You are here

Archive

They understand the abrasive nature of wind on the pond’s skin and why fish peer at the sky worshiping the clouds that choke heaven’s blue ocean. They enjoy a humid afternoon’s hush and a...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
Standing at the waterside, a million weathered stones at my feet. The flat and smooth ones skip across the ripples and sink. They all sink. Like a billion intricate snowflakes, unique yet...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
Dear Mother I am sorry for not coming to visit you, for not sitting cross-legged in the open field while reciting confessions. I am sorry you can not count my thousand thanks for the many...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
At night in our bedroom all stories are seemed to be full of comedy- endurable and enjoyable related by my wife in her two common languages and I use my ears to listen and eyes to perceive...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
after The Well of Stars , artist Osnat Tzadok feeding an ebony pool. Points of light dance like fish, darting in and out of night’s expanse. Transfixed, I watch them swim and swirl, weaving...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
It was their wedding night and Priya didn’t want to tell her new husband all about it but Bill kept asking where she had learned to walk like that. Finally she told him it was inherited...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
this is not a linear narrative but you won't print anything I've written you don't print anything I'd read there's colors faded into the past and I am a child listening to the tv static...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
I got my mojo back when I collapsed knackered and battered and broken, hoping you’d open the door for me. I have this fear, which everyone has from time to time, where I wonder if I stole...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
Born in the midst of unspeakable pain, Created in the throws of passion. Tiny, red, wrinkled thing, Shrieking its indignation. Helpless. Useless after a parasitic nine months of Gestating...
Submitted: November 16, 2015
Kevin Heaton Cyprus chalices gild more slowly quartered in wooden nickels. We see earth, a quandary of skewed parameters. Flippant passing lanes flipping-off red lights. A larghissimo...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Clare Holman-Hobbs You are miles away Now I must feel Not see I must pray 11:11 Scattered miracles, in the damp patches On my pillow case Accepting, or trying at least Praying Repeating,...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Fiona Sinclair I was a debt collector once: usual static shock at some new revelation about your past, a politician’s deflection to my When was this? So more details I can’t place on your...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Frank Praeger Not depressed, just sad. I am still, I am loud, I laugh, contest – occasionally, even, parse. Contentious speech waylays my wakefulness, I can not muster, can not – what a...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Frank Praeger Picaresque beetles, a plethora of fungi, lilac, wasps and a yellow-shafted flicker. Surrounded by so many, each coming and going, each combatant confidant. Hemmed in, gigantic...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Elena Broch After the verses have been written there’s no reconciliation Poetry is the worst of all betrayals The knife stuck in the back right up to the hilt When poetry starts, it’s all...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
John Grey museum promises to be dull, you’ll be hours with the Virgin Mary and her offspring a thousand artists with unpronounceable names all imagining the same thing, all dabbling in the...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
John Grey Not waves of flesh but an ocean heavy, turgid. Not deep and warm but thick and oily to the touch. You find love by groping your hands in it, hoping to rescue suffocated dreams,...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Jacob Richardson A church bell is heard nearby the hospice. It plays a hymn. An ambulance siren kills it. Rachel knows that the hospice is a place for people waiting to die. She lives there...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Theo Martin I will go to hot winds with ragged breath, When browns and blues made rich bedfellows, And tempers fueled fires and raged into the night, And soft dreams seemed full of purpose...
Submitted: February 5, 2015
Theo Martin I miss those tender days of you, How open you were, How broken you seemed, How wild and free Quiet brings exotic need, Open hearts and open mouths, That grow from leaves, to...
Submitted: February 5, 2015

Pages