Poetry - Year IV - Number 20 - January 2019

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...

SUNDAY COMING DOWNby Jamel Hall Sunday Coming Down The slight shudder of newspaperadds accents to the commercial break.My mother in her meekest vestmentspaces the house singing songs of jesus,of better days, and inheritance. His name pressed to...

MANORby Ann Pedone Manor Particles of lightStrain to the seenIn the shadows of his heart. He knows her faceTaqstes her lips—Sun wrenched in the sky of her longing forThe sightHimInside—the inside of herGrowing upon t he sight...

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...

OUT OF BEDby Penney Knightly Out of Bed Slow to serenade, wispy, extendingarms and legs, a jungle heap.Moss-fern overgrowth.Dew on cheeks and inner limbs,I blush in dark placeshiding against sky light, and crunch of air. I slither...

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...

I BARELY ESCAPED WITH MY LIFEby Louis Gallo “I BARELY ESCAPED WITH MY LIFE” The lacquered reporters declare another miracleas we now deem the merest rosy swerve from dooma glittering token of divine twitch.Minicams pan the...

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...

SLICKby Mia Condic #1SLICKI knew a guy in collegehe listened only to classical musica psychology studentyou could tell he was destined for a future inphilosophical monologuesthe way he orchestrated the words from hisclassical mouthbut a...

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...