The moons of twenty-eight yesterdaysare strung across silent twilight,a pearl necklace on the plump blue throat of a cyanotic stillborn prepared for burial. Under the phasing luminescencean entity stands firm and […]
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The moons of twenty-eight yesterdaysare strung across silent twilight,a pearl necklace on the plump blue throat of a cyanotic stillborn prepared for burial. Under the phasing luminescencean entity stands firm and […]
Read morearound these parts, you’d hear about trail angels, their wings spread between those parched white blazes. offering plenty and good.take your rest beneath their wings, nothing can touch you there, […]
Read moreThe sun peers down from above, spilling light on the ground; the clouds hang haloedby a fading gold. Daylight’s verve recedes as the purpling sky spreads across the horizon. I […]
Read moreif you are listening, I am here, wracked with a Martian longing dreaming of stowaway spiders who would weave sickly webs over semi-important fixtures: reviled queen who presides over her silken court,an army […]
Read moreIt’s part dream, part afterthought. All those years, Cupid’s arrows landed wide of the mark, struck her friends instead. And now, at last, one thumps into her glutenous maximus. It’s […]
Read moreher body falls out of her underwear with the impact of apples come down out of trees. it’s hot, this afternoon, baking in august. we are out on the balcony […]
Read morethe night has not stolen the taste and shape of my grass-drowned flesh. after all, your croaks already drink the air from my lungs until your survival and my death […]
Read moreTomorrow is too late. I’ve been listeningto the ground lick its lips, laying plans to closeon your heart. To beat the earth, brown batter, to bake afuneral bread. Toleave me hungry. […]
Read moreLock grew up in rural Tennessee in a conservative, Baptist area. Raised atheist and liberal, Lock struggled with feelings of isolation and confusion, themes that are prominent in their writing. […]
Read moreFor Devan Daniel Romo is the author of Bum Knees and Grieving Sunsets (FlowerSong Press 2023), Moonlighting as an Avalanche (Tebot Bach 2021), Apologies in Reverse (FutureCycle Press 2019), and […]
Read moreYou wore your grey fate perfectly—laughter, golden touch. It was a show, of course. Even as tiny hope waved over private blue melancolia, it stirred up a sludge,lingering at bottom’s black. You and […]
Read moreLock Howe grew up in rural Tennessee in a conservative, Baptist area. Raised atheist and liberal, Lock struggled with feelings of isolation and confusion, themes that are prominent in their […]
Read moreYou and I will read our ways into the eternal whatever—questioning, wondering, wandering under skies grown gray with concern or maybe apathy. We’ll play outside until the streetlights come on like small meteors in […]
Read moreThe most beautiful woman my father had ever seen, Except, he kept insisting, my mother, of course, Hailed from Grimstone, Stratton parish, in Dorset. So, I set out to find […]
Read moremy youth has drooped, the trees in the forest too.beard grown thick, wet the bed black;death calls our names alphabetically,the rooster still crows in the afternoon, waking me.stopped taking my […]
Read more(+_+)? A decade lost your last message sprang back to life today :O unwittingly resuscitated by a software upgrade. : – ) Happy Thursday! Such a great….xD …laughed so hard I cried<3 I’m so […]
Read moreIt’s a blue-lit Danish summer night; the calendar is nearing summer solstice; birds are singing at the ungodly hour of 3 AM. Pt. 1 blue lightblue lightnot quite day, not quite […]
Read moresand dollar the boy buys the moon the ocean chestnut cache the squirrel forgets a forest root cellar Hunger Moon in the bushel baskets Messier 14 by the roadside Queen […]
Read moreA golden retriever of a womanjust met and she’s practically sheddingin your lapshe steps away from packing heroverstuffed bagwell-meaning but not seeing boundaries that should go unsaidtells you she’s consolidating […]
Read morewinter haiku dark lines of sleepingtrees draw stencils in the skyabove pure white ground winter haiku icicles flourishgray clouds linger exactlywhere they are meant to Laura Zaino is a lover […]
Read moreRhys Lee is a Masters candidate at Mount Saint Mary’s University. He has poetry published in The Driftwood at Point Loma Nazarene University. Image
