by Gabriella Garofalo Grieve not, sister, for the invisible, The hard-toiling wind, the grass hikers trample, Death’s ashen brother, the sleep, Don’t fall prey of tangled thoughts, You know she has an attitude And gives it the large, you know her – Trust me, soon the mist will rise From…
by Don Mager While cold’s persistence officiates, afternoon’s amnesia sweeps away the dinge of clouds. Sundown plays suites of madrigals on pianissimo recorders. Counterpoints weave off-beats at low registers. Modulations melt. Descant sherbets—treble creams—drops of lemon tenors—contra basses in their azure barkings—and dancing at the upper edges, small piquant sopranino…
by Renata De la Cruz Monteón Night starts; leaves, branches dancing with the wild wind while crickets sing love songs.
by Mary E. Kendig Mothers aren’t perfect — not by far. Some can be stern and uncaring — even “unpresent,” while some are so loving they smother you until you can’t breathe, Or praise you until you start to believe you’re completely and utterly perfect in every way, like she…
by Michael H. Brownstein 1. The door in the wall led to an inner sanctum and the path through the garden to a paved road narrow and bent, through and over. We took it, step by step, against ancient brownstone, gray brick and rock, until the house we never lived…
by Joseph V. Kleponis I Two monarch butterflies, Four orange, red and black wings, Violate tiny wild violets. II Two towheaded boys, Toy pistols in hand, Charge down the hillside. III Two milkweed seeds, Crazy lost snowflakes, Bend tips of blades of grass. IV Two…
by Michael H. Brownstein Everything you wear, you wear to its grave, your gray stockings a small hole near the big toe, its color an undistinguished gray your shirt with a stain your pants frayed at the bottom, a rip in one pocket, change falling freely creating melodies you are…
by Joseph V. Kleponis The downtown stretch Of the Southeast Expressway Is underground now; The North End and Downtown, Financial District and Waterfront, Are connected, yet separated, By the expanse Of the Rose Kennedy Walkway. Of course, the older neighborhoods – South Boston and Roxbury, Dorchester and its other half…
by Michael Brownstein –after the Shamanistic Theory of Three Souls and the reading of the bones when a ram is sacrificed When sleep is not a promise, and the witness tree fills itself with ants, the break in the collarbone is never enough or it may be as plentiful as…
by Joseph V. Kleponis Merrimac, oh Merrimack, “Swiftwater place”, You are gentle and pure As you tumble over rocks Rising at the Pemigewasset And the Winnespasaukee. Wending over hills and cascading Through forest falls and streams, A place of abundant fish, You fed the ancient Abenaki and Pennacook Before rushing…