Category: Poetry
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Cast this air into the night…by G. Mramor
Cast this air into the night. Author these words for the wind. Dream the dying dream. Fore there is no war made with wind. There is only this. Red knuckles biting with hoar. Thumbs dicking raw scabs. Pink hands peeling from the web. Fore the rose light soars this dreamflight. But no war…
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Homefree…by G. Mramor
I. Got drunk in the citysludge tonight. Ran the pockets lined with dough. Struck a poorman to his death and salvation. Regret the cigarette lost to a poker. Remember always that summer in november. Bronze days without remorse. Ugly throats for the hugging. Pruning babes for the sucking. Limp bodies for the fucking. Gather with…
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Snowblind…by G. Mramor
Burning snow and cold hands Black the dress wrinkled white Slumbring beasts and inverted eyes Snowblind the dreams hanging from the widow tree. Snowblind the naked doll bending down a wrinkled star. Snowblind the toy soldiers in the smoke of dreams. Snowblind falling this ruin the river runs in me. Somewhere snowblind my father sits…
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Fun… by Brittney Bullock
It was for the fun of it, or so I thought. I’d do it for the fun of it, for the great surprise and greater purpose of living on an edge- the edge. I guess I’d forgotten it’d already been defined, before in some past time, and re-defined again; a proper name to call the…
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That grows from your hands…by G. Mramor
And indifference bears its heart stone, Though a million words be spilt Love lords only the is. In time remember will divest me of this, For a voice in a box An unwanted stone sings its spring. A rose is no flower that grows from sand, And a love is not remembered When…
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Seeing all that was good in the land…by G. Mramor
Because I was there for the parting of the lakes and I saw the sun swallowed up by a whale and yet I stood transfixed as fires from sunset ran into houses dorming families thrown together in stitches from the war’s end and I watched muted as trees bludgeoned the ends of houses till they…
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386, 387 by Owen Lucas
Owen Lucas is a British writer living in Norwalk, Connecticut. His poems have been published in more than thirty reviews and journals on both sides of the Atlantic. During 2013, twenty-two of his ekphrasis poems were serialized by Mountain Tales Press. Other recent credits include The MacGuffin, A Clean Well-Lighted Place and Off the Coast. Look for…
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More Poems by Jeffrey Park & Artwork by Ben Quinn
Jeffrey Park’s poetry has appeared most recently in UFO Gigolo, The Camel Saloon, streetcake, and the science fiction anthology Just One More Step from Horrified Press. A native of Baltimore, Jeffrey currently lives in Munich, Germany, where he works at a private secondary school. Links to all of his published work can be found at…
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Foreground… by Brittney Bullock
I dreamt of our demise like clockwork, now I don’t belong to anyone anymore. They used to talk about freedoms such as this but I never understood it or even thought to ask their names; I wish I did. They told me that the day is nothing but the night in disguise rolling along and…
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He Died Alone… by Brittney Bullock
I think it must have been beautiful when you died laid up in such perfect solitude counting sheep until the cows came home, until the daylight broke, until the sheep were gone. I imagine there was nothing less than a flood of color clouding the perimeter of your face like a Byzantine idol and rushing…
