by Carol Casey The August sun has almost spun the straw to gold in the large stack behind the barn. We take turns sliding down its side, whooping in the earthy smell, the scratchy stalks tickling. Not sure why I go down backward, push off so hard. I land with a thump on almost…
by Amy Covel I’m not here To be a hero Just a world-shaker Here to erupt As a volcano A ticking time bomb Whose time is up Remembered only For that one sudden Explosion.
by Carl Auerbach I would like to write a poem, Fidel, that would serve your revolution, but I find myself unable. All that I can do, Fidel, is to write a poem about how I try to write a poem that would serve your revolution. In the first verse I…