Red River Review
Established 1999
Category: 2018
A Rainbow of Oil by Carol A Alexander
A serviceable pool of light drips into dream while my father haggles to highway back before the sundown’s scrim. Which really is dark’s absence, strip malls and invitation, the slightly rancid smell of frying clams. I cannot grasp the magnet of his East– the… Continue Reading “A Rainbow of Oil by Carol A Alexander”
a small memory by jonathan bracker
Quaffing a medium mug of a Belgian ale Brewed, the brasserie sign says, since 1240, What a surprise to have Hutch Hutchinson’s name Surface in my only slightly befuddled brain! Hutch whom I have not thought of for a lifetime. But then, I did… Continue Reading “a small memory by jonathan bracker”
Just Down Wilkinson Street by jonathan bracker
Just Down Wilkinson Street, He Lived I was still yet a boy, And weasel-faced Warren Metcalf was Also. But he was the leader Of a gang, of which I was not a part Though I yearned to be. One day – just that one… Continue Reading “Just Down Wilkinson Street by jonathan bracker”
Deeper Lives by Carolyn Cordon
The sky, the horizon, my love for both Love for people – family, friends Honesty eternal, it never ends Truthful engagement, heart and soul – Follow the sky up to the stars Or horizon’s line that mankind mars Pathways followed, dead ends, or none… Continue Reading “Deeper Lives by Carolyn Cordon”
Nightcap by Helen Freeman
Late at night my husband and I go into the kitchen. We prattle about this and that: who’s eaten the most apple pie? What to cook for the next dinner party – the regular? Lasagne? And which cat is that intoning a nocturne outside… Continue Reading “Nightcap by Helen Freeman”
Thirteen Ways of Looking at Clavicles by Helen Freeman
I With ruler and protractor I appraise the clavicle. II Among 206 human bones the only long one lying down is the clavicle. III A shoulder blade, a clavicle and a sternum are almost one, all three girdle magic appeal in place. IV Little… Continue Reading “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Clavicles by Helen Freeman”
The World Without by Bill Glose
Next door, neighbors shuffle junk in their yard, scrap metal and rusted-out appliances to resell on weekends. Across the street, two girls play hopscotch in a driveway, screechy giggles trilling through windows of our house, where a ticking clock stabs silence like a needle… Continue Reading “The World Without by Bill Glose”
Look Down by Ryn Holmes
here, I’m in Hell, my scars plain to see, there’s no drama – stolen – no one knows me now. That time I was living insanely, I used up my words, made an ass out of myself. I am danger, everything to lose, down… Continue Reading “Look Down by Ryn Holmes”
next door by Stephen House
in her worn dressing gown she leans over our falling down fence asks me if i’m doing ok i tell of ongoing tests and painful biopsies waiting on cancer results it’s not looking good her eyes mist over concerned and with care i glance… Continue Reading “next door by Stephen House”
shared darkness by Stephen House
a tall thin man dressed in a filthy frock shuffles along these streets each day i drag myself along them too on trodden grime we separately seek our own evaporating reasons for these solitary rambles to anywhere else but the wasted now of this… Continue Reading “shared darkness by Stephen House”
My Granddaughter, Almost Twenty by Michael Craig Kasper
I watch my granddaughter Walk before me Or rather, I watch the men Staining their necks As they watch her walk by, Young hips swaying like the sea Oblivious. And I am proud That the blood of my blood Can draw such rapture Such… Continue Reading “My Granddaughter, Almost Twenty by Michael Craig Kasper”
The Dancing Trees by Michael Craig Kasper
There was a stand of trees Where the road from work Teed into the road home. They would dance in the wind, So close, their branches mingled, If one moved, they all moved, Choreographed. I would sit at the light, Waiting to turn, and… Continue Reading “The Dancing Trees by Michael Craig Kasper”
Whistle Stop by Michael Craig Kasper
some minor city in Illinois past midnight, the neon signs running on the wet pavement the tavern hard by the tracks we stop here to let one off or two get on — minutes of stillness in the long rough night I watch him… Continue Reading “Whistle Stop by Michael Craig Kasper”
NO FRILLS by BRIAN KATES
She listened as I’d read my awkward lines of verse at night, sitting, legs splayed and silent, on the bed in shabby underpants–you could hardly call them panties: faded cotton, color indeterminate, loose-fitting, frayed. (Stray threads caressed her thighs; a poet in times past… Continue Reading “NO FRILLS by BRIAN KATES”
PROVINCETOWN HARBOR by BRIAN KATES
We watched the mermaid comb seaweed from her haughty breasts as moon-pulled waves sang their timeless John Cage song beyond our outward gaze beneath the pier that August night in Provincetown. Only silence passed between us. And wonder. And a night of blissful sleeplessness.
