Poetry - Year III - Number 12 - April 2018

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...

    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...

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 how long he has been therebut I am guessing a...

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...

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...

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...

BOARDERby Daisy G. Bassen   The egg is balanced on the rim of the glass bowl.It fills the space my palm is meant to hold.The energy that will become the crackingLimns the shell. The moment cracksWith...

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...

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...

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 on his gloves. Hands first, he passes through the glass,becoming Death’s...