Read moreAtlantis Without Birds Marble women in gardens used to reach into the sky and gather birds by the armful. Raindrops brought them down in scores to swallow worms they turned into wingbeats. You could […]
Read moreMy mother sayslife is goodshe is happydown sixmaybe seven —- no, eight poundssince catching upto her too-thin sisterwho is losing weight to chemofastand I want to say somethingbut I don’tstop […]
Read moreJamie Spenser‘s poetry has been published in New York Quarterly, Sheila-Na-Gig, and Disappointed Housewife. His outpourings about TV commercial production and the art-rock band Devo have appeared in Perfect Sound […]
Read moreLots of human brainseventually get to wherethey saynone of this had to bethis way.Other brainsknew all alongthat everything is necessary.It’s sad, though,because so many thingsare terrible and evidently wrong.And even […]
Read moreI stood and watched you sleeping, hadstood there watching for nearly five minutes inthe shadow of the hallway for nearly five minutes of circustime before I dropped your purse on the […]
Read moreEmerging writer Zoë Blaylock was educated in the school of hard knocks and droll encounters but credentialed by Harvard. She works in research/healthcare ethics in San Diego where she lives […]
Read moreAt dawn, in the distance, a kitchen radio slips commodity prices through a screen door into a farmyard, echoing off the metallic green of a behemoth 18-row combine set to […]
Read moreIt’s the way I pause when I come across Goethe andwhisper the name—Gir-tah.To make sure I still remember how it’s supposed to sound on the tongue. To remind myself it does not feel how it looks. […]
Read moreHole here. Hole there.No treasure. Not even athud. Days. Nights.So much dirt. Some people askwhat I’m hoping to find. I’m tempted to show themthe tunnels I’ve found. Frank William Finney […]
Read moreHelen Nancy Meneilly is an Irish poet whose work explores issues of identity, language, and womanhood. She is currently studying for her MA in Creative Writing through the Open University. […]
Read morePulled from the mouth of the mother tongue. These words are all I carry now. They bend. They crack. They disappear. They hide inside the inner ear. They shake the […]
Read moreRona piles rice from path to porch like snowdrifts sprinkled with crayon colored carrots, peas, corn– until the guardrail disappears under an ever-growing mountain of cooked rice. I steal furtive […]
Read moreWhen I awake I Like to think about us two Alone forever Sweetest saccharine Inside your mouth I lose my Self hour after hour Diet Coke kind of Love. I […]
Read morenight falls like a brick. urgent tongue of wind stuck to the back of my neck, hair wrapped around my throat. fist of keys in my coat pocket. wraiths of […]
Read moreI was afraid of my abusive and controlling ex-husband, but I didn’t know this until 10 years after I divorced him. I wrote hidden poems, feelings hidden. Hidden in notebooks […]
Read moreFrom my hurt back the snow-lit predawn sky is pewter, or lava, according to my best guess color chart on Pinterest. “Pewter” works, but I like lava because it feels […]
Read moreWhen in a supermarket in a town not your own do not start screaming “Where are the olives? Where are the fucking olives?” as you race down the aisles Do […]
Read moreAsh Evan Lippert is a clay artist and emerging queer poet residing in the South Carolina upstate. Their poetry and fiction center on the exploration of liminal states of consciousness, […]
Read moreAutumn snapped my spine like the sudden flash of a spark, waking up the dark. She brought rain and left me blooming, treading my fresh soles on top of crumbled yellow bladed leaves that change […]
Read moreThe more times I go back for more and find it there like a bowl of dogfood left out on the back deck by an unknown and therefore unthanked hand, […]
Read moreHello folks! It’s Matthew. It’s been a while since I’ve made an announcement, I know. You may have noticed that we put Searching for The Cottingley Fairies on our banner. […]
Read moreNow is the time to find color where you can—in poinsettias, pine trees, fire and wine,or strings of Christmas lights hung like prayersto glow warm against the winter’s gathering dark.Now […]
Read moreIn vest, short shorts, quick reflex points, our up and over, chain-link fence, we traded jokes, paraded skills, especially under watch of girls, as learnt to make a better pass, […]
