Rodd Whelpley: “Those Gordal Olives at Whole Foods”
Rodd Whelpley Those Gordal Olives at Whole Foods In back of every perfect gift, we crave to find the hand of God, but rarely want to pray to that girl, who never did well in school, wearing now from...
View ArticleRodd Whelpley: “New Year’s Resolution”
Rodd Whelpley New Year’s Resolution Physically and egotistically there needs to be much less of me. Rodd Whelpley is the secret poet in residence at the Illinois Municipal Electric Agency, where he...
View ArticleRodd Whelpley: “Preening in July”
Rodd Whelpley Preening in July In the parking lot the delightful narcissist goldfinch alights on one rearview, then the next – sings to his love at every stop. Rodd Whelpley is the secret poet in...
View ArticleMelissa Fu: “Confusion”
Melissa Fu Confusion At first I wanted something to be everything, but it turns out that everything is something. Melissa Fu reads, writes, and does arithmetic.
View ArticleKen Slaughter: “Shivering”
Ken Slaughter Shivering in the March wind after the hearing we walk from the courthouse to our cars still holding hands. Ken Slaughter is a tanka writer who likes one sentence poems.
View ArticleMegan Merchant: “To nearly touch”
Megan Merchant To nearly touch the dent his head makes on the pillow that smells like tangerine and fur, is to blur the soft edges between familiar and worn. Megan Merchant writes during nap time and...
View ArticleMegan Merchant: “Splitting Points”
Megan Merchant Splitting Points The lightest rain in heat is sweat, glistens and wrinkles the paper-brick house we kept dark so as not to singe the joints. Megan Merchant writes during nap time and was...
View ArticleJ. R. Solonche: “In My Head”
J. R. Solonche In My Head In my head I have become an expert in questioning the dead, who answer “Yes” or “No,” which is all they are permitted.
View ArticleMichael Estabrook: “because of the encumbrance of material things”
Michael Estabrook because of the encumbrance of material things All of us should remember to throw out our old stoves. Michael Estabrook, retired now, writing more poems and working more outside just...
View ArticleSreedhar Vinnakota: “Suffocation”
Sreedhar Vinnakota Suffocation An embarrassed smile under the spotlight, a whimper in the cacaphony, a wave of the hand to greet the anonymous, an eye on the clock, handshakes to overcome moments, a...
View ArticleMike Finley: “The Weather Is Changing”
Mike Finley The Weather Is Changing The coat hangers jangle softly in the dark. Amazingly, Mike Finley of St. Paul has made his living writing for more than 50 years.
View ArticleMike Finley: “Tiny Little Hands”
Mike Finley Tiny Little Hands I am so touched by your tiny hands, like an invitation to protect you from harm, to kiss your sweet small knuckles with multiple kisses, which is strange because the rest...
View ArticleHowie Good: “Muse”
Howie Good Muse And despite having hair like a fantastic tree and difficulty getting on and off escalators, you arrive the same way light does, remarkable and beautiful, simultaneously burning and...
View ArticleChaitali Gawade: “Tangles”
Chaitali Gawade Tangles Broken words, woven with a thread caught from tangled rain. Chaitali Gawade’s writerly musings mostly fueled by tea and coffee can be found at www.chaitaligawade.com.
View ArticleCatherine B. Krause: “Stellar”
Catherine B. Krause Stellar Early in the morning on my birthday, a couple days after our first Seder without her at the table, she lifts her narrow-ruled hand to the sky and exhales. – for Stella...
View ArticleElizabeth McMunn-Tetangco: “Apocalypse”
Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco Apocalypse No one sweats in the big movies, with the bombs like autumn trees and the ruins of the world in big red piles. Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco just wants it to rain.
View ArticleElizabeth McMunn-Tetangco: “Weather Forecast”
Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco Weather Forecast Storms will fall apart like crashing planes in the warm sky. Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco just wants it to rain.
View ArticleRoy Dorman: “Being Seen”
Roy Dorman Being Seen He takes extra care in dressing this morning as he is meeting Narcissus for coffee and surely they will be observed by the other customers. Roy Dorman, a voracious reader for over...
View ArticleFreya Jackson: “Coda”
Freya Jackson Coda The red storm breaks against the moor and finds itself swallowed deep below into the small dark cave where the rain rests. Freya Jackson is a young writer from Leeds (UK), who has...
View ArticleFreya Jackson: “Thetis of the silver feet came to the house of Hephaestus”
Freya Jackson Thetis of the silver feet came to the house of Hephaestus His gift as achingly lovely as Irises are in hospices. Freya Jackson is a young writer from Leeds (UK), who has previously been...
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