By Lois Hard Standing on the curb, I watch the procession as the world marches by with their flutes and suits made of crackling armor, drums beating to a tune that I can’t see, muted clowns riding indiscernible cars, floats waving their streamers for all to taste except for me…
By Joanne Eskreis He sleeps…. Ever so quiet, so still Like a river without a breeze Birds resting quietly Among the stillness within the trees. I watch him, I feel his peace I study the features of his face. Gently, softly touching his body Waiting to feel his strong embrace….
By Christopher Keller rays bend glass-caught straw as she bends to her purse; each iris darts a dimly-lit direction. cone-colored thoughts, lingering in rods, occipital interpretations; a blink – sensory memory keeps curves in Polaroid transgression at a refraction of the cost. trapped forever in devouring focus, she stirred something…
By Ryan McLellan If I could warn my students of one thing it is that they will soon be old; the days and years pass faster than they think. Before long they’ll find themselves alone at bus stops with nowhere to go and the young ones will point and laugh….
Because Sleep By A.J. Huffman lingers in corners of eyes, too easily lost in a blink or breath of ceiling fan. I hold mine, force muscles to feign memories of frozen simulation, make a wish, and wait for it or me to fall. ————————————————————————— Dialogue of Potential Poetics I had…
By Jo-Ann Lucas some of us have kids and worry where they are even when they grow up some of us don’t and wish we did and worry about who we are some of us have hot flashes and long for our periods some of us bleed profusely wondering if…
Motherhood is A Bright Torture By Stephanie Bryant Anderson I have stood at the gates in Leningrad for 17 months with all of Russia’s mothers. We have begged from ground built by bones of the dead. Lev, I was not meant to be your mother, though I have loved you…
Scotland By Lindsay Flanagan the frosts are falling around my face and it’s grey outside, as within but still you face the bitter cold standing on the concrete porch because we don’t have wooden here anymore but still you bid me, come in the waters turn clear in my hand…
Winter Pastoral By Mark Nenadov Frost gathers on the roof, which serves as a launching pad for chimney smoke. Rising to the stars, while passing cars waddle to the beat. The midnight air haunts the city street and tourists coddle cold pub fare. ———————————————————————————————————————– Cayo Largo del Sur Your…
By Tina Rego I hear your voice without a pain in my chest my ears are over you I see your face without hurting inside my eyes are over you I smell your cologne without remembering you my nose is over you I remember your touch without dying inside my…