The GGPCollective
Title:Teammate
Artist: Michael Moreth
Biography:
Michael Moreth is a recovering Chicagoan living in the rural, micropolitan City of Sterling, the Paris of Northwest Illinois.
Ⓒ Glass Gates Publishing, 2025
“To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
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).
● Claudia Wysocky
● Ayaan Fahad
● Christen Foster
● Chelsey Jordan
● Donna McCabe
● Hiram Larew
● N. C.
● Dave Kurley
● Gracie Jones
● AmandaThuy
● Jessica Zarrillo
● Adam Brooks
● Kaitlyn Sun
Table of Contents
● Unfinished Exit
● Hymn to the Dove.
● Ballet Brûlant
● Caged: How did they end up Here?
● Return
● Corrupt…
● TagAlongs
● Unravelling the Past
● Cold
● Her Canvas
● Relate
● Heavenly Bodies
● ELECTION DAY
● Self-Poisoning
Unfinished Exit
I keep thinking about the time in high school when you drew me
a map of the city, I still have it somewhere. It was so easy to get lost in a place where all the trees look the same. And now every time I see a missing person's poster stapled to a pole, all I can think is that could have been me Missing, disappeared.
But there are no posters for people who just never came back from vacation, from college, from life.
You haven't killed yourself because you'd have to commit to a single exit.
What you wouldn't give to be your cousin Catherine, who you watched twice in one weekend get strangled nude in a bathtub onstage by the actor who once filled your mouth with quarters at your mother's funeral. The curtains closed and opened again. We applauded until our hands were sore.
But you couldn't shake the image of her lifeless body, the way she hung there like a marionette with cut strings. And now every time you try to write a poem, it feels like a eulogy.
So even though you haven't found the perfect ending yet, you keep writing.
For Catherine, for yourself, for all the lost souls who never got their own missing persons poster.
Because as long as there are words on a page, there is still hope for an unfinished exit to find its proper ending.
Claudia Wysocky
Bio: Claudia Wysocky, a Polish writer and poet based in New York, is known for her diverse literary creations, including fiction and poetry. Her poems, such as "Stargazing Love" and "Heaven and Hell," reflect her ability to capture the beauty of life through rich descriptions. Besides poetry, she authored "All Up in Smoke," published by "Anxiety Press." With over five years of writing experience, Claudia's work has been featured in local newspapers, magazines, and even literary journals like WordCityLit and Lothlorien Poetry Journal. Her writing is powered by her belief in art's potential to inspire positive change. Claudia also shares her personal journey and love for writing on her own blog, and she expresses her literary talent as an immigrant raised in post-communism Poland.
Hymn to the Dove.
Burn your insights, Dim the city’s lights Where puddles reflect my frights. Where the crowd dismisses the stagnant water. Apitch consumes me.
Flee to frosty woods to die on an unimportant hill. And sing to love Sing to the squirrel in the tree, Write to the dove
Ask how she broke free.
Live not to be buried on a mountain, But a hill uninhibited. Free spirited.
You may have lost all But the woods. Butterflies enthrall, The bird broods.
Man broods too, Menacingly; corrupting words, Maliciously; corrupting worlds. So I sit in the forest free, Needing no man’s plagued honesty.
Listen to the strum of a guitar, The hum of a shooting star. Intoxicate on nature’s blissful qualia, Slip into rasasvadic reveries, Intertwined with the trees, One with the azure sky
Sway to the creek’s lullaby.
Apricity’s descend from heaven, Flow along the December breeze, Let the soil meet your knees By this elysian’s amaranthine awe. Till the frost melts on your skin, Forgetting to bite, As you dissolve in sunlight, One with the earth.
Ayaan Fahad
Ballet Brûlant
Toska.
Icicles enclose my burning heart, Melting as the blaze runs cold. It yearns for coalsTo reignite the flames Or fade into embers.
Carpe noctem, The hour forsaken. Fulfill or exsanguinate your desires. Water-wood to my heart's flaming fires. Extinguish it
For all Love is Futile, Lost. Nothing worthwhile, An eternally haunting hiraeth. Miracle; My uneven, fleeting breath.
Inferno.
Ashes ascend to heavens, Raining upon barren ground, Begging solace and attention Of an indifferent bloodhound. Nosferatu drowning in impure blood. White peignoirs disgracefully drenched in lust.
In Somnia Veritas.
Veritas awakening volitions. Your dreamy eidolon's, Visit my reality, Your shadows in every corner, They question my sanity, My ability to love, Stab my heartAhemorrhage of longing.
Scarlet Serenade.
In this rose-meadow, collect your scars, Through thorns, to the stars.
