ÁRPÁD FARKAS/Poetry
Poems by ÁRPÁD FARKAS Translated from the Hungarian by Paul Sohar Let There be No Silence (Csak csend ne legyen) Let wispy little voices spring from blocks of dumbstruck dawns, let them flood the borders of glistening fields, let them ring out on the plates of...
Guinotte Wise/Artist Interview
*** Guinotte Wise: Mad Man Escapes to Kansas with Mike Foldes Managing Editor agazine: I see you’ve had a lot of experience in a score of occupations before becoming an advertising exec…. What...
Alice Mazzei
Black Rooms and Oracle Bones Black rooms lie littered with bleached bones sterling white like plated silver tibia and fibia, Their dainty curves drawing the eye across them as a mathematician's compass draws truths In leaden lines on carbon paper negatives. The...
Emily Stephenson/Poetry
Modern Family Poem The widened arms of the marina stretch below the fourth-story balcony. Briny winds waft into the open door, into the small apartment. She sleeps through the noon-bells, her nocturnal employment awaits. The atmosphere seems heavy and oppressive. It...
Dorothy Zeisler, Poetry
Works: Mother monarch treads water, Floats gently, to pretend her feet touch the ocean floor, Her tired mind distributes a headache, pounding against her skull like waves. The ocean spray masks her strongest tears As she works to raise her own, up above...
Mario Moroni/Poetry
*** Intermezzo by Mario Moroni Recitare le ceneri Ciò che rimane del giorno, ciò che non si vede più o che è stato mal visto, quel giorno quando John Trevor era uscito in strada, scese le scale: “Cielo quasi blu dalle mille forme scure” aveva...
Bill Yarrow/Poetry
RUN OF HUNTERS The leaking state. Comparative possum. The crushing sound of conjunction. Like eating a meal of attenuated steam. I am passionately committed to palisade market shares. Time is the bebop of the spheres. Your self insists you take inverted sides. What’s...
Anum Kamran Sattar/Poetry
by Anum Kamran Sattar Arrogance I wanted to participate in our class discussion on a scummy pond, so I said the water was not filled with bacteria, but some aquatic plant. But my professor dismissed my observation. He thought that nitrogen–containing waste from...
Steve Dalachinsky/Poetry
the stone age i’m lost - they’ve knocked me back to the stone age - this sick skin in a dream populated by science fiction literates - this terribly lonely dream populated by people into their own heads - gin drinkers & young girls sitting around 4 legged...
Adele Kenny/Poetry
2 Poems by Adele Kenny Past the Waterline (After Lake with Dead Trees by Thomas Cole) This could be any day, anywhere—either one of us could be the other, momentary deer where the water ends and the forest begins. Whatever hard things we’ve seen—what we’ve...
Alexis Rhone Fancher/Poetry
LUNATIC POEM #1 “Would you be a moon for the lunatics here?”* I’m already looney. Pick me. The luna plena sneaks in from the high window. You burrow between my legs, howl and howl. Some people can turn into wolves just by wanting to become one. I bet this...
Desirée Alvarez/Public Poetry
At Governors Island I anticipated a dark apocalyptic response to the current administration. What I got instead was a utopian vision of empathy, kindness and integrity. I also got overwhelmed, unable to keep up with the steady flow of lines written by the public.
Monique Gagnon German/Poetry
Yoga: Just Follow Instructions Yoga is the blocking of mental modifications so that the seer re-identifies with the Self. – Sage Patanjali Inhale chest arms up, Don’t think about the phone call arms down exhale, bend forward into ragdoll, the tin plane you have to...
Meredith Cottle/Poetry
Arrhythmic Morality perhaps I was the devil all along a crumbling and shameless little fool pleading to malicious cards of chance among the dying and their reverence that you should go, my benediction stands, as you have ceased to love or ever thrive, and I have...
Scott Thomas Outlar/Poetry
Center of Your Silken Den Your couch was made of velvet. Supple to the touch. I didn’t notice as my defenses went soft. Waking up, I felt the marks left by your claws. Your teeth were sharp as needles. Subtle with their sting. I should have known the invitation...
Ashley Germinario/Poetry
More I want you to drink until her body turns to liquid gold — glowing as if wan moonlight in the dead of winter, from the dusty skylight above your bed. I want you to long to be wrapped up beneath her warm skin — her rib cage like a crime, entrapping you as a...
Richard Livermore/Poetry
The following poem by Richard Livermore is excerpted from his book in progress "New Selected Poems", which will be published in Bibliotheca Universalis, a series of chapbooks organized and published by Daniel Dragomirescu in Bucharest, Romania. by RICHARD...
Notes from Wheeler Hill/Michael Czarnecki
Those days everybody was heading west to California, to the Rocky Mountains, so I went east to the Adirondacks, New England, the Maritimes. I hitchhiked over 30,000 miles, off and on, over three years. I’d head out from Buffalo in Spring, return in Autumn, work again till next Spring and head out once more. I backpacked on mountain trails for days on end. Hitched on expressways, highways, small country roads. Stayed a third of the time in peoples’ houses without ever asking once. Spent time with folks who lived in the country and had gardens, chickens, put food up and lived simple lives close to nature. Through all of those hitchhiking miles I never had a bad experience.