Poetry Posts

For Waiting

by Mia Sara If you’re waiting for deliverance, better call UPS. If you’re waiting for UPS, look out for the green truck. If you’re bored of looking, try leaping off the edge. If you’re tired of the falling, better find a safety net. If you’re waiting for a safety net,…

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Absinthe Tasted in Hums of Water

by Lana Bella The drinking girl is not dreaming because a dreamer drinks not from thirst but for the tongue craves. With the snug sphericity of a pearl, she meets the long, furious work of humming spree, boothed in stilt bar hugging stein-glassed hands, ropy on the final slogs. Tinny haze synapses into familiar water, waist…

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Maxwell House Kills the Wicked Witch of the West

by Aline Pusecker Taylor Leaves swirl over ribboned bark grayed and grooved. Glint of flint! Blaze ablaze! The witch needs a fix a mix of hazelnut and cream a dream, caffeine Brew to shrew. Ding-dong, the witch is dead

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Take Me to the River and Wash Me Down

by Lana Bella After Al Green’s “Take Me to the River” All the while the river rushed, so has everything else. Shivering through a late winter leave, I felt the paranoiac quiet traced down the folds of my bones wading beyond the water, gin memory pulled up by Xanax and opiates,…

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Neurotic

by Aline Pusecker Taylor At night when I’m alone I ponder aneurisms blood clots and flesh eating bacteria how I like my legs and want to keep them attached to the rest of my body. Aspirin and Neosporin arm the coffee table weapons in an invisible war fought mostly in…

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Ode to the Millennial

by Shana Chartier Entitled. Self Absorbed. Just so out of touch. We’ve been given participation trophies too much We text during interviews, we laze about daily Clearly our parents were too soft on their baby. We were told with confidence education is enough No one mentioned two years’ experience to…

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Flying Northeast at Dusk

by Rodger Martin In the pressure of the fuselage, at this height I’ve become Jeopardy host pushing scripts for an audience no one sees. Science for one thousand.  My portal turns microscope, its double panes a slide and the Earth out there, holy in its ghost of curve, demands comprehension….

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Treasures

by Anne Eston I hold my head the way I held that robin’s egg when I was six. Unsafe in the nest Grandpa stole (he said it fell out of a tree), the egg sat. I took it, was careful… I couldn’t take care of it. Didn’t think it would…

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Frost

by Bethany Veith You haunt the notches- breeze through the birches, soar through the pines, shake through quaking aspen, and echo through the intervals. Your spirit rises from the evaporator, sap swirling, thick with sweet fog sugar water dripping down the rough pine walls and onto my pages, comforting me…

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Holding the Baby

by Bethany Veith Exhausted, she arranged her hands upon the pink flannel blanket wrapped around her silent bundle dressed in grandmother’s ancient white lace Christening dress. Her misty wide eyes flashed and contemplated the absolute miracle and beauty of life and the cruelness of nature. Cradling her angelic daughter one…

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