There might have been starfish

by on Sep 6, 2017

The seas of October
were calm and

the moon hung
like a small ocean

in the sky
Little globes

of Noctiluca
spilled liquid fire

and animals tinier than
radiance sparkled visible

in the cold metal sea
It was as if

a mirror had been created
to slip through,

and so I did
as a sand grain drifting

between rain and sea moss
Under the wind

a fisherman’s oar—
abandoned.

Darling, if
the sky

was sustained
under water

the beauty of things
should return

 


Jeanie Tomasko is the author of several books of poetry, The Collect of the Day being the most recently published. Two other chapbooks are forthcoming in 2017. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband, Steve and two new beehives in the backyard.

Three Poems

by on Sep 5, 2017

ocean poem
an anemone. anonymity. sink to sea lush carpet, tentacles grasping
ungraspable gold filters, tiny algae. a vibrating star.

 

grass poem
wistful field mice burrowed homes around
our heat, the heat of our fingers, our breath.

 

sky poem
slow lick of clouds, soft pink descent.
when we were sky geese dotted our bodies like freckles; lightning crackled our veins.

 


Tara Roeder is the author of two poetry chapbooks, and her work has appeared in multiple venues including The Bombay Gin, THRUSH, and 3:AM Magazine.  She is an Associate Professor of Writing Studies in New York City.

On the Way to the Ocean

by on Sep 4, 2017

The black plastic bag
flutters across the street
in the spring breeze.

Bright pink and yellow candy
wrappers bloom in the grass
that belongs to no one.

Venti cups of last night’s
mocha frappucinos
roll in the gutter with empty pens

on their way to the ocean.

 


Marianne Szlyk edits The Song Is….  Her chapbook, I Dream of Empathy, was published by Flutter Press.  She is working on another chapbook.  Her poems appear in a variety of venues including Of/with, bird’s thumb, Solidago, Figroot Press, and Cactifur.

abandoned home

by on Sep 1, 2017

 

abandoned home
the weight of dust
on a cobweb

 


Billy Antonio is a poet, writer, and public school teacher. Some of his fiction and poetry have been published in Tincture Journal, Poetry Quarterly, Red River Review, and Anak Sastra, among others. His poetry has won international recognition. He lives in the Philippines with his wife and daughters.

Boat

by on Aug 31, 2017

 


Olivier Schopfer lives in Geneva, Switzerland. He likes to capture the moment in haiku and photography. His work has appeared in The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2014 & 2016, as well as in numerous online and print journals. He also writes articles in French about etymology and everyday expressions at Olivier Schopfer raconte les mots.

In the Temple

by on Aug 30, 2017

(Watch Marie Craven’s video “In the Temple” on Vimeo)

Editor’s note: From a poem by Candida Baker. Full credits at Vimeo.

 


Marie Craven (Queensland, Australia) assembles short videos from poetry, music, voice, stills and moving images by various artists around the world. Created via the internet, the pieces are collaborative in a way that belongs to the 21st century, with open licensing and social networking key to the process. In 2016 her video ‘Dictionary Illustrations’ was awarded best film at the Ó Bhéal Poetry-Film Competition in Ireland. To see more: vimeo.com/mariecraven

Natural Light

by on Aug 29, 2017

The desire to be seen is
transforming.
Slide a mirror to me,
under the door,
here in this dark room,
and I will find a way
to flash semaphores.

 


Anna Kander, MSW, earned her social work degree in the Midwest. Her poetry and fiction are slated to appear in Breadcrumbs, The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, and elsewhere. Find her at annakander.com.

Saving Face

by on Aug 28, 2017

After it’s over
I’ll count my spoons
and line the plates up
and swear no one ever
took anything from me
I wasn’t ready to give.
If I do this well enough
I might even convince myself.
But I feel the cracks
spreading underneath
my fresh plaster,
and the pipes are leaking
somewhere in the cellar.
I don’t think I’ll get away
with my pretense
of order smooth as an egg
without a cloud or question
to mark its perfect surface.
I think I must go down
with all the other
tatterdemalions
too rough and raggedy
to let in the house,
too mad to expect
anything less.

 


Mary McCarthy has always been a writer, but spent most of her working life as a Registered Nurse. She has had work published in many print and online journals, including Third Wednesday, Earth’s Daughters, Verse Virtual, and the Ekphrastic Review. Her electronic chapbook Things I was Told Not to Think About is available as a free download from Praxis Magazine.

Trees and Names

by on Aug 25, 2017

Trees are eating a road near Chernobyl.
They have rooted through asphalt like insanity
and hunger, and have cloned many more willows
full of birds. We hope all of this is the health,
the recovery, three times more like a new heaven
baptizing itself in the songs of wrens and kingfishers
at the edge of starlight. Yes, the trees feed
shadows to the nests, and a few stray tabbies
claw into the scents and voices, so we learn.
Yes an old woman follows us, and relinquishes
her name because it was carved into a small tree
by her first lover more than seventy autumns ago.
The name is illegible now inside her mind.

 


Clyde Kessler lives in Radford, VA with his wife Kendall and thier son Alan. Kendall illustrated a book of his poems that has just been published: Fiddling At Midnight’s Farmhouse (Cedar Creek Publishing).