FEED FLOWERS – By Mark Taksa
FEED FLOWERSBy Mark Taksa Feed FlowersWind, if it woke, might scrape a leafagainst the planks. Flowers wilt in the pot.A departed wind pushed the watering can, dry,to its side. Dry wood shows through porch paint.Long...
MIDWAY – By Michael Carr
MIDWAYBy Michael Carr
Midway
A student asks me why Dantewandered off the straight path,and I tell him that midwaythrough his life he might findthe answer.
Now, it would just be esoteric.
I wake at three to the soundof...
DIALOGUES OF THE POOL By Christopher Perricone
DIALOGUES OF THE POOLBy Christopher Perricone
Dialogues of the Pool
I rememberThe dialogues of the pool,Interlocutors bobbing,The chlorine wavesSmacking their nipples,Currents of their children's urine,The pool's bottom painted blue.What men they were,Their dilemmas,Their cigars and sunglasses,Taking...
ALFRED AND MOSES – By Timothy Robbins
ALFRED AND MOSESBy Timothy Robbins
Alfred and Moses(for A.E. Housman)
I picture a Merchant Ivory flick.Young classicist with patrician cheeks,face of an Arabian prancer, featuresprecise as a Latin declension.His friend, the rowing Blue, with aClydesdale jaw...
A ROBIN IN WINTER – By Mark J. Mitchell
A ROBIN IN WINTERBy Mark J. Mitchell
A ROBIN IN WINTER
For John
Lost as a bird in a snowbankpropped on drifts of sheets, pillows,vanishing but present—Her beautiful eyes.There are no words.
Her cool love now distilledto almost...
IN LIMINE By Eugenio Montale, translated by Mary Jane White
IN LIMINEBy Eugenio Montale / translated by Mary Jane White
IN LIMINE
Delight, then—if the wind re-enter our conservatorybringing back to it, and to you, the surge of our life:here—where a deadtangle of memories subsides,—no garden...
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,...
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...