Category / Poetry / 2020 / Spring 2020 / 2020 / Spring 2020 Poetry

You compost combustible love. Inner solar panels generate constant rebate romance. There is no waste in your ecological energy. You recycle kisses across a gradual grid so that I am the sole beneficiary of your electric current. R. Gerry Fabian is a retired English instructor. He has been publishing poetry since 1972 in various poetry…

(A Rannaigheacht Ghairid) Sacred pine Grips the ridge of rocky spine. Roots that probe the limestone crust Brace against each gust, entwine Earth and sky With a long-forgotten sigh Sealed within a pyramid Where the hidden pharaohs lie. Weatherblown, Ancient one of age unknown Marks the centuries with rings, Cradles saplings in a cone. Limbs…

He studies the night sky with an eye Toward the blinding majesty of dark sparkles That pop in and out of existence Like inchoate dreams of teenaged boys Wanting to know the unknowable. The peace of the solitary moon calls to him, And the ghost of Neil Armstrong hugs him, Kisses him goodnight, Even as…

I am the egg yoke That draws nourishment From the white light of the heavens I am fire and gasses and intense heat Hungry to burn myself out I was here before you And will still be here Long after you are gone I am the hope of your children There is no future without…

All of the nights, for now, stay quiet in this post evening darkness. There is the breath of us all, from our bodies, and I am positive that in those heads, there resides the visions and the rapid eye movements that conjure an escape plan of dreams. The animals in the rained streets are still…

Tonight, I stitched light-beams and heart-strings Together, with thread Pulling tightly all the parts of me I’d left to ruin out in the rain. Amanda Little Rose has been a high school English teacher for five years, and graduated Bachelors of Arts and Science in English and Secondary Education, from Salve Regina University in Newport,…

Everydays like this one, I can’t wait to find my way around the bend, to a lonely patch all by myself. I strip down, slip down into briny deliciousness cool plunge under, get to know my own sensual self, way below aqualayers I’m alive. Euphoric green, underwater pristine as far as the body can see,…

I was wed to the ocean, deeply. It was tranquil like a graveyard, but it made for a good listener, as I wanted a coffee confidante. But now the waves just welcome me in, with a curl of a palm, and one hiccup, and it’s done, and now it is time for sink or swim.…

Ruach Soft grasses kneel at your breath. The rustle of your small still voice in a breeze through a field of lilies incense their petals, stirs your whisper against the face of my soul. I thirst for the moisture of your words, taste the earth-rich rill in the air flavored with pine—my lips sated,                                    …

Would God still love and forgive me if I asked Him to consider agreeing to disagree? Would He welcome a meeting with me, taking an unassuming seat across the table— the same hands that wove the strands of the universe into being, clasped around a simple cup of coffee— calmly waiting for me to gather…

Facing upwards, smiling at the sky the sunflowers whisper good morning to their mother as she rises. she warms them, simultaneously warming my face as I stare out into the vast openness in front of me. golden and homey and safe. the only place I could go to get away from the overthinking and loudness…

The bug pounces. I scream for help, And you laugh. Lantern bugs are harmless, you say as it jumps on my head. Lantern bugs wouldn’t hurt you, you say as one crawls up my leg. Lantern bugs don’t bite, you say as this creature clings to my back. Well wait 10 years because these bugs…

Trivialities come like a toxic rain They linger, then slither off into bushes Like snails, they hide Untended they roll into shells And become forgotten Coiled into nuggets of dirt That becomes the calcium deposits of streets– They are a heavy residue Guests who have become furniture Meager warnings of the past To always be…

Sometimes there’s a storm and lightning cleaves a maple tree in two, and one half crashes through the roof of a house and the other demolishes a neighbor’s garage. But sometimes, it hasn’t rained in months and the land and the reservoir are crying out from thirst, and this sudden downpour spurs the soil to…

Despite tacky music blaring evenings and afternoons from the massage parlor— Palapa roofed in black plastic— the same woman’s shawl comes higher, entreats the land. A long wave followed by another, one sun glittering its googolplex of glints in the cadenced waves. Earth wooed by water— a turquoise unlike any found beneath the crust of…

Somewhere outside the grasp of God– Where stars are never born And abandoned wings fly aimlessly– you and I burst into being; lovers, enemies, One Mallory Rowe has been writing poetry for over ten years, but she is currently passionate about haiku and senryu specifically. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Art History and…