The 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

Autumn in Park We lay here on the grass, beneath October the leaves falling the leaves falling the sun driven, from our faces. Time moving naked across the trees. We lay here on the grass, beneath October  the snow falling the snow falling the sun driven from our faces. autumn is parked upon us.   […]

Read More Poetry: “Autumn in the park” by David Groulx

Sacred Traces We returned that cool autumn dayto bright flecks of yellowpeeking through verdant strokes,splashes of red soaking our eyes.Joe pie, jewel weed,Singing symphony of wildflowerspainted the meadow past the stream We savored our little worldfrom our perch on the porch.Yet there was a void.Our red hummingbird feeder was dry.We filled it with sweet waterand […]

Read More Poetry: “Sacred Traces” by Michael Shen

Endings I stood in the frigid blast of Januarylate afternoon.  And witnessedthe backhoe manbackfill your grave. The wind had blown the pasturebare, the earth iced so deepthe shovel on the hoehad to carve and chip at itlike stone. And you lay stone-stiff amidsta cluster of boulders nearby,fetlocks flagging.  Childrencalled — Patches! Patches! —though the children […]

Read More Poetry: “Endings” by Lowell Jaeger

First Lagrangian Point After all this world expands, I still carry you,You and your hydrogens, in the light’s decline.I call me insane, I call me unbearable, callow,And fence my bedroom with apologies.I thought I was good to have climbed this branch,That a flaming heart could do nothing but good,But bullets make survivors, not soldiers,And I […]

Read More Poetry: “First Lagrangian Point” by Binh Nguyen

entry fee

looping floss around the lame tooth

will lop it off, falling to the pile

like loose change—a mouth

is the entrance to all i am 

willing to give you. the markings

on a lover’s neck share the mountains

and valleys on my own arm, 

i have yet to taste any other part 

of me.

Read More Poetry: “Inside the body museum” by Andrew Walker