Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
The Power of Performance (Patti Smith) Your pale lips are dry yet your hoarse voice is pulsing a staccato yell as the lights and the drumbeat form a pounding rhythm for sweating energy and the wide eyes that restrain dark Continue reading The Power of Performance (Patti Smith) and 2 other new poems by Henry Bladon→
SHADOW BURN gold on sunland at cemex covers where the rio grande goes or west texas sun owns southern new mexico and throws what’s left on the mountain and disappears on a local’s wall taken from CUTTING THE WIRE NAMED Continue reading Shadow burn by Lawrence Welsh→
The bend in the Old Levee Road (translation from frisian by L.J. DeVries) Under a wiped clean nightsky cruising in my sun chariot not drunk, no don’t ! but still speeding like a bullet along the narrow road from a Continue reading The bend in the Old Levee Road by Abe DeVries→
Poet fingernails draw fine lines lovingly revealed by the welshman ‘…understand death shall not have what death shall not understand…’ another poet wondered what it is love (about death he knew) and where and how much love does one really Continue reading Poet fingernails by L.J. DeVries→
The Muse Will Come Back 1. O, how you once pined for her. And an answered prayer can be a curse. 2. You are walking away from the wreck. Out of gas, tires flat, knuckles scraped bald From useless fumbling Continue reading The Muse Will Come Back by Rayfiel A. Waller→
Making It So You had gone to Alexandria from Cairo with family and were resting on the soft grass while they explored. Someone took your picture. I used my graphics program to place a day moon above you. Your daughter Continue reading Making It So by Pris Campbell→
Minnie Mouse It is hot this Paris summer night as I walk along the city’s dark cobblestone streets, wandering old Victorian neighborhoods, moonlit alleys, and twisting pathways searching for my destination on mere hunch. A look at my watch says Continue reading Minnie Mouse by Race Hochdorf→
Connecting It’s a dry day wrapped a quivering at edges a barely being, fast holding shallow breath day; quarks fidgeting streaming through fields concocting. Brief me a few lines a well-tempered brief wrap me in ideas and confluence; be there Continue reading Connecting and Two other new poems by Linda Stevenson→
Weißbirke Ich wurde in Deutschland geboren. Mönchengladbach was where I was born, so why wouldn’t I have an affinity to the place? I rode my bike round to Lilienthal Strasse because there was a girl who lived there who I Continue reading Weißbirke & two other new poems by Henry Bladon→