, of a hunter.

I will not let them bring down our houses,
steal our cars,
let them give us work.

Thieves of the future,
what use were
our cries of pain?

Poetry By Yongbo Ma

Self-Portrait of a Female Artist in Green

Moss-green vortices overlap each other,
contracting toward the whiteness at the center.
In the sky of flamingos—
(the birds alone attest to the beauty of detail)
hands folded in the camaraderie of knees.
Beneath which lies snow in a descending key
(why comment on knees first,
as if someone had forgotten to dress?)
half a shoulder, a flickering incandescent bulb—
(no, no, camaraderie is also a fluster)
Trust the self you do not understand,
and the dizziness of removing your glasses.
(who are you, to dare answer everything?)
Your waist hidden in an overly loose summer,
a shimmering miniature garden.
(then what of the face, the neck, and—)
ah, those red-and-white patterns of an Indian female warrior,
or is it a mask? how would I know?
and your stubbornness of a flat chest—
I mean, you ought to keep a
green parrot, and name it Henry.

Poetry By Julie Brinson

Peter’s Voyage
For Captain Peter Frank

it all began in the leaves, crushed
under the weight and violence of heavy metal
a living testament to salvation, grace, and mercy
a Divinely blessed destiny leading him to water
this faithful mariner, this grateful disciple
navigating a mission of worship and appreciation

offering his survival story of quest and conquer
to encourage and inspire all who find him
and giving hope to all who seek his faith
and strength for adventurous exploration

daunting quests following farsighted horizons
infinitely dividing sky and sea
on a treacherous journey of self discovery
this true Captain, courageously traversing sacred waters

inspiring so very many who only dream of braving
this wild territory of spiritual communion with the natural Creation

Poetry By Wilma Fellman

Trust Again

A lifeless rose once tall and firm

Was threatened by a storm

It waited for another term

Still hoping to get warm

And warmth did come one day in May

It covered all the land

A gentle touch, a loving touch

It took the rose in hand

It taught the rose to trust again