Category Archives: Poetry

Tara Campbell Heed the Green Our ancestors knew the Earth would burn, the stars would bleed, it would all come undone. Save the Green, they said. They knew one day we’d need it. Our children don’t yet know the velvet … Continue reading →

Marisca Pichette scarcrow scarcrow is off to see the wizard to beg for a new brain. “new?” asks the wizard, stroking his admirable mustache under a sick-green light. “I can’t give you something you already have.” scarcrow flits from one straw-clawed foot to the … Continue reading →

M. Frost moon passing over the face of a sunflower …………..sunflowers don’t turn to the moon …………..– Tanya Tagaq (“Ikualajut”) ripened the sunflower sets seed a broken orb oiled to gloss by a palm of sun kissed by a creeping … Continue reading →

Thistle June The Cistern Moon Twilight drags out the night sky, dark blue, clear. Venus falls to the horizon, a seed of the stars to come, and the sun persists just as an echo – a sliver which will reveal … Continue reading →

Hannan Khan Waltz of Genesis & Armageddon ………………….Language Warning peacock spider rears — an emperor draped in dazzled fire iridescent banners of galaxies caving in & blooming at once vitality incinerating as death; death scintillating as vitality a foil penned … Continue reading →

Deborah L. Davitt Dryads of the Ancient Orchard No dryads for fruit trees live; thanks to grafting, they’re too tame. Branches bow as if captive— humans tend them, just the same. And if the trees are restive? They express it … Continue reading →

Tanner Abernathy Chokecherries in Eden It was September in Eden. By a Florentine Oak, in the stifling heat, like the last cigarette-glow before bootheel and asphalt, the cherub at the eastern gate glanced down and saw his sword extinguished. It … Continue reading →

Joely Williams Science Fictional Every morning I run the simulation: what if the city is still there, what if the language is still spoken, what if we made it through the century without losing the things we meant to keep. … Continue reading →

Bob McAfee At Three A.M. In a deserted alley on Franklin Street the garbage cans play the opening bars of the Hallelujah Chorus; After a moment, a tom cat emerges protesting his innocence. At the corner of Elm Street and … Continue reading →

Every issue delights me; I hope these poems do the same for you. The poets are from across the nation and from across the ocean. As usual, I enjoy to publish a variety of distinctive voices, as well as form, … Continue reading →