Mismar by Pratishtha Kharbanda
Mismar (Urdu) n. Demolished you left me like a storm leaves a city : in ruins. and all i could do was gape at the damage in the eerie silence of your absence. so how am i supposed to believe him when he tells… Continue Reading “Mismar by Pratishtha Kharbanda”
Cry Lots For Father by Christopher McCarthy
The building maker’s second son walks up and down flight after flight of stairs with a ring of keys. Lock doors. Count A. B. Still. The site is under construction. Mid-morning groaning ceases for fifteen minutes. Then the first call is heard. ‘Lot 47’.… Continue Reading “Cry Lots For Father by Christopher McCarthy”
Imagine Charlotte by Christopher McCarthy
Fly to the place (not the person) in your mind. Do it in a dream. Imagine it’s years from now. Laugh. Cover. Laugh some more. Know so little of each other and so much. Mother. Meet family. Love. A daughter. Moon. Heartbeat. Red. Art,… Continue Reading “Imagine Charlotte by Christopher McCarthy”
Harvesting Blueberry by Mary Ann Meade
String after string mark the rows where rake and I must pull. What if I find a knot. What if I am caught, my rake beating like a bird wing against the earth. * Evening. I empty the last bucket of blueberry. Follow the… Continue Reading “Harvesting Blueberry by Mary Ann Meade”
On Our Daughter by Cecil Morris
Our girl, turning seventeen today, has grown too big for her pink room. She feels closed in by the four walls we helped her paint. The whole narrow house, in fact, is too small for her blonde longitude. The rooms, the people, the whole… Continue Reading “On Our Daughter by Cecil Morris”
Reaching for Her Body by Cecil Morris
At thirteen my daughter chose her own swimming suit, a bright pink two piece for someone with a figure. The bikini’s leg holes arch over her thin hips, over those twin bones still closed like folded wings. After every dive she adjusts her bikini… Continue Reading “Reaching for Her Body by Cecil Morris”
the true name of god by JB Mulligan
gullsoar slow winterbreeze wintertrees branchetching blue sky and milkstain clouds oozing eastward no meaning message word can hold as if it were a thing as these things hold a morning a timespace in all this stillness (even movement is still) the throb the pulse… Continue Reading “the true name of god by JB Mulligan”
The Herb Garden by Robert Nisbet
Tarragon, rosemary, fennel and thyme. Barely a herb garden, more a collection of herbs in pots, ranged in her small back yard. Tarragon, rosemary, fennel and thyme. She dwelt on the scents and the sweetness. Rosemary, that’s for remembrance. But no-one had died. He’d… Continue Reading “The Herb Garden by Robert Nisbet”
The Morphology of Compassion and Indifference by Nynke Passi
Raindrops advance kamikaze-style, surrendering individual, perfect smallness Do tears of an onion look differently under a microscope than tears of grief? A cracked shard of glass reflects the sun as beautifully as a church window Pizzicato spider feet play cobweb harps up in heaven… Continue Reading “The Morphology of Compassion and Indifference by Nynke Passi”
there is absolution by Nynke Passi
there is absolution in the unexpected coolness of a sheet_____the whispering of lovelorn cicadas changing form as life does— _____in one room after another_____in husks of cocoon _____behind doors of eyelid, forehead, lip_____hidden by curtains of lashes _____beads of days prayed one by one,… Continue Reading “there is absolution by Nynke Passi”
One thousand seconds by Timothy Pilgrim
No motion permitted, lie back, hope dermatologist named Lance knows enough, laser in hand, can scorch an evil layer off cheek in sixteen minutes plus. Eyes closed to each flash, time to dream womb, baby, dark to light. More sparks, face teened, back seat,… Continue Reading “One thousand seconds by Timothy Pilgrim”
12 Exposure Film by Lillian Ramirez
