Poetry – Year VIII – Number 55 – November 2022

Writing on a Tree Thick plainness as sodaIce like migraineSlowing down thoughtsAs a reliefI findFingers covered in sandalwood paste.Half of it is wiped away with water, tingling,Listening to kajriI think of scrubbing fingers harshness in...

WHO ARE WE? Words matter—Words are powerful—Words can save or immensely damage us. But the question is “Which words do we want to choose to embroiderThe blank sheets that can last for a lifetime?”Before the words...

KILNS FANTASTIQUE for J. G. Verne Neath the kilnsof Coplay,one mile deep, adrift through cavernsof twinkling aquamarine. Rooms untouched,musty cold, gurgling streams teemedwith finned marmalade, shrooms golden brownlike altar bread, opening worldswithin worlds. T. J. Masluk, poet and writer, has work appearing in...

The Garden of Eden There is a song in the wellspring of my being,a rainbow that shines forth from my eyes.Like a child’s tears, it is endless, and from mybreath wafts the scent of the...

Summer, Speedway, Indiana 1975 I guess because his dad was a dentist,Jeff Beverly had a 500 ml syringe—minus the needle. Looking back, I understandwhy all the grown-upssaid I was disturbed for many reasons, but mainly because of that...

There’s a fly in my champagne coupethe door is locked from the wrong side Freshly squeezed stars and glitter all over the floorfreshly squeezed heart vessels and vermillion all over the groundI once read that...

The Day the Machines Came We said, finally, here is some helpand for cheap. Somewhere someonehad dug the graves of a bygone age and turned up the muck to racketthe tractor to life. We thirsted,had no...

I Will Miss the Train My shift starts earlyOn the ward, so I seeAnd hear what mostOf my countrymenOnly learn about second-hand.For instance, This morning the sunStretched its armsRather timidly. I’ve never seen itBe so shy....

In the bewitched aviary. The sonnet according to Mr. Shakespeare Helots muse about moony Golden Fleece of the condor. Drudges think of the dreamy eternal dew of the hen. Philosophers ponder on winged fantasy of the crow. Kings ruminate...

Topography of the Historical Map Others napped as the Rocky Mountain Sunday snowdrifted thick while we slow touched, increasinglynaked in the living room, gluing ourselves tight,until together in the spring storm our eyesgrew large living...