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.

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).

Before We Stepped Outside

by on Aug 24, 2017

you
painted
my head
white

soft hands
planted roots
on my scalp
spring warmth

cherry blossoms
in your laugh

petals
on our tongues

 


James Croal Jackson’s poetry has appeared in The Bitter Oleander, Rust + Moth, Cosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere. His first chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017) is forthcoming. He is the 2016 William Redding Memorial Poetry Contest winner in his current city of Columbus, Ohio. Visit him at jimjakk.com.

Once Upon a Linear Time

by on Aug 23, 2017

i don’t believe in space wormholes, time travel, events unravelling counter-clockwise. what is becomes what was. time is an arrow. resurrection comes only in memory, the rising of the dead, the rolling back of the stone in mind and dream. this is the dimension of ghost where physical laws don’t rule and time isn’t an arrow shot from a bow. the constant struggle to keep from slipping into randomness. forces weakening until connections loosen like petals falling from the autumn flower. although once upon a linear time everything was as simple as leaping over a puddle in spring.

the lilac not yet
in full bloom and already
florets in decay

 


Marianne Paul is a Canadian poet and novelist. She won the 2016 Jane Reichhold Memorial Haiga Competition multi-media category, and the 2016 Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku International, Canadian division. To learn more of her work, visit mariannepaul.com and literarykayak.com.

first day of school

by on Aug 22, 2017

 

first day of school
the sun’s warmth
in my lunchbox

 


Anthony Q. Rabang finished his BS Biology at the University of the Philippines – Baguio in 2015. He started writing haiku, senryu, and haibun while soul-searching in January 2016. He has poems published in the Asahi Haikuist Network, The Mainichi Failed Haiku, World Haiku Review, Contemporary Haibun Online, Cattails, Wildplum, Akitsu Quarterly, Akisame, Makoto, Presence and Under the Basho. Website: Short Pauses.

Refuge

by on May 26, 2017

If sky darkens on a day when you have roamed too far,
if wind picks up, trembling leaves on familiar trees,

if lightning carves its fiery veins above your head,
if thunder explodes, and a fury of rain drenches you,

if you stumble in this wet misery on a street
that all but disappears, I offer you an open door,

and at my table, an honored place. If power lines
lie sizzling and snaking on the wet ground, we will

find lanterns and candles, some crusty bread
and plenty of wine. Together we can ride it out,

this storm that rose so suddenly. Others have already
come, shaken and storm-cursed, but warm now, and dry

in this well-built house, where voices study the daunting
language of hope, and new songs braid and rise, until fear

is sealed away, and a new, quiet courage spreads around
us, a lake glimmering at sunset, or moonlight in the spring.

 


Steve Klepetar has received several nominations for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize, including four in 2016. Recent collections include My Son Writes a Report on the Warsaw Ghetto and The Li Bo Poems (both from Flutter Press). Family Reunion (Big Table) and A Landscape in Hell (Flutter Press) were released in January, 2017.