Category / 2018 / Fall 2018 / Poetry

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  • As Of Now – Lily Crowder

    As Of Now   I want to live on the moon. I want to bathe in a crater filled with scorching water and lavender soap. Sweet serenity fills my pores. When the wind grazes your back through the small holes in the lawn chair think of me. I do envy the breeze. May I always…

  • How to Snowshoe – Anthony J. Dennis

    How to Snowshoe   One must forget the snow, the painful arch, the ominous brightness of March.   On snowshoes you must go until the sky un-names you, and the sun burns the memories from your face.   You are lost in a Sahara of snow now, far from the wheel and the plow and…

  • Hillsboro House – Alexis Draut

    Hillsboro House   I can do no wrong but my body still feels like it doesn’t belong to me. It doesn’t matter how I decide what I want to believe, because truth will always inhabit the air of my being. It doesn’t matter where I grow into the fullness of a life, for I will…

  • memories in Wellington – Alexis Draut

    memories in Wellington   Katie and I each stole a boiled egg, salted them, and ate them on the porch behind the wharekai. On a walk in a neighborhood I didn’t know, I found a red leaf and pretended it was my lips. I’m out of words to offer the sun from my mind. All…

  • Luca – Maya Elena Jackson

    Luca   Finally, I’m so free I could die. The carnival sign said “You can ask for anything!” I said “Do you have the silver ring I found at Bookmans, and gave To my high school boyfriend who Wore it while he Played the drums and Bent its shape? Because I am trying To find…

  • money – Anastasia Jill

    money   Her skirt is velvet and slit right up a honeyed thigh — Fendi cheeks and nails sharp brand my back in bloody gold. There is a red strap on her hip bone, the mark of a hot, leather touch. It hurts but she should be happy; after all, she has money. She dresses…

  • An Anthem for Brown – Babitha Marina Justin

    An Anthem for Brown   We grew up in a place where shades of brown mattered: from beige to burnt umber. My mother told me that black is beauty though she herself did not believe it. In the school bus, we measured our skintones against each other’s knuckles; the paler potato-peel brown always won. Some…

  • To Write – Kyle Kutz

    To Write   I’m going to die One day Having left so much undone. Sure, I’ve written some words, Told some tales, But what will they become? A drop In a bucket? Perhaps, A tsunami amid the sea? Well, If I touch Just one soul That’d be alright by me.

  • Barking Dogs and Racing Legs – Lou Marin

    Barking Dogs and Racing Legs   My Great Grand Dad, it may be noted, landed on the docks of Portland, Maine, near penniless, with but his dreams, a pair of patched dungarees, dirty jacket and a brown derby, sun-faded.   He had on his feet a brand new pair of brogan shoes, stove-black polished, that…

  • Poet’s Prayer – Carl “Papa” Palmer

    Poet’s Prayer                                                                                        Father, Son, Holy Spirit Not kneeling in a church pew reciting catechism rote, a last minute plea, genie lamp wish upon a star desire nor begging for winning lottery numbers, just here this day to say thank you for continuing to bless me in spite of my transgressions. I attended Sunday…

  • Bony Egg – Travis Stephens

    Bony Egg   today you arrived with all the notice of a lightning strike; the scent of your hair, your alto laugh, the grace of stretching while at your easel. Somewhere within this bony egg– this overheated mush of fat and string– that memory lives. If I knew which quadrant I’d opt for surgery– a…

  • The Salty Sea of a Dream – Teresa Sutton

    The Salty Sea of a Dream   I wish you days on end golden as honey and new as the sun as it streams above the horizon each morning. I wish you the orange of ripe pumpkins and autumn leaves at the moment they ignite with the essence of their lives. I wish you the…

  • MISSED CONNECTION / WHAT IS FREEDOM ANYWAY? – Michael Zinkowski

    MISSED CONNECTION / WHAT IS FREEDOM ANYWAY?   You know the feeling of interdimensional travel, that poppy seed of recognition you get when you think you know someone or you know the person but can’t remember how? They say, for the West, widespread wildfires spread across thousands of acres for months, choking the valleys where…

  • Regrets – Star LaBranche

    Regrets   I run around like a wet dog, fur dripping with affection, no one wants to get close enough to me to pet me in my desperate bit for attention, I chase after people as they run one day I met another wet dog and he rushed to greet me, so excited that he…

  • As I Walked – Ken Tomaro

    AS I WALKED The sun was humming through the clouds just enough that this particular morning felt brighter but still gray the snow was in piles touched with dirty footprints the people looked miserable and rightly so clumps of ice and dirty snow fell around me as I walked all was calm yet dull steam…

  • Empty Caverns – Katie Matz

    Empty Caverns Why do you feel the desperate need to gouge and scrape at me until there’s no diamonds left not even a stone? Only black, cloudy, ash of sooty coal leftover and unwanted. The same way it felt When I watched you Slowly              drag your pickaxe to another…

  • Buzzwinkle

    BUZZWINKLE That’s what the citizens of the small Alaskan town named him when he stood drunk and slightly knock-kneed in the pub’s courtyard after eating too many fallen crabapples. His inclined head drooping under the weight of his antlers, what look like plates and bowls tilt when he turns his long face sideways— the flap…

  • A Curse Upon Myself

    A Curse Upon Myself     May a tree grow from the roof of my mouth. Mice swim in my sink. My thumbs drop out.   May we marry your sister’s cooking. Gather in clumps. Throw glass in a stone house.   Oh me is woe. Have a mosquito sing in my ear. Stir my…

  • Aria

    Aria by Janette Schafer   I let your sheet music sit atop the Bechstein where you left it, one corner slightly raised where it rests on a champagne bottle made into a vase for a silk orchids.   The cadenza is stained by a ring of dribbled coffee. The cup’s mouth is dusty and I…

  • Fishbowl Daydream

    Fishbowl Daydream Drew Pisarra   Can a dead goldfish still swim or does it drift around round abandoned castles and trailer park snails, simply out of habit…   And what of the fish alive, does it measure time in invisible ripples, is it tirelessly circling   in search of escape, is it chasing its tail,…