Poetry - Year III - Number 9 - Volume Two - September 2017

WINDThree Poems from Nancy Morejon’s “Mutismos”Translated by Connor L. Simons Wind A circle. A spirit. A mirror.Immediately myself.From that torturous seat,you come in pursuit of me.What do you search forunder my black figurethat hides itself,even though...

BALMBy Gale Acuff Balm After Sunday School I came home to sinagain, my folks smoking in the kitchenand gulping Yuban and not even dressedand Father unshaven and dishes inthe sink for me to wash later and...

MOREBy Christopher Fields      More                                                                                                             Why seek anything morethan a life that slips frictionlessly by?I want more.  I want a life that lashes;I want a life that grinds and scrapes,that prunes away weak piecesexposing lurid truths beneath.I...

MY NOTEBOOKBy Charles Dutka  Cafe’ in a Basement This green teatastes like cadmiumor is it stardustand raspberries? Its glass container the textureof musicand the color ofrunic magicperformed on a stageof frozen salt. It was the temperature of that bluish...

TAPESTRYBy Natasha Zarine IncarnaratedClutching the rolls of youDrip latent constellationsEnchained by taboo.But when I howl of pleasureI never think of you. Raping myself, I caressEvery tingling motionFeeling what will not exist.Like a harp, I pluckMyself to...

INDIAN POINTBy Jack Brown After planting purple spider wortaround the tombstone of the old soldierin the cemetery at the end of the roadwe scuttle from ridge to ridge.A country Docand a visitor from New York. May...

YOUR SUNDAY BESTBy Scott Laudati Your Sunday Best i can see girls at barstoolsready again to push their doubtsdown past the breakers,past spilled pints and menthat wouldn’t carry them on their backslike their fathers.there are cities...

PLATONIC LOVEBy Raymond Fenech This Will Never happen to me Syndrome There is Christmas, Easter and Valentine but also depressing advertisements about cancer. Outside - the slime and sleet - endless winter. Never before had I...

     ICE CREAM TRUCKBy Alicia Cole     Ice Cream TruckThe cone is always the cone.The rhyme scheme, the metric oomph:these hold the dripping words.They're always melting.  The sonnet,the sapphic, the prose poem, the cento.Melting into the readers'...