Categoría: poetry
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Carla by Bruce Morton
(If you know anyone at risk of suicide or if you are at risk, contact the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. You can call or text 988. Chat lines are available. There are services available for the deaf and hard of hearing.) Carla, we were there for you then,All decked out in…
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«Composing» by Loralee Clark
A hawk flew into a window:delicate, white eyelids showing,sharp sickle talons frozen.Did she think she was headed into the sun?Like the summer I dove deep into the pond and becameturned around, unsure of the path to the surface, to air. She knew how to tell a story with the slow,…
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«Cranked Metal» by Margaret Kiernan
One timebefore I knewwhere I was goingI played in the stilledcar on blocks.I cranked the metal handleto start the engine.One timeI saw the black rubberon the runner board glide awaylike a silver-edged eel,a dog followedand barked,one dayI will bark and follow backto see where I goone day. Copyright © 2025…
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Trijan Refrain #1: Cut Eve’s Apple and Share It by Selma Martin
We’ll cut Eve’s apple and share itYou’ll stay with me tonight We’ll drink its wine till we commit To add more to our light No lies no gloom to trip us up Only bliss to fill our dry cupsNo lies no gloomNo lies no gloomNot when it is time to…
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I Think I Understand, Yves by Shaun R. Pankoski
What you meant about blue,or more to the point, what you felt – after sitting in front of IKB 3that morning at the Pompidou. I could have sat there for hours,saturated. It’s how I feel about the sea, which is to say –infinite,dimensionless,immersive. The unholy holinessof ultramarine,a meditation. Copyright © 2025 Shaun R. PankoskiAll Rights…
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«NIRVANA AND WASHING RECYCLED FREEZER BAGS,» by Ray Whitaker
Wondering about interconnectivitythat word of seventeen letters therehere on the grounds of contextseated on a vine covered bench Doing the drudgery worka universal blessinglike the old worn afghanresiding on the living room couch. So many quiet peopleconcerned, standing silentlyyet moving forward in dynamic livesstill wash their underwear in suds The…
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«All Blues» by Ken Gierke
As I leave my doctor’s officeand head south out of Columbia,I hear a backbeatjoined by light piano and sax,a surge that could be my heartresponding to the news. The sky can’t decideif it wants to be pale azureor white clouds threaded with grayas I pass December-bare treesand brown-tinged cedarsthat offer…
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Sleep in voids by Bharath Upendra
She had tears in her eyes; I had vomit in my throat. Her pain was tender – red, raw, and human. Mine was silent – gray, rotting, and abstract. She wakes up in nightmares; I sleep in voids. I’m on the floor, lying to myself. She’s on the couch, battling…
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against the length of the light by Debasis Mukhopadhyay
after Miguel Hernández’s la boca — the mouth raindrops hittingthe old tape of Auschwitzslack with sleep just rosy la boca …
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Water and Mist by Strider Marcus Jones
let the world do what it does,and when the desertcomes for uswe will be water-so the seeds of new ideascan replace the wars and fearsof decadent thronesspying on the homesof those they slaughter. bring on the peoples revolution,that returns our stolenland into our handsfrom these swollenfat cats, with their final…
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«sometimes,» by John Yamrus
sometimes, the most unexpected thingabout beauty, isfinding it gone. Copyright © 2025 John YamrusAll Rights Reserved
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«What They Found in the Hoarder’s Bedroom» by Jeanna Ní Ríordáin
Cobwebbed shelves & dusty mirrors,jewelry & gaudy trinkets Piles of clothes, old socks & shoes,garments strewn across the carpet Ticket stubs & dogeared books,pill boxes & perfume bottles Drawers filled with photo albums,love letters beneath the pillow. Copyright © 2025 Jeanna Ní RíordáinAll Rights Reserved
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The Muse by Lucius Falkland
“Out with the Muse . . . ”Joanne Limburg The Muse is clear to him at last:She has the precise levellingOf the Golden Calf, the sunlightPirouetting along each lineOf her form, so that every distractionAround her retreats into darkness. She is a poet; eccentric as amchur;Isolated at school lunch,Scratching away…
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Home by Chyrel J. Jackson
Behind closed doors and punched-inwalls, parents argue, siblingsfight.Our neighbors party and sometimestake flight.The one place that is always perfect.Temperatures are never too hot.Temperatures are never too cold.Old slippers and sneakers kept by thefront door.You’re familiar with every creak, bumpand sound.I look around this old, lived-in spaceand every memory of family…
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«Poem Talking Itself to Sleep» by Dan Cuddy
after midnightnot the best time to writemind dull with fatigueno emotional issuesno vestal virginsor American Presidentsto write aboutand my sense of humorhas been let out like a catit will find its way backtomorrowtonight even the seriousthings become shadowsin a dark roomI feeling my way in the darkthis night of that…
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«Shoes» by R James Sennett Jr
Shoes at one timeweren’t worn.Grass, dirt and rocksscratched, cut and bruisedbutwas expected.Shoes skipped into our livesand like language,eventually became contractedand constrained.Ironicas they were meantto be more.Kids peel off shoesat the drop of a hat.They knowbecause they’re closerto the ground. Copyright © 2025 R James Sennett JrAll Rights Reserved
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