Burn and BloomAwaltz in this burning field. Among flames lies our fate concealed, Sealed.
Still, Sway to its mournful melody, Aware of tragic ends
To this dreadful delight. To the vivacious virulence Of this ephemeral night.
Amor.
Burn, Rise, FallLet flames rewrite it all.
Hearts and Roses, ThroughThorns to your destined star.
Toska: Longing
Carpe Noctem: Seize the night
Inferno: Hell
In Somnia Veritas: In dreams lies truth
Amor: Love
Bio: Ayaan Fahad is a poet from Lahore, Pakistan. He aims to write poetry that emotionally resonates with people and captures things left unsaid, incorporating raw emotion within his works.
Ayaan Fahad
Caged: How did they end up Here?
Captive beyond their will, Steel bars cast shadows like piano keys across concrete floors that never dreamed of footsteps quite like these— shuffling, resigned, institutional. How did they end up here?
Aquestion that echoes in every cell, rebounds off metal bunks and painted blocks. Some stories start with desperation, others with a single miscalculation, a moment's rage, a friend's betrayal, or the slow erosion of better choices until only wrong ones remained. The guard's keys jangle—a familiar song now, like the morning count, the evening lockdown, the metallic clang of doors that marks time's passing more surely than any clock. each bearing the weight of paths that led them, step by step, to this place of concrete and steel, where freedom lives in memory.
What did they both live through?
Alack of freedom, sunlight, clean air is how they treat them Poor quality of food is what they feed them. Less than a life that matters is how their oppressors treat them This is what they both lived through.
Christen Foster
Return
Stringing wings with words, a butterfly cursed. Arip here, a tear there.
Acreature left on its back, kicking its legs toward the heavens.
“Let me die here,” I said. Another fatal blow to my heart again. Agentle wind, the only answer to my prayers.
So I dug deep and let the sand bury me. Sometimes, death is what's needed for us to one day fly free.
Born again, crawling as a caterpillar, I’ll spin myself a chrysalis home. I'll emerge in warm weather, covered in orange and black hues.
All you'll ever see are my flawless velvet wings, never the metamorphosis that life often brings.
Just a monarch, soaring on a delicate string.
Bio: Chelsey Jordan is a contemporary poet and artist from Michigan, known for her distinctive writing style and playful watercolor doodles. She blends creativity and emotion, often exploring themes of self-expression. Chelsey’s work can be found on Instagram under the handle “cjwordsandotherfeelings.”
Chelsey Jordan
Corrupt...
Tree of life corrupted
Money, power and greed
The fruits now bared
Roots of all evil.
Bio: Donna McCabe is an established poet from South Wales, UK, with over twenty years experience. Her work has gained her multiple accolades within her field of literature. From being published in journals, magazines and anthologies both nationally and internationally, she is also a respected admin on many social media pages as well as having her own Instagram page and poetry page.
Instagram- @donnamccabe_
Facebook- Poemsbydonnamccabe
Donna McCabe
TagAlongs
I’m jealous
More and more
Of what others do
That’s all off track
And also how I’ve wanted to But never done
And wondered how and where Or Why not now
How everyone Who chases Here it comes Seems better
I’ve halfway tried to be
Like anyone who doesn’t care But who wins and acts like spring has come Or hums as much as any dream or curl --
I’ve wished for that and them
I’ve wished but even more I’ve loved whoever’s seemed In spite of --
I’ve loved their eyes
(And still do)
With all those wily Want to tag alongs They’ve ever offered
Bio: Larew's (Maryland) most recent collection, This Much Very, was published in 2025 by Alien Buddha Press. As founder of Poetry X Hunger, he's bringing the world of poets to the anti-hunger cause. www.HiramLarewPoetry.com and www.PoetryXHunger.com
Hiram Larew
Unravelling the Past
It wasn’t a snap, not the clean break of a branch underfoot, not the shatter of glass that leaves a map of edges to retrace. No, it was quieter than that— a loose thread unravelling from a tapestry I didn’t know was fragile.
Each moment blends into the next, a blur of seasons, fingers brushing over fading colours in search of the tear. Was it the summer when the sun burned too long, or the winter when silence settled heavier than snow?
I sift through the echoes— a word spoken too sharply, a hand left unheld, an apology that never left my lips. But the edges blur, each memory fraying like paper left in the rain.
I want to name the thief, the exact hour it came— slipping through the keyhole, pulling at seams I thought were stitched tight. But it hides in the folds of time, slippery as shadows at dusk.
What if it wasn’t a moment? What if it was the weight of too many small things, stones dropped one by one into a jar I never thought to empty?
I stand at the loom, holding the broken thread, and wonder if knowing the start would make it any easier to weave it back again.
