Poetry - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

FREEDOM by Razmik Grigoryan, translated by  Maro Ghukasyan  When I understood                                                                   that the start of triumph                                                             is made on defeat,I let you goon the last day ofmy lost days.The morning hadn't woken up yet,and the Sun was...

THE WAR'S SONby Anwer Ghani The War ’s Son The soldiers have returned but the capitals of my chants are still whizzing like a slim mosquito engulfing the noisy and the questions. Their joints groan like ice...

    SOMETHING BLUEby Heather Lee Rogers    Nuclear Fission You see our lovewas just good chemistrythose first date cocktails ofraw pheromonesand evolutionary drive,despite your egowe are not divinejust well-dressed test tubesmixing atomsand hot moleculesso when our unit splitthat...

ESPERANZAby Manuel Madera A Follower OF Desolation There is not muchI do when I thinkOf the birchesResting in the woods. Once in a whileThe breeze whistlesAt the breaking dawn,Whilst I am silent. I think very littleOf the colliding...

BLUES BUSKERby John Sweeder  Blues Busker The young mancradles his harmonicawith cupped handscaressing it with his soul,coaxing emotionfrom its compact formas poets do with pens. Tunes jazz fromhis mouth harpthrough long fingerswith knobby knuckles,wafting tabasco tunesas spicy...

THERE WAS TIMEBy Dean Baltesson There Was Time There was a timewhen time was in store for uswe discovered a summerand we wanted lovewanted so much for love and time to arrive. But then we heardthere never...

JOSIEby Sahina Jerome JosieThe days, months leading up to her death anniversaryis like being punchedin the lungs.You're gasping for breath.You're grasping for something that will ever beunreachable.The day of her death anniversary, you hear the...

EXPLORERby Fabrice Poussin Explorer A soul floats gently below the thin surfaceof pearly satin to find its way through a networkof highways to life animated with soft starsrings and strings a giant canvas her image. Her senses...

   SUPER-8by Timothy B. Muren   Super-8Your grave, Phil Silver, should be here,Philip’s Fill-Up—Gas and Gro.  Hilarious, bro.filled up with bones like a new Christian, like a new Big-Wheel coasting to dirt, downsteep on plastic, breaking apart against...

WINTERby Craig Kennedy Night music The gold streetlamp sheds itsbrilliant hysteriapushing sour sunshine to inifinitedistancesuncharted by the small men in the streetunappreciated by the grapefruit moon. Winter Gregorian chant, burning wood,the midnight blue riverfrozen thick and bittersweet,congealed near...