Read morewithout askingearthquakes rumbled to announce thearrival of mountains rivers roared to forewarn rocksof their ravage winds howled to demand fishermenback to shore wildfires raged to birth new lifein the forest […]
Read moreEthicist and online education entrepreneur, Russell Willis, has been featured in THE POET Magazine Profile Series and his poetry has been published in over twenty-five online and print journals and […]
Read moreThrusting one creased pant leg in front of the other, canter-leaving ankles, knees, thighs, my leather shoes clacking slate as I amble toward and away, in one motion. Steel, sheets […]
Read moreI do the same ritual every morning while the clouds wrap their blankets around the sunlight: Practice Italian and Spanish. Trace my fingers along paths of cheekbones inheritedfrom my mother and all the […]
Read moreA fang of lightning crashesa branch into the wind-clawed loch. Thunder drives eels to the bottom. Water flashes downa mountain rising through the skin of the lake.The monster loves the […]
Read moreWhen that moment arrives(by car, by bus, by daybreak) We live in it like a house(condo, apartment, tent down by the river) Imagining we may see it all again(later, someday, […]
Read moreEvery shell is dipped in night. Place an ear against the ceramic to eavesdrop on fox squabbles, crows watching rubbish bags left split open like unfinished operations, brambles unfurling their […]
Read moreThere was a lot of crazy thrashing at first and I was cursing myself for not keeping at it with those swimming lessons, and I had unkind words for the […]
Read moreWho is the bride of August? Wheredoes she send her lost birds and whatare they born to see? You? They sing. Who,precisely, are they naming? Just whenwill they return to […]
Read moreEpisode Description: In this episode, Matthew, Marina, and Elena talk with Mary Paulson about her poem, Ruins. We talk about writing poetry to express deep emotions, writing and rewriting with […]
Read moreA painter lives in my town. A talented painterno doubt. A famous painter too. His creationshave been known to save souls and to bestowone upon those who never had any. […]
Read moreWhy do I keep the best till lastwhen eating cake;quite unlike wine.My mindful taste budsfind their pace, start marksfrom first eye-captured plate,declared by sharp seep under tongue,gland leak swamping salivary, […]
Read moreWhile I waited at roadside I thought,why not try some loveliness. So I did.I saw visions in far reaches, feltthe soft touch of silence, melodiescame from solitude, it was like […]
Read moreI look into my eyes in order to witness nebula reciprocating light from the midst of darkness residing behind them radiating with life out of the pulsating silence of consciousness […]
Read moreMargaret Krusinga lives on sixty acres she and her husband manage loosely for wildlife. Diagnosed with MS in 1976, she graduated college under a cloud, in 1977. Poetry has become […]
Read moreThe polar bears are circling us, the John CageChristmas mix, the hors d’oeuvres and those bodies that servethem. adjacent, a sealkeeps practising the same underwater back-flipoff the glass we’re standing […]
Read moreHotaru ika are a glow-in-the-dark species, hiding in the translitic a mesmerizing light courtesy of a network of thousands of photophores, drifting long hairs of a wild woman situated over […]
Read moreAt the cake bazaar,annual in the village hall –Mrs Baker’s acid voice –I stall to scan those sweetmeat plates. The granulated cog biscuits,as if surfaced breeze-swept snow,fawn-mellow, flat,centre-nippled, cherry-topped;the scarlet […]
Read moreCameron Morse is Senior Reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of six collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. […]
Read moreA strange condition for a rowamongst the headstone rows that flankthe hill side cemetery,that hangs and flows,marble chips and chips off marble, chip paper,scree of lager cans and driven flowers;sunlight […]
Read moreWill we ever make it through the foreshore? Our erosive time is lost in this hour. Did we make the most of the coast? For sure. The beaches marooned our […]
Read moreIt’s funny how franticallya few leaves appear tobe waving at me when I liftmy eyes to the maplethat tried to kill me yesterdaydropping a hefty javelinjust a couple feet frommy […]
