Poetry

SUMMERby Sarah Snyder Summer Surrounded by low bushesand small thorny plants, I sit, still and small beside the sharp branchesunder a porch, listen for footsteps. This is a game. It could be sardines,hide & seek, capture the flag,...

BOARDERby Daisy G. Bassen   The egg is balanced on the rim of the glass bowl.It fills the space my palm is meant to hold.The energy that will become the crackingLimns the shell. The moment cracksWith...

THE CLOSED DOORby Mukund Gnanadesikan  THE CLOSED DOOR The closed door never opens Unless a hand so brave Can brave the darkness Find the knob And twist against The forces of inertia Fearful though they be And thus the dark room Stays inhabited For days Or...

MIDLIFEby Timothy Robbins Midlife You go to bed early. The typewriter(which stutters) is locked in the closetfor fear it will write somethingbeautiful. It does anyway, clatteringon its own in the arms of all those emptyshirts, between...

EQUINOX SWINGSby Anca Vlasopolos  Equinox Swings you’d think equinox means scales perfectly balancedour tilting world for once in harmony yet the arc of sun over trees and water cuts itself thinnerthinner each day         while moon’s arc rises           ...

I TRAVELEDby Kai Raine Heart An apartment buried in booksA nose buried in pagesEyes that fill and spill.Pages smudge.Face in a pillow,Muffled screams?Sobs?Cries. Heart caves to too much caffeine,Pressure in the chestDesperate for a bed.Responsibilities abound.Pushed to...

REFUSALS by Jeanette L. Miller REFUSALS           (after watching Jean Cocteau’s “Orphee”)Death calls him from the mirrorbut men can’t reach her alive.The mirror remains only mirroruntil Orpheus puts on his gloves. Hands first, he passes through the glass,becoming Death’s...

SURFERSBy Byron Beynon BOB DYLAN: BLOOD ON THE TRACKS The strong cardboard sleeve camewith Till's photographas the back cover turnedto an illustration by Oppenheim;I'd heard Dylan sing liveonly once in an English field,occupying the stage like...

THE CIRCLEby Marc Carver AMBIVALENCE The man stands at the barhe tries to talk to everyone who comes to the barbut most ignore himI don't know how long he has been therebut I am guessing a...

THE ARROWS by Herbert Martin  The Arrows,ate into Saint Sebastian’s freshlike liquid acid,like somethingapplied to antiquesto preserve them,or prepare themfor a market thatwill pay millionsof dollars, or lireor Deutch Marksfor believers and non-believers alike.There is no accountingfor...