F. John Sharp: “Gong is harder than it looks”
F. John Sharp Gong is harder than it looks when you are asked to strike just once a thirty six inch disc of brass with a twelve ounce beater, in a passage that is quieter than a whisper, knowing too...
View ArticleHolly Wren Spaulding: “Grove”
Holly Wren Spaulding Grove The blue shadows of trees lay down their cool invitations. Holly Wren Spaulding lives in western Massachusetts, where she runs Poetry Forge, an incubator for writers and...
View ArticleBen Telicki: “Body Language”
Ben Telicki Body Language That kid next to me— could he stop moving his leg and sit still for God’s sake? Ben Telicki has never liked English class.
View ArticleHowie Good: “Tinnitus: A Love Song”
Howie Good Tinnitus: A Love Song It’s something only I can hear and especially during those moments that get so quiet without you not a buzzing exactly or a hiss more like the screech of lab mice...
View ArticleH. Edgar Hix: “Grief”
H. Edgar Hix Grief A sunset can be spoken about but never spoken. H. Edgar Hix is hiding out with his seven cats, dog, and very patient wife as he writes away.
View ArticleBilly Antonio: “Progress”
Billy Antonio Progress The day the bulldozers and the ten-wheelers came, the wind stood still and the dust settled on the silent trees. Billy Antonio is a Filipino who writes poetry to remind himself...
View ArticleKay Pillai: “Chinese Lantern”
Kay Pillai Chinese Lantern Pretty ball of red burns from within— unrequited, unseen Kay Pillai used to live somewhere in India every day, till she drowned in a fairy tale.
View ArticleKristina England: “Black and White”
Kristina England Black and White If I told my three-year-old nephew, the earth is square, he’d believe in rotating corners, the edge of the world, and bounce plastic boxes instead of balls. Kristina...
View ArticleBrad Rose: “Bee, Erratic”
Brad Rose Bee, Erratic It’s not your sting I fear, nor the frenzied crush of your yellow thrashing, but your faithless hoverings— nearer to me, than I am to myself— until, like the electricity of...
View ArticleAbigail Johnson: “American Insomnia”
Abigail Johnson American Insomnia Sweet sleep, I know you the way that a blind man is said to know the moon Abigail Johnson is a student at the University of Virginia, and when she is not writing,...
View ArticleHowie Good: “Early Buds”
Howie Good Early Buds Slow footsteps stop just outside the door: anti- terror units in half- face masks and bulletproof vests. Howie Good‘s eyes collide head-on with stuffed graveyards.
View ArticleBrent Goodman: “Last Exit North”
Brent Goodman Last Exit North Between this, the forest’s shadow, and dream . . . trillium. Brent Goodman is an MFA poet turned haiku poet turned invisible poet living in Wisconsin’s Northwoods with his...
View ArticleBrent Goodman: “Discovery Channel”
Brent Goodman Discovery Channel Whale dreams chart our Earth’s curve. Brent Goodman is an MFA poet turned haiku poet turned invisible poet living in Wisconsin’s Northwoods with his foldable mountain...
View ArticleSeth Berg: “Blue Jays”
Seth Berg Blue Jays They fight like street brawlers painted periwinkle, coniferous punks prettied up for a house show packed with posers. Seth Berg is a hot-sauce-addicted artifact-maker who has...
View ArticleG. Louis Heath: “Iowa Gourmet Coffee Shop”
G. Louis Heath Iowa Gourmet Coffee Shop Nose rings in poetry slam meet seed caps in pinochle game. G. Louis Heath teaches at Ashford University in Clinton, Iowa.
View ArticleGil Hoy: “Phantom Limbs”
Gil Hoy Phantom Limbs Stir the carrots in rabbit stew, fur hats squeak with hunger pangs. Gil Hoy writes poems in Boston, reads Wallace Stevens and tries cases before juries.
View ArticleSteve Klepetar: “By the River”
Steve Klepetar By the River Two girls, at most sixteen, pink hair, blue hair, frayed jean shorts, tee shirts with stenciled names and faces of bands, thin arms glowing in pale sunlight, talk softly,...
View ArticleJimat Achmadi: “Listening to the frog’s song …”
jimat achmadi Mendengar nyanyian katak saat mata mulai mengantuk, seekor kunang-kunang menerangi mimpi. Listening to the frog’s song a firefly lights up my dream. jimat achmadi was born in...
View ArticleGonzalinho da Costa: “I like my coffee …”
Gonzalinho da Costa I like my coffee hot and black— hot hornet stings, black squid ink— heady broth of bitter cumin, red pine smoke, dusky forests, blue lightning. Gonzalinho da Costa—a pen name—is a...
View ArticleGonzalinho da Costa: “I like my tea …”
Gonzalinho da Costa I like my tea hot and sweet— hot thermal blooms, sweet billowing mists— suffusing beverage of crow-black herbs, white-petal clouds, distilled memories, prophetic dreams. Gonzalinho...
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