milk of weeds dim eyes earth-crawler jaded coffin early light fallen ashes last tears still frame wisp of wind feel of flight kaleidoscope sweet nectar
Just Visiting by Andy Roberts
I was lost in the ‘40’s for twenty years. Sharp clothes and heroin. I found some comfort there. I was born against my will, like every actor on earth. But I’m in no hurry to leave my sip of black coffee and crisp white… Continue Reading “Just Visiting by Andy Roberts”
Pagan Purples by Andy Roberts
The smallest bees I have ever seen are swarming the foxglove and loosestrife, standing on their heads for nectar in the delphiniums. I stop under the silver maple for shade, where the tiny oak tree fights for light, stem the size of a gnarled,… Continue Reading “Pagan Purples by Andy Roberts”
Too Close For Comfort by Andy Roberts
A guitar strummer sat down among us in fifth grade and taught me a lesson I still forget – until I see it in the eyes of someone I’m teaching chords to. The bully who beckons his muse onstage to sing his love song,… Continue Reading “Too Close For Comfort by Andy Roberts”
France in September by Janice D. Rubin
That autumn I lived in l’Hotel de la Petite Fleur in the old part of Nice, la Vielle Ville. The room, four flights up a narrow winding staircase built during the Inquisition. The walls a light brown Italian plaster. Walking through the ancient streets… Continue Reading “France in September by Janice D. Rubin”
Similar by Christopher Strople
My head is filled with drowsiness, and my eyes are droopy the way an old woman draws a shade in her house that is broken because she is too old to fix it, but she wants to and she resents that shade just a… Continue Reading “Similar by Christopher Strople”
Missing the Bison by Keith Allan Welch
Go walk in the tall grass of a farmer’s field you may feel strongly the absence of the bison all his gruff rolling muscle and tough horn, and wonder where the puma has gone the night is missing her angry yowling, the ground the… Continue Reading “Missing the Bison by Keith Allan Welch”
All Backs Wear Out by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue
All those beautiful women in their twenties with their naked, supple bodies, incredible pre-sagging, pre-kids breasts, buns, still firm and shapely, and well-muscled thighs wrapped around my waist, as I carried them to bed. Could that be the cause 30 years later of this… Continue Reading “All Backs Wear Out by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue”
Everything is Lost by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue
Me, the dumbest sentimentalist of all times. Today I’ve been thinking on that run-down apartment house my grandma lived in near downtown decades ago. Been razed for years, but today that musty smell in the hallway came back to me. Is there even one… Continue Reading “Everything is Lost by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue”
In Jackson 5: My Wife’s Last Birthday by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue
In the psyche ward’s cafeteria, she sits, barely picking at her food. Her brow, wrinkled like a hieroglyph, meaning unbelievable suffering. Cutters, schizos, manics, substance abusers form a rag-tag choir. . Belt out an off-key “Happy Birthday to you” to someone they don’t even… Continue Reading “In Jackson 5: My Wife’s Last Birthday by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue”
Woe to Those Poets of Easy Comfort! by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue
Weekends in Connecticut, chipper didacts, trust fund babies, who live in cities but write of “nature,” not as anyone who knows it sees it, but as a kind of gentrified ecosystem. Survival of the cutesy! Woe to those poets of easy comfort! May they… Continue Reading “Woe to Those Poets of Easy Comfort! by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue”
Dance of Oaks by Clarence Wolfshohl
