By: Jim Brosnan Words Left on Scattered Pages I spend the nightreluctantly abandoningmy dreams. Whena pink swirled dawnarrives under scribbledclouds, my thoughtsintrude betweenmy lines of versewhile they hoverover a horizonof mature corn fields,while they hoverover a horizonof farmlandand wheat silos—scattered…
By: Debbie Tunstall Bark, snarl, moanDON’T howl at the moon,howl into charcoal nightwhere darkness hunts the hunted,Where consistency is metaphorbarking from the trees. Tip toe, nibble20lbs of everything,but when is wolf more than just a sheep?Or when ignorance asks,” how…
By: J.K. Durick Meteor Shower Sometimes they comestreaking down on melike that meteor shower,they promised us last night.It’s easy to picture, but hard to watch.Words, some whole some fractured,phrases and sentence fragments,pieces of half remembered quotationsall raining down,and there I…
By: Suman Mondal When the Rain Recites Imagine I arrive at your home, crawlingthrough the damp monsoon night –petrichor rising from shriveled grasses,musky pungent drifts in the air,and you shedding teardrops. The sonorous sounds of rain,velvety muddy fields,suffused with your…
By Kevin Armor Harris Sketch for a study of Egyptian mummies Huddle of supines, dimly lit, any motion ever now forever smothered. Surely there can be no escape. Embalmers with their hands on time have sealed all promise, bodies and…
By: Eliza Mimski She was born.The uterus opened.She cried.She cried.She grew.She took steps.She threw tantrums.She stomped her feet.She entered school.She was bullied.She was made fun of.She cried.She cried.She was adolescence.Her knees knocked.Her teeth came in crooked.Her tiny breasts formed.They weren’t…
By: Philipp Ammon Condemnation Cleese is a racistJust as TrumpEvilAn old white man CommunionJoinTwo minutesHate FindThe racistThe sexistThe ageistThe ableistThe bigot Find the foeHe isEverywhere He isHideousDeviousHe won’t tellHe isYou know Find the crimeMake the conjunctionFind the linkThe link existsDig…
By: Yucheng Tao Today, the museum closes its doors early,waiting;how much of the night’s bleaknessseeps into it, enjoying the dark corridors.The Indian tents with pointed frames,like spears of bone, stand piercedin the empty lobby, lonely,waiting;how the winter wind cuts through…
By: James Aitchison So little needsexplaining.What mysteriescan there be whennone exist?Courage guides theman with the senseto listen.What is turmoil?What is rage?Each man holds thesame answers.Each man has anordered path,should he wish it.
By: Debbie Tunstall Griefs algorithm It goes like this: punching walls to the sound ofthe snapping of the bottle, followed by silence. The upward trek on hind legs,the ground sliding beneath them. Trek quietly, lightly, efficientlywith smiles stuffed into my…