Poetry - Year III - Number 9 - Volume Two - September 2017

MOREBy Christopher Fields      More                                                                                                             Why seek anything morethan a life that slips frictionlessly by?I want more.  I want a life that lashes;I want a life that grinds and scrapes,that prunes away weak piecesexposing lurid truths beneath.I...

TAPESTRYBy Natasha Zarine IncarnaratedClutching the rolls of youDrip latent constellationsEnchained by taboo.But when I howl of pleasureI never think of you. Raping myself, I caressEvery tingling motionFeeling what will not exist.Like a harp, I pluckMyself to...

ROMANCE OF THE MASKBy Frederick Pollack  Kin By the late seventeenth century he isat least possible, crying “Bring outyour dead” and breaking intohouses where the distinctionis moot; where the doctorswith great beaked masks full of posieshave...

WALKING…selectionsBy Patrick Hurley #categories collapse in upon themselvesstrange instruments reshapethe structure of space random interpretations of irregularitywill hold meaning ifone seeks it vague constructions are part of theadditive art but who shaves awaysuperfluous matter? #one night in springjupiter...

     ICE CREAM TRUCKBy Alicia Cole     Ice Cream TruckThe cone is always the cone.The rhyme scheme, the metric oomph:these hold the dripping words.They're always melting.  The sonnet,the sapphic, the prose poem, the cento.Melting into the readers'...

INDIAN POINTBy Jack Brown After planting purple spider wortaround the tombstone of the old soldierin the cemetery at the end of the roadwe scuttle from ridge to ridge.A country Docand a visitor from New York. May...

WHAT WAS THAT CITYBy Mary Crow       WHAT WAS THAT CITY―after Cavafy What city tangled me in its sandy roots,led me into desert, where I gasped at vastness and vacancy, pyramids fringingmiles of nothing growing, a void I vanished...

ON THE SANDS OF LIDOBy B. A. Varghese Knowing It was enoughknowing he was therehis presence like an army of giantsbaritone voices encouragingalong the battle linestrong hands behind meguarding guidingplunging me forward to my future manyet...

WINDThree Poems from Nancy Morejon’s “Mutismos”Translated by Connor L. Simons Wind A circle. A spirit. A mirror.Immediately myself.From that torturous seat,you come in pursuit of me.What do you search forunder my black figurethat hides itself,even though...

MY NOTEBOOKBy Charles Dutka  Cafe’ in a Basement This green teatastes like cadmiumor is it stardustand raspberries? Its glass container the textureof musicand the color ofrunic magicperformed on a stageof frozen salt. It was the temperature of that bluish...