Saturday nights the old folks scrub the dirt from under their nails, as best they can, wear dress comfortable shoes, go dance, go to St. Hedwig or Liederkranz Hall, go to talk crops and rain, go to drink beer— beer barreled belly farmers and… Continue Reading “Dance of Oaks by Clarence Wolfshohl”
End of Summer, Lima, March 2018 by Rose Mary Boehm
Apparently invisible to everyone but me and swinging a plastic shopping bag from Wong The Grocers, a large, dark-skinned, curly-haired man walked past me on a busy Lima avenue. He was naked. He was in no hurry. No one turned, the pedestrian traffic ignored… Continue Reading “End of Summer, Lima, March 2018 by Rose Mary Boehm”
Snake-Faced Mornings Driving the Dump Truck in the Blue Zone by Michael Catherwood
garbage can juice smoky plastic blinds piled up on the sidewalk blood under an old trestle bridge graffiti the only positive color parking lots filled with mattresses broken baby cribs used condoms and baby shoes someone raked into a pile scattered bricks and plywood… Continue Reading “Snake-Faced Mornings Driving the Dump Truck in the Blue Zone by Michael Catherwood”
Final Fifteen Minutes by Martin Christmas
Cabin in deep forest home alone in upstairs flat. Final fifteen minutes midday movies creepy music. Young woman older guy or younger shonky lover the ending won’t be pretty. He arrives by car by lift by open window music heavy light but always ominous.… Continue Reading “Final Fifteen Minutes by Martin Christmas”
Mount Everest Cockroach by Martin Christmas
Standing at base camp in the dark of early night watching this huge cockroach not even donning an oxygen tank about to climb to the summit of Mount Everest and off it goes. Easily scaling the rough trunk terrain the breaks in the track… Continue Reading “Mount Everest Cockroach by Martin Christmas”
Outback ruin by Martin Christmas
Hot sun, cloudless sky. As far the eye sees, flat empty plain. The track threads its lonely way to the shimmering horizon. The merciless sun drums the mulga bush. On one side of the endless track, a homestead slowly crumbling into dust. Roof long… Continue Reading “Outback ruin by Martin Christmas”
Seven Thousand Tigers by Martin Christmas
I was dapping through the archives 21st century, olden days, when I came across this cryptic note, ‘Seven thousand tigers left’. But before my birth they’d all been killed. Dad says, ‘Stick to generic brands, son’, so when the food tube came I read… Continue Reading “Seven Thousand Tigers by Martin Christmas”
Sunset Adieu by Martin Christmas
Sun sets. Cloud tips gold. Silver exhaust jets upward through the blue. Sun’s rays fade. Nodding yachts silently dip their masts. Water surface scuds a fond farewell. Sea gulls almost now departed. Mum’s framed image propped up in the front seat, takes a gentle… Continue Reading “Sunset Adieu by Martin Christmas”
The Woman in My House by Joan Colby
Five children died one summer under this roof. Some epidemic—we don’t know. Cholera, Typhoid, scarlet fever, the ordinary Hard measles. Their small tombstones Up the road enclosed by wrought iron, Names eroding from granite. When the old rafters creak in winter storms Or the… Continue Reading “The Woman in My House by Joan Colby”
Catch by Judy Dally
He caught a snook on a line trailed behind our boat. It flailed in the cockpit bottom Airless, vacant-eyed but still alive. He bashed it with a winch handle. Its blood splashed his socks, the cockpit lockers. There is salt water in my eyes.… Continue Reading “Catch by Judy Dally”
Good Housekeeping by Robert L. Dean, Jr.
home is where the psychologist asks I tap my chest the textbook answer a hollow sound an echo of furniture stolen when I wasn’t looking a problem of the heart the cardiologist says as I collapse upon the treadmill the echocardiogram detects rotting wood… Continue Reading “Good Housekeeping by Robert L. Dean, Jr.”
The Masters by Robert L. Dean, Jr.
