Kissing the Invisible Man
He wants me to shut my eyes
when we kiss,
to sculpt him in my mind
from the blind
tools of my body: fingers
reading his stubble,
lips deciphering his thirst,
nose sketching the autumnal red
of his scent.
But I seek the […]
My wife needs a new socket.
Everyday, as soon as she gets home,
She goes directly into the closet
And absent-mindedly plugs herself in.
She tells me it is part of the contract.
Sometimes she can be connected
Half an hour for a maintenance routine,
John C. Mannone
The Big Dipper is really Santa’s sled
freewheeling around the North Pole
through frosty stars and a red nosed
bear taking pointers from Rudolf as
his reins arc to a super giant red-eye
star, coursing through the circumpolar
tinsel of stars, a garland of firelights,
Tanner S. Abernathy
Deer Headed Kings
On clear evenings
up the forest trails
winding out a valley
are the tombs of the Deer Headed Kings.
Tonight the moon rises behind a red maple.
Tonight the stars bathe the air in stellar light.
In a clearing of pine needles and leaves
You stab my burlap face with needle and thread,
sew a crooked grin, forcing me to flaunt
a poor replica of your cosmetic smile.
Two buttons give me foresight.
Two pipe cleaners bent down
for eyebrows, perpetually angry.
Ropes move like puppet strings, pinning
me to a […]
Katharyn Howd Machan
Ask for Rabbit
He knows this place.
He knows which boats will sink
and which will stay afloat—awhile.
He still cooks his own conch chowder
from some of the cans that survived.
Green rain he says with a smile
I remember it blowing sideways.
Somehow he set up […]
Holiday greetings to all and a wish for a Happy New Year!
In the spirit of the season, the slate of poems opens with my donated contribution, “Ursa Major” by John C. Mannone (Niota, TN), a subverted sonnet, which was a fun to write. Hopefully it will provide enjoyment on several levels.
I find it […]
The Volume of the Universe
You asked me to find the volume of the Milky Way—
it took a whole page in my notebook, while you meditated
on the glories of frozen yogurt and geometry. I sketched
the boundaries of knowledge, the curves that hold us
So much noise—like we think to hold up heaven
with pillars of nonsense sound.
Every feast, we gather what silence
we can, press it into wine, hold it up
for the spirits who court our own, for revelries
of revelations in the hallways forever
in rays of sun, or in […]
Charles Von Nordheim
Cataclysm Days: A Dispatch from the Interior Highlands
Some crisis reports commented on speech emitted by stones and clay and mud
One ignores the terrain when it complains like one ignores falling frogs from thin air
We would have followed this standard practice if left in our old shapes