Poetry - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

    SHOULDER TO STONEby Timothy Rodriguez   Double-thinkersopen the windowto flee this worthless limbowhich goes wantingeven though Understandingof right or wrongactually stood its groundwhile all around satamong mumbles on stepsand stoops in hopesof being cast as an...

big headed annaBy Stephanie E. Dickinson New Orleans, Louisiana. 1913. Yearning. Big-Headed Anna Imagines Herself asa Strange, Beautiful Name * 1913. If I cut my eyelashes there would be no feeling. I would have to move my ear...

A PLACE WITHOUT THE JARSby Graham McLennan UNTITLED XVI Amenability unboundby dying oaks holdinga city built uponthe wrist bones of youthaware of their timelytrial of agingdeterioration of cartilagedulling of fingertipsarthritic dew scalingwindow sills holdingback the preening...

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...