It’s a beautiful late fall Sunday here in Augusta and he’s driving balls off a tee in his back yard, hits the water every time. But then, his yard faces the city lake and there’s no fence and it’s a small town but a… Continue Reading “The Masters by Robert L. Dean, Jr.”
Blizzard by Richard Dinges, Jr.
Time ticks in pipes that grow and dim with hot water rush, a slow dissolve absorbed by blizzard’s roar, windows white whirls against cold hard panes, world blurred into tiny fragments, perfect crystals when water stops its flow, falls from frigid sky and plants… Continue Reading “Blizzard by Richard Dinges, Jr.”
Estate Auction by Richard Dinges, Jr.
In worn cardboard boxes lie old calendars, pages torn, corners bent, years and months littered in neat stacks on estate auction tables, a stranger’s life up for bid, squares on grids filled in and passed and worth a dollar.
There’s This Place by Robert L. Ferrier
Down in Little Dixie, near a creek that feeds into the Red River. Heard from an old black man buying snuff and worms in a store off 70 east of Hugo. He’d bought a used Chevy from my dad. “You bring a pole, some… Continue Reading “There’s This Place by Robert L. Ferrier”
Performance Poetry by Ray Greenblatt
The poet comes onstage in the dark, then the spotlight rings his pale face in perfect order few hairs slicked beady eyes taking dual aim pursed lips like slot machine for fine effect pince nez perched; English accent devastates terse intros elucidate phrasing meticulous,… Continue Reading “Performance Poetry by Ray Greenblatt”
Jesus Could Not Have Walked Out On This Water by David Groulx
Jesus could not have walked out on this water this water belongs to Mishipishu. Jesus could not have flown up in to this sky this sky belongs to Thunderbird. You see settler, you see occupier, you see colonizer This land was created in the… Continue Reading “Jesus Could Not Have Walked Out On This Water by David Groulx”
Forward Observer by Mark Harden
the tall tornado siren stands mute over an unkempt stretch of green belt deer graze beneath canopies of twisted cedar elm, preferring the thinning stand of trees to the exposed pasture wary too, of clearings I watch them from within a screened porch… Continue Reading “Forward Observer by Mark Harden”
The Widower by Ann Howells
The television speaks in tongues. He sits alone, black suit, tie slightly loosened: through the archway, carnival atmosphere vibrates the dining room: bits of conversation float You remember Robey, she’s the one … table bows under stuffed ham, squash casserole, fried oysters, spoonbread, inevitable… Continue Reading “The Widower by Ann Howells”
Fourth base by Sean Lause
Our diamond was gold and soft as rosin, good for sliding, yet for every run we made we nearly died. For our diamond had a single flaw, a fourth base no one ever touched, but each had to pass on the way to… Continue Reading “Fourth base by Sean Lause”
In Passing by Dan Murphy
Who are we when we walk Amongst the bitterns? Our rubber boots sloshing like horse hooves In the reedy mud. Twirling perfumes, organic’s Seductive concoctions Of Bulrush root and reed grass. A bittern’s calling haunting The shadows that we are To them. In a… Continue Reading “In Passing by Dan Murphy”
Codicil by Laurence Musgrove
No fear as you Push me out Onto the dark ocean Of my death. My old boat May be small, But the dish of moon Will be my lighthouse. Before I drift Out of sight Past your forgiveness And forgetting, Take this hammer And… Continue Reading “Codicil by Laurence Musgrove”
Escape Sonnet by Nathanael O’Reilly
Follow the HURRICANE EVACUATION ROUTE north away from the Gulf Coast to Fort Worth past new subdivisions metastasizing beyond Houston on freshly-bulldozed earth carved out of the woodlands with beautiful new floorplans from the low 100s past the giant statue of Sam Houston forever… Continue Reading “Escape Sonnet by Nathanael O’Reilly”
Earth Keeps Spinning by Robert Okaji
What book do I pull from the shelf in this hour marking my friend’s return to that light-drenched inkling before everything collapses ? Which title, which weight shall I covet? What do we hold if not each other? Being no one, I cannot say.… Continue Reading “Earth Keeps Spinning by Robert Okaji”
Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams by Robert Okaji
If all our voices were to meet in the atmosphere what could the rain achieve? When we give nothing we have nothing. Is it enough to listen? Wisps and heaps, ripples and sheets. Accumulated, dispersed, fingers unknotting death’s grip, steps taken around the flames,… Continue Reading “Awaiting Thunder, He Dreams by Robert Okaji”
Jazz by Ray Spitzenberger
jazz uptown jazz in the lou jazz in the Big Easy jazz in Bayou City Monk and Mingus and Basie Roach and Tatum and Goodman Ellington and Armstrong and Blakey jazz beyond the sax jazz beyond the keyboard jazz words and rhymes and syntax… Continue Reading “Jazz by Ray Spitzenberger”
It Matters Not by Ron Wallace
I come unarmored, my eyes making love to Oklahoma stars that somehow have slipped into the Texas sky. Crossing the Red beneath an early morning moon I chase a gypsy shadow. It matters not to that moon nor the ornamental stars around it why… Continue Reading “It Matters Not by Ron Wallace”
Ablaut Reduplication by Alan L. Birkelbach
Things must be in this order then: Opinion, size, age, shape, color, noun. And so on. It is an easy enough thing to remember. Sweet small young round brown bear. The mnemonics of our lives. Don’t say it another way. You will be made… Continue Reading “Ablaut Reduplication by Alan L. Birkelbach”
Finally Setting Questions Aside by Alan L. Birkelbach
To be distrustful of questions is the best way to translate three ravens clustered in front of a house I was considering buying. Even just a few months ago I would have steeped the moment with symbolism. The sheen of wing. Their beaded eyes… Continue Reading “Finally Setting Questions Aside by Alan L. Birkelbach”
Ten Months After The Divorce by Alan L. Birkelbach
It is a cave we can only see at low-tide, the moss drifting like the hair of drowned mermaids, the sea-stars clinging futilely to the rocks.
What is Significant by Alan L. Birkelbach
Sitting on a bench at the dog park a younger woman, someone who I assumed was intelligent because she was attractive, said to me, “You have a dangerous dog breed.” A single man has to double-consider statements like that. When God leaned over to… Continue Reading “What is Significant by Alan L. Birkelbach”
When they would tear books up so they wouldn’t be resold by Alan L. Birkelbach
It was always New Year’s of a sort I guess. That book was last year’s gospel. You can’t read it anymore. Here’s a new and different one. It was like getting dumped in junior high by a girl. Everything had changed! You leaned blind… Continue Reading “When they would tear books up so they wouldn’t be resold by Alan L. Birkelbach”
Sheep in Space by Kevin Acers
I lose myself in daydreams of a sheep- throwing contest on the moon. Distance wins points. Bonus points are earned for every sheep that lands upright and magically prances away, launching itself with strange floating grace. Is there, somewhere, an animal whose mind drifts… Continue Reading “Sheep in Space by Kevin Acers”
The Emperor of America by Kevin Acers
Wistfully I long for the day when the Emperor of America forgoes the affairs of state and instead sits all night at his lamp-lit desk absorbed in composing sonnets in tribute to a girl he’d admired as a schoolboy. Sipping peppermint tea, lips silently… Continue Reading “The Emperor of America by Kevin Acers”
Eternal Ocean by Gavin Austin
I sit on the bench and borrow the view; a small brass plaque spells out your name as I hope you have all your answers now. I watch the waves roll onto the shore: the sea’s eternal gnashing at the land. Your ashes long… Continue Reading “Eternal Ocean by Gavin Austin”
Something I Could Count On by Dennis J Bernstein
There were two thousand red bricks that made up the front facade of the high school I would eventually drop out of. I counted them on a daily basis, as I waited for my step-dad to come pick me up after class. Some days… Continue Reading “Something I Could Count On by Dennis J Bernstein”
From Scottish Dialect by Lew Caccia
