CHASM By Lisa Brognano
CHASMBy Lisa Brognano CHASMHe yells to her overBig bank of hills andSees nothing but bluntBrown banks and a snakeRiver below.She hears Tom and fromHer ledge moves a little,Sees the river and some grass.He strains and...
POEMAS DE MICHAEL SPRING Traduzido por Maria João Marques
POEMAS DE MICHAEL SPRINGTraduzido por Maria João Marques
surrealista no tempo
não há mais árvorespara arrancar do seu corpo
de cada buraco espreita um olhocomo um amanhecer inteiro atraindoenxames de relógios e ponteiros
fecha os olhos
e torna-se nada...
VISITOR By Jessica Alverson
VISITORBy Jessica Alverson
The moon is a shadow in the blue sky
Grey-white apparition loomingIn darknessIt will be light
Same neighborhood walkBuildingsStreetsSidewalk carrier of 1000 paths
The west coast music of 1990sTells my body to walkTells my mind...
MARKO POGACAR’S POETRY Translated by Andrea Jurjevic
Poetry by MARKO POGACARTranslated by Andrea Jurjevic
MESNI ROMEO
Stajao sam na prozoru golih prsa, vikaovolim ćufte, najviše volim ćufte, dolje je far kaoflak prste kada se goni sabljarka rezao noćdijelio mrak na dvoje. jedan je...
THE BURNING SEASON – By Lazola Pambo
THE BURNING SEASONBy Lazola Pambo Winter is sentencedinto a silent cataclysmwhen the yellow-eyed chariotsrage upon humanitya battalion of immortal squadronnone of us have ever seen The last anniversary of the universeilluminated by a catharsisthe burning season...
AFTERWORD: OR, THE AMATEUR POET – By Michael T. Smith
AFTERWORD: OR, THE AMATEUR POETBy Michael T. Smith
Afterword: Or, the Amateur Poet
You thought you gripped the futureWhen you only brushed the dust from your handsand pinched earth's prurient cheekLike that of a chubby,...
LULLABY ON WEST 133rd – By Laurel Kaye
LULLABY ON WEST 133rdBy Laurel Kaye
Lullaby on West 133rd
The plane collides and you arriveto murmurs of hyphenated welcomein the halls of terminal 4There was no room for you in Edenso you found a place...
THANKSGIVING – By Obi Nwakanma
THANKSGIVINGBy Obi Nwakanma
Thanksgiving
It is the seventh month, and theUvene fruits are ripe again -The wild berries, plump with juice;The breadfruit, and the gourds are full, heavyLike the pregnant women of this landAbout to give,...
A BALLAD I WISH I WISH I RUN – By Sam Landry
A BALLAD I WISH I WISH I RUNBy Sam Landry
A Ballad I Wish I Wish I Run
stuck in the roadcoiled under breathdeep under rollingtides green from thegall one can haveearly in the morningwiping the...
THE LADY’S EYES – By Jules Supervielle, translated by John J. Ronan
THE LADY'S EYESBy Jules Supervielle / translated by John J. Ronan
This woman, whom I know,
seems to herself unknown,
absently off in the heavens
wearing her weary expression,
A rose made of cloth
stiff on its iron stalk,
and pearls...