Poetry – Year VIII – Number 55 – November 2022

The Day the Machines Came We said, finally, here is some helpand for cheap. Somewhere someonehad dug the graves of a bygone age and turned up the muck to racketthe tractor to life. We thirsted,had no...

tenth millennium i’m sure i was the same                                  as the stone; round and ungolfed; fractured from something much larger                   that stumbled down the mountain. there is nothing that                              laughs any                                          harder than a murder of crows. i can sit, without a fossil etched           any- where;...

In the bewitched aviary. The sonnet according to Mr. Shakespeare Helots muse about moony Golden Fleece of the condor. Drudges think of the dreamy eternal dew of the hen. Philosophers ponder on winged fantasy of the crow. Kings ruminate...

Forever August We hate to see August drain awayLike the grains of goldFleeing from a dying miner’s handFrom an old movie.We want to remember theLush, emerald-green of the vegetationWhich surrounds us.Like a sweet-smelling cocoon.My nose...

kaleidoscoping a sun-dressed mare Lest my heart becomes a seagull, soars away—the world is a cold country—lest my heart effervesces in pyrogenic fever, leaving my body unlike a lamb, but a naïve bull running from...

KILNS FANTASTIQUE for J. G. Verne Neath the kilnsof Coplay,one mile deep, adrift through cavernsof twinkling aquamarine. Rooms untouched,musty cold, gurgling streams teemedwith finned marmalade, shrooms golden brownlike altar bread, opening worldswithin worlds. T. J. Masluk, poet and writer, has work appearing in...