Whenever I think, some notion in the cloud or other confluence that floats the mooring will seize upon the wonderful convenience, joukery-pawkery. That bluster, “To duck, to dodge,” has danced into its corner so few adherents. Like a hollow barrel the empty drum thinly… Continue Reading “From Scottish Dialect by Lew Caccia”
Eternity Turn by Winston Derden
Consider the cleverness of the Cooper’s hawk who glides disguised the upslope of the roof, crests the ridge, and dives on pigeons perched at the feeder hanging from the eave next door: the crash and sway, the spilling of seeds, the prey pinned against… Continue Reading “Eternity Turn by Winston Derden”
Writer’s Bloc by Ray Greenblatt
____Body clenched for months ____with mittens we try to clutch ____the transparent word. ____Humidity wraps round us ____hot towels obscuring the eye ____our achievement a few drips. My inspiration lies as flat as that new rolled field, not a sprig, a twig sneaking up.… Continue Reading “Writer’s Bloc by Ray Greenblatt”
What Part of No by Patricia L. Hamilton
Don’t you understand? You could be her grandfather. Falcon stooping prey. Fresh-picked berry, crushed. Fragrant blossom cast aside. Hummingbird wing, cut. Cloak yourself in shame. No excuses. Douse the fire, stir the embers cold. Lust exposed to light: your name a scrap of paper,… Continue Reading “What Part of No by Patricia L. Hamilton”
Bat by John A Hicks
At first, I thought a brown dress glove on the floor of the parking garage, its seams raised like tendon lines stiffening the back of my hand. A life exhaled was folded flat, composed like rain-dried leather. The BMW was in my space again.… Continue Reading “Bat by John A Hicks”
Blue Ghost by Michael Keshigian
Her eyes and the lake are his memories, cobalt images of clarity and purity, running deep. It was in this cove where the black spotted loon dove head first into the heart of blue, attracting the tender pulse of her affection inciting her to… Continue Reading “Blue Ghost by Michael Keshigian”
What To Do With Intangibleles by Michael Keshigian
Early morning, snow teases the outstretched branches of birch with help from the wind. It is cold, but inside the stove’s warmth cradles the recliner in the lamplight where he reads poems. His fingers, thick and calloused, flip pages enthusiastically. He notices the shape… Continue Reading “What To Do With Intangibleles by Michael Keshigian”
Never Date an Egyptologist by John David Muth
This is grand prize for third date. Slowly, I enter relishing the warmth as it permeates. My weight settles: a sinking ship completing its watery descent. Face to face she is deep in thought tells me ancient Egyptian women inserted crocodile dung into their… Continue Reading “Never Date an Egyptologist by John David Muth”
Old Acquaintance by Robert Nisbet
The village social, New Year’s Eve, and he’s back from Cardiff, back in the new routine, the old routine he’s hankered for. At ten to twelve, the Okey-Cokey. You put your left leg in, your left leg out, and there she is (hey, they’re… Continue Reading “Old Acquaintance by Robert Nisbet”
Untitled Poem by Simon Perchik
This spoon all night on tiptoe listening for the careless splash that will never make it back –the cup half hazelnut, black, half filled so its prey can be tracked in the dark the way one mouth finds another feeds on the voice that… Continue Reading “Untitled Poem by Simon Perchik”
After Four Years There, I Decide to Get a Phone by Samuel Prestridge
Where people get, no owls stay, a quibbling I picked with night, when further down the road the new guy hauled in lights, a trailer, bull-dozed his land, bought pit bulls, started raising rabbits. No one’s here but me. Still, he posted signs. What… Continue Reading “After Four Years There, I Decide to Get a Phone by Samuel Prestridge”
The Moors by Martin A. Ramos
1 Victrola records scratched and scarred, the letters of van Gogh unread, and poems to be painted, corrected and filed after the words form, gently bidden. 2 I write a calculus for the intellect and find a dust bin for desire. The writing is… Continue Reading “The Moors by Martin A. Ramos”
