POETRY: “THE STACK” by Michael Salcman
I apologize for not reading the stack of books
you’ve sent me,
those wet stories of a West Virginia childhood
with nighttime drives around cliffs […]
UChicago's Oldest Literary Magazine
I apologize for not reading the stack of books
you’ve sent me,
those wet stories of a West Virginia childhood
with nighttime drives around cliffs […]
we neighborhood kids flooded the sidewalk
waiting for the ice cream truck to sing its tunes.
Jelly sandals melted into the concrete while jean skorts
and tank tops colored the bleakness of the apartment block. […]
We finally talk, palm tree humid balm doesn’t
wilt the rules. This rehab center is strict.
The silence a crushed space, you stood, cast
eyes to rocky ground beneath you. Fingers
in pockets a familiar anchor—you twisted,
bent, found the smooth, flat stone, considered […]
How unlikely that we should be here at all
Our presence but a brief raven’s call
Across the valley of this desert place
The worn rocks bearing an indifferent face […]
Poem Written by a Robot Roses and gladiators. I serve the purpose of serving you. The weather is reasonable. Czar Nicholas the II dug knives to Albuquerque . To whom recalibrates the brother of gregarious neighbors? Mary had a little lamb, little lamb… a blue outhouse reinstated the right timetable. I joke; I joke. The […]
Read More Poetry: “Poem Written by a Robot” by Peter BethanisI’ve never written a poem like this.
No cupid’s ever held my quiver
I’ve never felt the butterflies
That oft called “delicious” shiver
The emperors vacationed at Balackla,
its palaces with springs
known for their fish
swimming in holy water […]
WHO WAS AND IS AND IS TO COME I had flown in from halfway across the country for a family Labor Day reunion. I was tired and hungry. I stood in your open doorway. The sun, setting behind the Great Rocky Mountains, shed globules of light through the shimmering bay window surrounding your bed. I […]
Read More poetry: “Who was and is and is to come” by Sam AmblerThe longest day o unreachable evening – it’s summer now; quite hot, not quite the longest day, though that’s approaching. and these are the times you don’t want to be indoors, on a wooden chair inside a bedsit, scratching yourself and writing poems. if I could I would be down now next to the river, […]
Read More Poetry: “The longest day” by DS Maolalaí