Poetry - Year II - Number 8 - July 2017

    THE PROPAGATION By Mark Young

    0
    THE PROPAGATIONBy Mark Young The Mackerel Fish school whenthe moon is out. Be-fore. Separate. Atvarious levels withdisparate meanings.States of grace. Wait-ing for the cast of lightacross the...

    SHUDDER, By Dustin Pickering

    0
    SHUDDERBy Dustin Pickering  Shudder Love, shudder and face me:look at these cold, keen eyesand terrify them.Make sound into lightand drive each fault down harder into my...

    BLUE GRASS By Gabriella Garofalo

    0
    BLUE GRASSBy Gabriella Garofalo God, why have you got so many souls? In the deepest blue of your existence No, you think and shout, no – Even stones fear beasts and kids Trees...

    WATCHING THE SUN GO BY By Gareth Culshaw

    0
    WATCHING THE SUN GO BYBy Gareth Culshaw WATCHING THE SUN GO BY Her days were bythe window. An ornamentpainted by his hands. She...

    BREATHING By Bryan McCormack

    0
    BREATHINGBy Bryan McCormack    BreathingThe father’s breathing steadiedto a light,sputtering hum.Outside his door, the sonlistened carefully, ingesting the hum’svibrations, producing another sputterin his eardrums.It was like this before, when the son was a boy,and...

    ONE WEEK DAY WHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd

    0
    ONE WEEK DAYWHILE WALKING By Jeremy Gadd    One week day while walking downWattle Street, I heard a cry thatbrought me to a halt in mid-stridelike a prisoner shackled to a wall,and my heart missed...

    LIVE LIFE BECAUSE By Samantha Kriney

    0
    LIVE LIFE BECAUSEBy Samantha Kriney You Were the Start, the Peace, My First Years                                    --after Barry White My feet loved the touch of my mother’s womb until...

    HOMAGE TO ORWELL By Tomas Sanchez Hidalgo

    0
    HOMAGE TO ORWELLBy Tomas Sanchez Hidalgo Homage to Orwell,           surrounded by slot machines,in the main hall(perhaps the Tanjiers?)by the penultimateof our national heroes,perfect for adults and...

    SACRIFICE By Georgia Eugenides

    0
        SACRIFICEBy Georgia Eugenides    THE SUMMER I NEVER HADin the morningi search for myself everywhere,under ivory sheets that smell of cinnamon, between porcelain jarson the highest kitchen shelf and among blue, crossed outpoems in...

    NOW I SEE, By Mignon Ariel King

    0
    NOW I SEEBy Mignon Ariel King Chifforobe Daddy had one, so when its three tones of art-deco woodcreaked open on tiny black hinges to emit a...