Poetry - Year V - Number 35 - April 2020

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...

AMERICAN IN BRAZILby David Lee Garrison Last Look, Lisbon, 1965 The troopship was leaving Lisbonfor the war in Angola,its deck covered with soldiersgazing back.  Heavy sun fellon their shoulders, and their shadowsdarkened the armored steelthat knifed...

MAKING LOVEby George Payne Making Love the way astarving coyoteneeds the Mooncrimson &skeletalyour handswere needed  Simplehands  risingon thechest your jeanskicked offthe bed you wereneeded chrome ionplated stainless witha leather strap at the edgeof the pillow stuck betweenthe hours in theamber of now a vaporoussweet oliveblack night My...

AS CINZAS DO SOLby Roseangelina Batista   As Cinzas do SolCegam o céu;Secam o sal de Pernem.Dão bocadinhos à luaDe açafrão e cal.Cai, cai pó-ente,    Põe cinzas d’ouroNos tetracantos da mente.Cinzas da ÍndiaSerpenteiam em minhas águas:Brindes de taças...

EPHRAM PRATT REMEMBERS TWISTING & TURNINGby Jack E Lorts  Ephram Pratt Speaks of Whispering Quiet the noiseof the carburetor, or is it a carbunclehe asked, in muted silence,of a passing stranger,one with shaggy locks, looking as ifhis eyes emerged from an...

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...