Poetry - Year IV - Number 20 - January 2019

OUT OF THE BLUE IS TRUEby Tim Suermondt   DEAUVILLE The morning comes like movie stars,movie stars in sailboats. I’m no star in any configuration,but I acknowledge Beauty’s pecking orderand I gladly give her a pass on my...

TALK RADIOby Sugar Tobey Tang Dynasty Poem She looks twenty but she’s abouttwelve hundred years old nowthe tang dynasty was a long time ago she still waits for a young manto come and dig her a carp...

HOPESby Alexa Tirapelli “Hopes”His name was Bud Hopes, or Lou –something like that, or what-have-you.They found his journal in an abandoned barnamong dusty knick-knacks and next to his body,to which he had done some harm.They...

CHARLEY BONDby William Schoedel He came upon me suddenlyBefore I could retreatHis long lean figureWrapped in an abused overlong grey coatWith a shock of nearly pure white hairTumbling from beneathThe confines of a tattered woolen...

OLD SALTby Christina Petrides Old Salt Flushed from alcohol, wind and weather,And grooved from age,The woman clutches her fishing rod and glares at the sea.It twinkles back at herAnd crashes unconcerned into the rocks below. Barista There’s a...

EYELASHby Glen Armstrong   Eyelash It is not strange enough.Nor beautiful enough to discuss.At length in the museum’s coffee shop.I’m remembering it differently.The bees both threaten.                                                                     And reinvigorate the landscape.The sky looks like paper.Another skinny girl.Makes a wish...

KELP LASERby Daniel King Anyon Ethos So I will Preserve; so I will DestroyAn anyon is my soul; and as a boyHoneyed is your clayMy plan is advancing dharmaThose times I am hailed as Rama. Pray. So...

ILLUMINATING POETRYby Judith Simon Prager Illuminating Poetry A candle, held up to the unknown          to fathom, or to pray against, what darkness holds.A lighthouse searchlight,          reaching out to assess the terrain          and find, in all that is, the similars...

BEFORE THE INK WAS DRYby Kevin Keane Before The Ink Was Dry He would take a razor blade from his desk and a make little slitOn his hand and use it as an inkwellThen signed the...

OLD SALTby Christina Petrides Old Salt Flushed from alcohol, wind and weather,And grooved from age,The woman clutches her fishing rod and glares at the sea.It twinkles back at herAnd crashes unconcerned into the rocks below. Barista There’s a...