By: James Aitchison I have been asked:Can one of you change the world?See into your pure and inner self first,The most supreme of all human experiences.The eternal wheel spins all fates and destinies,Some lives are more advanced toward me,And I…
By: John Grey SINCE YOU ASKED A small unicorncupped in my handor the dead .and missingslowly strolling up my sidewalklike it’s Halloween in January — the rain playing somethingby Duke Ellingtonor a finger wrapped in cellophanesent to me parcel post…
By: Richard LeDue Never Really Liked Hotels The front desk worker wears an undertaker’s smileand the ones who don’t smilemake me feel like someone askingwhere the bathroom is at a funeral,while the muffled conversations I try not to hearin the…
By: Alison Auch (Trigger warning: sexual assault) I’m trying to think of a beautiful word,one that goes in front of train but in backof hot night, fourteen in white shirt, was ita white shirt? And a word that does morethan…
By: Karen Lee Stradford The light shines on your faceas you lie in the colbalt casketyour spirit simmers,eternal. Our pleasant morning conversationsover Chock Full O’ Nuts, bagels and scrambled eggsas Channel 2 news rouses the activities of the day. My…
By: Gopikrishnan Kottoor In The Heart’s Suite The curtains are stillIn the heart’s suite.A little lightFrom the lamp shade,Is all orange upon the floor. What do I still search forIn the heart’s rooms?Rooms, whereThe walls fillWith calendars,Portraits,Something live suddenlyRunning fast…
By: Veronica Ashenhurst Bulwark: To Jane Eyre My walls, brick and plaster, stand pitiless.So, I covet the far horizon, as didRochester’s wife, groaning in her windowlessThird-story room. But my infirm hipsAnd legs can’t take me anywhere, onlyMuddling across the still…
By: Dan Fitzgerald A Night of Poetry I can’t write the poetry that you readto your friends at dinner parties.I use too many coarse wordsand phrases for polite company.So I sit in silencewaiting for you to endwith the heavy emphasison…
By: Alison Auch It’s a liquid dinner that I can’t escapethe bones cross sideways as I walkthis path of marigolds, dogs, dust. It’s dinnertime at my house, and thechildren are in bed, stories ofmy camera, my lens, my not seeing…
By: Mike Turner We each live in prisonsOf our own designServing a sentenceFor crimes we have committedAgainst ourselves There are walls, bars, fencesAll to confine usInsuring personal pain is maintainedAffliction is ongoingHappiness and peace are excluded Days stretch to months…