Poetry - Year V - Number 35 - April 2020

LINby John Sweet  the captain, the sinking ship and we will do something orbetter yetwe will do nothingand the lawns will all be green the doors will be kicked inand the children draggedout into the streets the votes...

Gnawing at the Flesh Teeth gnaw at the flesh belowhungry to erase what was once sweet. There is a throbbing beatingat the rhythm of a dying heart. It feeds to grow like a playing ballmade of rebar...

WITH A GUITARby Mark J. Mitchell  A SURBURBAN SEER’S MORNING DREAM Her morning dreams sprouted flowers with namesinscribed on each petal. They bloom. No fruitemerges, but people die. Their small gamesend sharply. A hasty burglar slips....

IMMORTALITYby Manuel Madera  ImmortalityConfessions last—       The snow plummets to    The nameless ground we  Have crossed and hopped        Along the sidewalk of evermore   We stroll and skate       I did not know           I did not   Whether true...

PULL OVERby Peter Mladinic Pull Over Pull over in daylight.Take the exit ramp.Pull over. I need to tell you something.Pull into the rest area, please. By the time you get backinto parkway traffic,life as you’ve known itwill...

THE SHALLOWby Ambrose Gibbs  The shallow earth to live for what life is worth, for the birth of a child in this wild society full of poverty to be shallow on the roads of anxiety...

EXHALEby Diane Webster  DEATH BURIED Plastic tulips and silk rosespretend they grow aroundmy parents’ gravestone. Still not allowing themtruth after all these yearsdead in the groundin their forever-home caskets. Stone-faced names chiseledlike Russian smilesin black and white photosof...

FROM ABOVEby Roger Singer  FROM ABOVE  the bones of wordsremain behindlike rumpled sheetswithout memory of sleepas day tossesa mixed salad of walkingand arriving the hours melt intothe water of day time slows foranxious eyeswhile rain marks windowsand umbrellas...

STILL LIFEby Sarette Albin Still Life In the morning’s stillness I slipped outFrom your loose embrace and leftYou sleeping in, face craned upward,Chin exposed and underbelly white.The space my head had lain a moment before,Nothing now...

SPOT ON MY BACKby George Thomas SPOT ON MY BACK three timesI've lost the whole shooting matchas Zorba might saythe whole catastrophe multipliedthere's a spot on my backthat hasn't been washedsince my last divorceI go through...