Home Poetry - Year VII - Number 53 - January 2022

Poetry - Year VII - Number 53 - January 2022

    ANOTHER MORNING by John Drudge

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    My Streets HobbledBy a narrowStoic universeOwing nothingTo anyoneAloneOn the cobbled stonesWith an airy desperationFirm in my pocketAnd hiddenFrom everythingWorth hiding fromFrom anythingUnseenBelow the waterlineAlong the swiftSwollen riverWith the dark...

    ON BEING ALONE by Katherine Ault

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    Voicemail Listening is not hearing.Like a wind that is slowly nearingthat never hits your face.What I want is for my words to meet your embrace.Not to be fixed or...

    ABSENT by Aracelly Campo

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    The Institution by Aracelly P. Campo Love-the grand illusionTheatrical spectacle presented to us on an empty stageTransaction driven unions that dictate the roles we are to...

    A DEER WEEPS UNDER A FULL MOON by Kate-Yeonjae Jeong

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    “There are people who see a beautiful flower and rush over to pick it. They want to hold it in their hands, they want to own it. They want the flower’s beauty...

    DALI by A.B. Emrys

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    DALI SET Self-Portrait 1921, Salvador Dalí out of cross-hatchshadow from underthat battered hat brimcast your cool eyeon everything more weightythan my usual fluxsmoke one last pipefor...

    ODE TO THE WIND by Jamie Gibbons

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    ODE TO THE WIND To the wind,I wonder, where you're goingWhere you've beenYou've blown across mountains, forests, seasYou've blown across polar ice caps & cities of treesYou've blown in...

    REBIRTH AT SAGES RAVINE by Ron Roman

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    “Late Summer Sunday Afternoon Hike” Hiking late summer Sunday afternoon,Sun yet strong still.What does it matter,Where do we go? Venule-shaped verdant leaves,Now surround me everywhere.Colorless sky...

    ROSARY IN VACUUM by Shivangi Mishra

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    I. What Colour is Peace and Home? Is it to consume the gothic or expend the sublime?Would coloured value survive in white that seethes number?For all known times, when...

    THE BODY NEEDS BLOOD by Ruth Niemiec

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    The Body Needs Blood My father smoked cigarettes,pack a day,enough to punctuate every sentence with a coughI began to wait for a cough at the end of each sentenceSome...

    WRITERS’S BLOCK by Bernadette Dickenson

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    WRITERS’S BLOCK Words scuttle around the squaremarking the edge of my mindrunning in chaosfrom corner to cornerupstairs and downstairsnot lingering on the landing for restI struggle to put them...