Category Archives: Poetry

Alicia Hilton Once There Was a Lonely Unicorn On a balmy afternoon in July, I went to the creek that snakes through the glade, following hoofprints. Too large for a goat or satyr and there was no musky scent. I … Continue reading →

Garret Carroll When It All Began The exact center, —the first breath of every living creature where atoms of light shattered the darkness made columns of sight for each cornea, burning smells for each nose, and wild elements for each … Continue reading →

J.H. Siegal Pop Forgot Pop forgot the aliens came down the other day. When I stop by, he grabs my hand and begs me tell him, “Georgie, is it true, about the aliens coming down?” Nurse taps her pendant crucifix … Continue reading →

Kim Salinas Silva The Singing Girl A blue-colored lass curls her legs upon the face of a single pink daisy, spread open like a platform. One large eye gazes out like an apple; her black hair curls like a comma. … Continue reading →

Katharyn Howd Machan   Soon the Moon Will Slip from Its Mooring, Ride the River of Night Alone   except for me, day’s sun in my pocket, hiding warm light from the stars that would steal it, swallow it, lick … Continue reading →

William Doreski A Day of Definition   Shadows on whitewashed siding writhe to reveal the life within a simple geometric scene.   Sunlight encrusts us watching angels form and dissolve as the branches on which they perch   sway in … Continue reading →

Laura G. Southern Ash’s Lament Words for what we are defy,       demand apology.   Magiholic. So ugly on the tongue, that sulfuric taste of victory like golden nectar or coins blood-bright, power sizzled and brutal funneling into soldiers’ veins – … Continue reading →

Joshua St. Claire The Man with the Stone Flute Don’t listen to the man with the stone flute, Who dances mad under the linden leaves. Don’t listen to his nymphs or their fair lutes. Their nightsongs bring a sleep that … Continue reading →

Sam Barbee Midnight Rainbow A late-night cloudburst releases glitter, shimmers the dim street. From our porch, we watch a full moon appear.             Your eyes stare around the edge of your new book. There is a lunar eclipse tonight.  Hmm, I … Continue reading →

Sara Backer Volume Only when I walk the narrow trails of the woods can I hear the past. No background noise but wind and the liquid melody of a hermit thrush— the bird I’ve never seen.   I catch myself … Continue reading →