Poetry - Year VII - Number 53 - January 2022

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 valleys, over hills and plainsBirds fly...

“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 staring back overhead,Giving off a soulless glow. Distant bird tweeting,Now flying...

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 colours be at peaceable rest, white...

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 were louder than othersThe others were...

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 to pen! Words of exquisite love,darkest despair,desire...

The Rights of A Girl In summer solstice, lightning in midnightpulls you from cosmos—rain stormsthe waterscapesYou walk backward, making space aboutthe need to start becoming. To thosewhom you see and embrace, you keepin with poetry,...

THE SNAKE Coiled up by the side of the trackswhile the train whizzes past, kicks up dead leavesthe overcast chill drizzles down fog and dreamsproject onto his reptilian stare – he lies there.At the bottom...

why i dreamt of the west coast a suicide maybe bitter taste ofabandoned hope says he hates her saysshe hates him and then there’s thekid forgotten at thebottom of the bathtub asshole in the front yard saysshe owes...

The Saddest Thing I’ve Ever Seen (Chapter I) My left palm still hurts. Going, preparing without a backpack on my back. My left palm still hurts so much that my stomach feels like burning for...

Miracles Previously Unnoticed I longed for poetry and doom-scrolleduntil headlines separated from the screen and breathedin sighs, like teenagers,we sent each other music audio filesand slowly began to speak the language of birds—everything defied being...