DEAR HERON by Danielle Hanson
DEAR HERONBy Danielle Hanson
Dear Heron
You have grown tired of my presence.I am a ghost haunting the wrong house.You are the knowing inhabitant of my ineffectiveness.I am what happens in the hour when clocks fall...
CAPRICCIO – By Maureen Eppstein
CAPRICCIOBy Maureen Eppstein Capricciofor no reasonIl capro, the goat on the hillsudden, unpredictable change, as of one's mindhip-hobble, hip-hobblesomersaultscartwheelssunlight on white daisieson the verge of a city street, a dusty sunflowera garden planted with whirligigsamethyst...
THIS IS THE LIGHT by Scott Waters
THIS IS THE LIGHTby Scott Waters
Leaving the Cove
City lights flicker like candlesburning the hem of 5 a.m.
I finish my bowl of cereallace up my shoesand wrap my hand aroundthe door knob
like a fly fisherman...
WALKING by Patrick Hurley
WALKING…selectionsBy Patrick Hurley
***
letters and numbers convergethen dissolve into pure sound
suddenly visible in the pavementa repeated pattern of circles
late sounds come to usapproaching dissonance beautifully
eyes burn and water–the airborne miasma
each cold breath a knife bladeand...
FÍBULA Poemas por Manuel Neto dos Santos
Manuel Neto dos SantosNasceu em Alcantarilha (Silves-Algarve) a 21 de Janeiro de 1959.Frequência superior em filosofia. Autor de vastíssima e multifacetada obra poética, grande parte dela ainda inédita. Nas suas 16 obras já editadas,...
PEN SAND by Luke Skoza
LOVEby Katharine Studer
Love
Before the word is spokenA man might walk on handsDangling mid-air without a net or wire,Concentrating to keep the weightof his legs extended straight in the center,Nudging his fingers to gain an...
VICTORY PARTY by Ted Millar
I Accept
I've been carrying around questions
for the treatment facility in...
WITHOUT YOU by Ann Christine Tabaka
WITHOUT YOUby Ann Christine Tabaka
Without You
A thousand years agoit came to be, or so itseems. It spit my heartin two, or so it felt.
Emotions drift upona waft of smoke, burningmy eyes once more.Past’s subtle...
SOFTLY ABOVE by Roger Singer
SOFTLY ABOVE
the last clouds of dayare rooms overthe ocean,curtains of moisturereabsorbed,exposing aa carpet of stars,glistening sweetnessnourished by angelsas we trespassbeneath heaven
WET
rainy citygray on grayblack streetsclouds pressed lowshoulders in the misteach puddlea fluid fingerprintreflectingjagged photosof...
IN A PORTUGUESE FIELD by George Moore
IN A PORTUGUESE FIELDby George Moore
In a Portuguese Field
A dolmen by abandoned railsthat cross this terrible, empty fieldin lower Europe, and the gravetoppled sometime in the first centuryand near the rusted tracksstill ringing with...