Twisters in Sequence by Martin A. Ramos
In April two lovers sit on a park bench. Pigeons pivot overhead. Kernels of corn at the lovers’ feet. Not just pigeons does their love feed. During the summer months, their love is like the red of roses: vibrant, brilliant. If only roses didn’t… Continue Reading “Twisters in Sequence by Martin A. Ramos”
Object by Bill Richard
like any other object, she said. Don’t worry. They’ll observe you as they would a vase or a tree. A series of angles, planes, light, and shadow. I’m okay offering myself for scrutiny, step warily onto the platform, letting inhibitions slip to the floor… Continue Reading “Object by Bill Richard”
Juliet Balcony #2 by Kevin Ridgeway
I’m making eyes at the brown haired beauty on the opposing balcony both of us in his and her matching bathrobes, mine at a conservative length, hers mid thigh as she teases me with her cigarette and I with mine and I really think… Continue Reading “Juliet Balcony #2 by Kevin Ridgeway”
The Library by Gillian Telford
You grew into yourself knowing little about life except through books. Each leaf-vein, snake-skin, thumbprint wrought second hand- experience shaped forever, tacked together, then tucked into the bodice of your heart. So many words helped you to grieve or offered balm when all seemed… Continue Reading “The Library by Gillian Telford”
A Suspicion of Omens by Michele Waering
Ten magpies—one leucistic—perch on barbed wire above the railway line five either side of a crow a suspicion of omens from my window an honor-guard a statement of strength in numbers a warning a school for omens a lecture theatre awaiting the crow’s wisdom… Continue Reading “A Suspicion of Omens by Michele Waering”
Rain Elegy by Maryfrances Wagner
All night the dog whined through strikes and flashes while rain pelted the skylight and sang through our gutters. Morning hung over with lost limbs, petals stuck to the patio, I steered the dog across soggy yard, past runoff. I remembered the summer the… Continue Reading “Rain Elegy by Maryfrances Wagner”
Tonight by Loretta Diane Walker
”I keep having this dream that there is a garden growing inside my chest, under the bones.” ~ Melissa Studdard Tonight is an eye feast: the honeysuckle climbing over pickets in a long chain-link fence, the soft swirl of wind teasing the topmost… Continue Reading “Tonight by Loretta Diane Walker”
curtains by Rob Walker
curtains of her long-lost love in household chores where dust is found a crossword puzzle of her loss scattered wide on kitchen tiles, withered, seemed like toilet bowls which needed harpic now to shine. groceries to put away. so much to do. so little… Continue Reading “curtains by Rob Walker”
Venus and the Moon by Rob Walker
Marino Rocks Midwinter night we share a glass of wine Atop these seaside cliffs Gazing out beyond the sea’s black hole. Dark cloud clears. The new moon’s shine A sharpened pair of horns. Perhaps a bowl. Beside it Venus in orbit shifts, Rising as… Continue Reading “Venus and the Moon by Rob Walker”
Boom Car by Diane Webster
The boom car stomps its music up and down the street while inside houses dishes clatter a rattlesnake warning, and cranked-up bass bounces sound waves off T-shirts and blouses of residents watching the car pass a parade full of mad, marching bands.
I Find it Strangely Comforting by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue
That some patch of dust on that hard-to-get-to shelf yonder could be dead skin cells sloughed off her bent, pain-racked body more than 2 years ago now. Or that some microbial creature still spirals through my twisted, maze-like intestines, a parting gift from her,… Continue Reading “I Find it Strangely Comforting by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue”
In the botanicum by Jesse Wolfe
Moonlight pools, as if delayed, in the folds of the duvet, her second husband sleeping, lips pursed, as if rehearsing. He spoke in his sleep their first night together. She marvels at how he remembers dreams. Over coffee he’ll describe his sister appearing at… Continue Reading “In the botanicum by Jesse Wolfe”
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