Poetry - Year III - Number 18 - November 2018

RUBY THROATBy Jessica Sabo   ruby throatsit down she saysmake yourself comfortableput the napkin in your lap / keep your hands folded / sit up straight she sayscross your ankleslift your chinact like you are interestedI...

THE NAMELESSBy Lisa Zaran The NamelessWho are we but immigrants too.Who are we but a lost Country.Who are we but tin blind, partially broken,desperado’s too are we not.Who are we but homelesswith our pawnshop belongings,our...

THE PERFECT POEMBy JR Solonche SONNET X X is the first letter of the fewest words, onereason why X is my favorite letter.X is a person, a thing, an agency, a factor,etc. of unknown identity. X...

AFTER HIS TOUCHBy Leanne Talavera After His Touch That’s how they’ll get you, throughyour eyes. It’s your eyesthat will cradle flickering irises. Thatwill swim in white paranoia.It will ignore the faces in fearthey’ll meet another, and...

BABY POEMBy C.H. Coleman Naughty Feel delicious? Okay!“Decadent,” say it,think: herding happinessisn’t always enjoyable. One button too far ona billowy blouse revealsenough already – two, nowan interstate billboard, augments valley viewing.Obvious, but not obnoxious.Enough already! Walkinga third time...

AMERICABy Ken W. Simpson File number thirty-eight America The land of the freea paradoxwhere hypocriteswithout ethicsor moral principlesembraced by hateare programmedto cheat the peopledestabilisedemocratically electednationsinstall dictatorspersecute and terrorise.

LOVED LETTERBy Thea Tomaini Loved Letter A letter sent from a long-lost loverOpened with much hesitation trepidationUnfolding it in thirds and turning it overReveals the paper to be blank. It mirrors the look on my face in...

SIMULTANEOUS WORLDSBy Mark Hurtubise Momentary Tree Visit Oak -  holder of leaf nations,passageway for squirrels,jay and crow scribe. From its kiln, the sun exhalesafterlife upon you. *  Stepping into your silhouette -a breathing . . . irreversible memoriesor prophecies from...

ODE TO MADAM CURIEBy Bray McDonald Ode to Madam Curie Whyfinds no comfortin reason. Shoutingdoesn’t help.Beggingbecomes a fierce round eggfree to ponder. What whips the creamof knowledgeis a sacrificiallamb. The Madonna of the Lilies     (William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1899) The pure white petals...

HERE FOR THE FOODBy Tim Wenzell Shoes (Global Warming Version) A true woman evacuates with her shoesand makes certain that all of them,wrapped in garbage bags,fill the trunk so thathe will take the back seat with...