Poetry - Year V - Number 29 - October 2019

PUTTING YOU THROUGH NOW by Christopher Barnes  “Putting You Through Now, Caller.” 1 “Thirkell confided she’d bargained, hobbled away,Fingers crushing that suitcase,Something taut in her eyes.” “Guess she’s on the plane,An age-encrusted face glimmering in a window.” “Putting You...

THE TROP by David Somerset   The Trop          The game drones on.The Trop is a “pinball game”  baseball field, named after orange juice.A hit ball striking one catwalk is a double.If it hits another, then its a...

FOCUS by Antonio Rios  NOVEMBER 17, 2010 Clouds slowly rolled across the sky overhead.A heavyset man sold hotdogs at the street corner.Three young children played on a swing set.The leaves fell from the trees steadily,a soft snip when they...

ONE SINGLE ROSEby Edward Bonner  ONE SINGLE ROSEIf I could offer one single rose’with ruby petals,blades of crimson,showered in dreams,from my garden where seasons are unknown.Would you understand?If a stream runs through graciously’in short,under breath,soft...

ROUGH RIDE by George Gad Economou  Rough Ride time to spend a few hours to watch Wrestlekingdom,and I wish you were here, to crack a Wild Turkey open, crank some shit up. like events from too many years...

SCAVENGERS by Hank Kalet Father Becomes the Son He says he should justhave a heart attack. Done. And whenI reprimand, I feel the embersof past fires burningin my gut. At eighty,he’s earned his self-obsession, but pityis not...

SUNDAY AFTERNOON by Stuart Rawlinson  Commutations The morning commute begins on the hourAs nighttime and daylight adjoin in friction.Buses interrupt as I squint for my number;Balanced and hovering on the kerb’s edgeIn front of staring commuters like...

WILLOW AND BARK by Sally Sandler  Somedays I Am That Cypress                                                                                 The past has all blown east.The Monterey cypress felt it leavein the teeth of a Pacific sea squall.Ever since, the cypress has leaned easttoward the...

Captive Thursday’s trap door below hermemory swings and                   upclimbs the same captoralways that man, grey wool suitred carnationtaking her furniture, picturesSaturdays hostageagain she bumps into the                       emptyspaces between bare wallsof personal careTuesday teaspoons...

REMEMBERING CAMUS by Reed Venrick  Circles of the Sea The Eye was the first circle(Emerson) Those last days of summer, buildinga sandman for the last time, beforeSeptember's school, soon to begin—when the child sees something, she standing, leaping up...