Poetry: “Scott,” by Dan Pinkerton

The leopard paces, shudders, compulsively
licks his paws. He growls and we come to imagine
his growls an inhumane score, an avant-garde
sort of thing. The leopard devours a selection…

Poetry: “Fishing for Winter King Salmon,” by Tina M. Johnson

Night squalls spit snow into the air.
Wolf moon breaks winter’s smoky choke
as pines along the island flare
beneath hibernal whitewashed cloaks….

Poetry: “In Houston, It Is Impossible Not to Consider Traffic,” by Glenn Shaheen

I do my best, I make it to the six
square feet in the middle of the city
park where you cannot see or hear cars.
Eyes dimmening, my eyes are failing, I’m
only eligible for a surgery I’m not…

Poetry: “La-Te-DA,” by William Heath

In Key West we go to the La-Te-Da
evenings after dinner, sip prosecco splits,
dance to live singers of varying merit,

Poetry: “April 14th One Week After Week One,” by Terry Trowbridge

Ten minutes ago lightning struck Lake Ontario.
The bolt edged the crown of a neighbour’s birch tree
then craned a hard vertical plunge over the shore cliff.

The starlings, dug into their cliffside holes,

Poetry: “Close,” by Tor Strand

Since we looked at each other and couldn’t
make much of anything.

How are we ever supposed to
with hands unable to hold more than

Poetry: “Who is calling?” by Johnny Elder

One night, a cold night, he drove through the dark, investigating the convenience of a plain of
no rocks or cavities, of the mildest undulations, the gentlest of seas, for this was an oceanic

Poetry: “Saturday Evenings,” by Peter Cashorali

On Saturday evenings time ends but we keep going.
The furniture runs out and the empty rooms go on without it.
Not empty– full of sadness and weird pain, appetites that don’t know what they want but insist that it’s something.

Poetry: “Fall or fly?” by Trevor Cunnington

for Bernice Gardner, may she RIP

Ringed around the rosy twilight park,
A cocoon on a leaf falls through the dark.
It lands on wet asphalt streets above the bulwark

Poetry: “A Fragment Lost,” by James R. Hannah

Night relaxes its eastern hand
Dawn inches forth, Quiet a vigil keeps.
The house about me now is still.
I sort through words while my lady yet sleeps.