Bio: Check out Instagram @poems2_inspire_u
N.C.
Cold
That time of year When again she considers Trading in the kingsize For a single
Every frosty night Even though the cats Clamber beside and Lean in the dark
There’s a moment Just before the birds Clear their throats, ready For the dawn onslaught
She rolls over, out Of her warm, into The cold hollow of His absent form
And she wakes, waiting For the birds to sing Again she thinks About trading in
The kingsize For a single But she won’t
Dave Kurley
Bio: Dave lives in central Portugal with the lovely Ali and two cats. His first book of poems and photographs, ‘Irritating the Silver Lining’ is available to order from bookshops, physical and online. Currently, he’s writing a poem day on Bluesky, and you can find him there at https://bsky.app/profile/badvibrations62.bsky.social. You might also bump into him on Facebook, Instagram and Threads as @kurleybobspoetrycorner. Wherever you find him, say hello when you get there.
HerCanvas
Facedwithalifelesscanvas, anunknownsmile inviteshertothrowherpaint, makehermark.
Shetracescurves,pressesharder engravingheroutlineintothesheet scribblingeverydetailintoplace.
Hersketchfillstheemptybeing withherbrightpinks,greens,yellows glisteningoutofthewhite. Herpersonalitygivesitachance toshine.
Sheaddsherdarkercolours, tellingherworsttales. Thepagesmudgesitbackather, paintrunsdownthepage andcoverstheapron.
Herhanddabsatthedrips triestosaveit butitsmearsevenmore.
Bio: Gracie Jones is a writer, poet, and playwright who is studying creative writing at the University of Gloucestershire. She has had two poems, RECIPE FOR APPROVAL and THE WEB OF YOUR LOVE, previously published in the university's 2024 UNBREAKABLE anthology. Gracie has also completed work experience at Treehouse Digital LTD, where she was able to work with professional filmmakers, allowing her to discover a love for storytelling. Her play, ONE DAY YOU’LL UNDERSTAND was performed at a showcase at the Everyman Theatre in 2024.
Gracie Jones
Relate
mortals have made complex life’s perplexities, creating imbalances that vex these earthen seas. in faith and greed, we wage battles that never cease, rather than exist in the great expanse of peace,
bounties of life and nature flourish for each to spend, competing with feuds and fretting we make that never end, stupefied and misguided we fumble days each through, uncertain of fate all, while beneath hopeful skies of blue.
decorum and sanity dangle to behold upon the fray, shall we bravely reach and grasp newer kinder days? or shall we allow vice and evil to dictate, walking blindly as divisions guide our fate? must we fight when love stands ready to disperse the hate; shan’t we make amends and to one another relate?
Amanda Thuy
Bio: Writing has remained a constant in Amanda Thuy’s life since childhood. When other children loved toys, she loved paper. Her writing explores the dark and light shades of life, personal experiences as well as fantasy. She is currently working on her first manuscript. Some of her writing can be found at @mezzo.strada
Heavenly Bodies
I am a meltdown of stellar proportion; wishy-washy web of “I wanna”s and chaos; slowmotion black hole imploding on the reg. still, your love is so luminous, you piss off supernovae. each evening, you promise me the stars and never cease to show me galaxies.
Bio: Jessica Zarrillo is an artist, philosopher, and writer living in New York. By day, she works in marketing; by night, she plays video games and laments. Find her on social media @SourNothings or visit her website at jesszarr.com.
Jessica Zarrillo
ELECTION DAY
Our fists are invisible.
Until we clench them.
Words are like weapons.
As a consequence.
We choose them carefully.
Words like Power.
Aggression. Obedience.
Worship. Pain. Pleasure.
The Mouth and the Hand. Will not be enough.
No one is listening. But they can watch.
Welcome to Servitude.
Adam Brooks
Self-Poisoning
Irritation blossoms—a rash against milky skin rises like hot air, then settles into the bloodstream.
She poisons herself with silent resentment; unspoken words roll inside her skull, clatter against the enamelled gates and twist the marble tongue.
Steeped in silence growing bitter and black, she drinks the burnt umber and swallows her feelings.
Vitriol is the intoxicating elixir that captivates her, the captive in an alluring trance.The grotesque dance stars puppeteer and marionette. Aconvulsion of stilted limbs
reveals words trapped between teeth, strung into nothing but a sweet smile.
Bio: Kaitlyn Sun is a part-time poet and full-time magical girl. She fights mental demons with words. Her work appears or is forthcoming in Sad Girl Diaries, The Cackling Kettle, Bitter Melon Review, and Querencia Press, among others. Find her at @sad.magical.girl on Instagram.
Kaitlyn Sun