Home Poetry - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

Poetry - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

    THE CLOSED DOOR by Mukund Gnanadesikan

    0
    THE CLOSED DOORby Mukund Gnanadesikan  THE CLOSED DOOR The closed door never opens Unless a hand so brave Can brave...

    MIDLIFE by Timothy Robbins

    0
    MIDLIFEby Timothy Robbins Midlife You go to bed early. The typewriter(which stutters) is locked in the closetfor fear it will write somethingbeautiful. It does anyway, clatteringon...

    EQUINOX SWINGS by Anca Vlasopolos

    0
    EQUINOX SWINGSby Anca Vlasopolos  Equinox Swings you’d think equinox means scales perfectly balancedour tilting world for once in harmony yet the arc of...

    I TRAVELED by Kai Raine

    0
    I TRAVELEDby Kai Raine Heart An apartment buried in booksA nose buried in pagesEyes that fill and spill.Pages smudge.Face in a pillow,Muffled screams?Sobs?Cries.

    REFUSALS by Jeanette L. Miller

    0
    REFUSALS by Jeanette L. Miller REFUSALS           (after watching Jean Cocteau’s “Orphee”)Death calls him from the mirrorbut men can’t reach her alive.The mirror remains only mirroruntil Orpheus puts...

    SURFERS by Byron Beynon

    0
    SURFERSBy Byron Beynon BOB DYLAN: BLOOD ON THE TRACKS The strong cardboard sleeve camewith Till's photographas the back cover turnedto an illustration by Oppenheim;I'd heard Dylan...

    THE CIRCLE by Marc Carver

    0
    THE CIRCLEby Marc Carver AMBIVALENCE The man stands at the barhe tries to talk to everyone who comes to the barbut most ignore himI don't know...

    THE ARROWS by Herbert Martin

    0
    THE ARROWS by Herbert Martin  The Arrows,ate into Saint Sebastian’s freshlike liquid acid,like somethingapplied to antiquesto preserve them,or prepare themfor a market thatwill pay millionsof dollars,...

    FOR EMILY by Joe Murphy

    0
    FOR EMILYby Joe Murphy For Emily In Remembrance It seems your years were set too closely together:When one toppled, all the others fell.

    POST WAR BABY by Timothy Dyson

    0
    POST WAR BABYby Timothy Dyson  POST WAR BABYI never knew my birth motheryet, she gave me more than lifeOn a small velvet turntablesix babies put out for choosingThe young...