Home Poetry - Year II - Number 8 - July 2017

Poetry - Year II - Number 8 - July 2017

    INSTINCT By Chase Spruiell

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    INSTINCTBy Chase Spruiell instinct I look a dog dead in the eye.He squeaks. He squirms. But he stays where he is.Like the infantry. Like the front line. Stupid, a follower. Frozen,...

    THE ASIAN SHOPKEEPER By Kay Merkel Boruff

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    THE ASIAN SHOPKEEPERBy Kay Merkel Boruff  The Asian Shopkeeper My eyes adjust to the darkness,a darkness crowded with antiques splayed in discord.Candles silhouette artists’ legacies rendered...

    THE PROPAGATION By Mark Young

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    THE PROPAGATIONBy Mark Young The Mackerel Fish school whenthe moon is out. Be-fore. Separate. Atvarious levels withdisparate meanings.States of grace. Wait-ing for the cast of lightacross the...

    SHUDDER, By Dustin Pickering

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    SHUDDERBy Dustin Pickering  Shudder Love, shudder and face me:look at these cold, keen eyesand terrify them.Make sound into lightand drive each fault down harder into my...

    BLUE GRASS By Gabriella Garofalo

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    BLUE GRASSBy Gabriella Garofalo God, why have you got so many souls? In the deepest blue of your existence No, you think and shout, no – Even stones fear beasts and kids Trees...

    WATCHING THE SUN GO BY By Gareth Culshaw

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    WATCHING THE SUN GO BYBy Gareth Culshaw WATCHING THE SUN GO BY Her days were bythe window. An ornamentpainted by his hands. She...

    BREATHING By Bryan McCormack

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    BREATHINGBy Bryan McCormack    BreathingThe father’s breathing steadiedto a light,sputtering hum.Outside his door, the sonlistened carefully, ingesting the hum’svibrations, producing another sputterin his eardrums.It was like this before, when the son was a boy,and...

    ONE WEEK DAY WHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd

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    ONE WEEK DAYWHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd    One week day while walking downWattle Street, I heard a cry thatbrought me to a halt in mid-stridelike a prisoner shackled to a wall,and my heart missed...

    LIVE LIFE BECAUSE By Samantha Kriney

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    LIVE LIFE BECAUSEBy Samantha Kriney You Were the Start, the Peace, My First Years                                    --after Barry White My feet loved the touch of my mother’s womb until...

    HOMAGE TO ORWELL By Tomas Sanchez Hidalgo

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    HOMAGE TO ORWELLBy Tomas Sanchez Hidalgo Homage to Orwell,           surrounded by slot machines,in the main hall(perhaps the Tanjiers?)by the penultimateof our national heroes,perfect for adults and...