Read moreHis is a lariat love, beginning with a wobbleAs it starts to unwind. Then stretching fastInto a wide-spreading circle, swinging wild,Arcing high, landing without warning,Just a thump and a cinch. […]
Read moreWhat if I couldpaint like youpiercing light throughdarkening skies if I could weave storiesby blending chaptersabout love and discontent what if I stood nakedsang love songsthat pry hearts openlike the […]
Read moreBecca add morebutter Becca. That’s no way tomake a roux. Don’t just measure on a whim.Your flour and fat. Or fluid and fault.Meat drippings, maybe. That ratio. That ratio!That’s what […]
Read moreon hills by park pathwaysand beds of fresh petal,we collapse on our elbowsand tightly scrubbed grass.twist off ourbackpacks, wet with the weightof the sun and the weightof our warm cansof […]
Read moreThrough the eye of a dream,the round pit of a binocular opening,I recognize myselfstanding in front of a stranger,his gun barrel pressedagainst the bone between my breasts. We’re in a […]
Read moreThe armoire tips from out the truckbed withThe same uncertain, blind leap of a fishFlopping from a boat sole, hoping only to landSomewhere wet, to break a surface and fill […]
Read moreI piss. it feels okand then after I walkthrough the house going backto the kitchen.and you are not herein any of the house,or at least you are notin my parts […]
Read moreThat motherlode of Sun right thereliterally blasting me in the face with its gloryit’s so far away (1 au, to be exact), but all this brilliance over vast […]
Read moreI. Snapshot Click. WHIRR. Shadowed still frame capturing fae.Ethereal grace magnified by child’s wonder.Muted only by adults’ misunderstanding “genuine.”Why would fae be less real if crafted by paper?Paper and glue […]
Read moreMary Paulson currently lives and works in Naples, FL. Her poems have appeared in Slow Trains, Mainstreet Rag, Painted Bride Quarterly, Nerve Cowboy, Arkana, Thimble Lit Magazine, and Tipton Poetry […]
Read moreAmber, scarlet, gilded daffodil. All sits quiet, calm,and the sun sets as I turn to you. It takes a second but then I see a granuleof sand that chips away, […]
Read moreeverything smells like soap except that one hallway smeared withvolatile coconut particles, reminds me of that porn theatre in somedank Indianapolis district wild with heavy air and greasy tanninghuts, but […]
Read moreI.As snow settles upon the landand brings with it crisp, frozen air,I’ll hear the cardinal’s jarring callas it echoes in my anxious mind. The cold and weary world revealsthat ancient […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, and Melissa talk to Veronica Lupinacci about her wonderful poem, Kurt. We talk about nonfiction, how we remember people, and the general topic of learning to […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, Marina, and Darin talk to Kate Shannon about her wonderful poetry! We touch on the history of the form, some of the brutal inspirations that […]
Read moreEpisode Description: Editors Matthew, Elena, Darin, and Melissa talk to Paul Rabinowitz about his piece Little Gem Magnolia and its surreal mix of genres. We touch on New Orleans, art, […]
Read more“I’m not used to being in Nature” Is what comes to mind as I stand here at Still Point Staring up into space – Feeling somewhat out of place. I’m […]
Read moreI always mowed the wild green hair of lawn, eyes of corn stalking me from across the street. Steering Dad’s tractor in the shapeof a nose ring in my middle of nowhere, how […]
Read moreBy the waves I felt the storm shall Death bring his scythe? Eagerly I looked for cover; loud thunderstorms drumming from the tempest that is blowing. ‘It’s that beat,’ I […]
Read moreOisín Breen is a 35 year-old poet, part time academic in narratological complexity, and a financial journalist covering the US registered investment advisory sector. Dublin born, Breen spent the last […]
Read more“through the view/of a hollow lens/like an eye surprised/by lost sight”
Read moreyou’re biting your nails again o sweet white of time I feel in the December rush of cold the whoosh of closed & open doors the portals if I knew […]
Read moreShaman paints the wolf and full moon blister red above a sinuous line of orange scales, serpent tail pointing to the past, head spitting a speckled frog half digested, white […]
Read moreDopo mezzanotte! Dopo, dopo! The door pops open, out of the dust the ocean unfolds under the ropewalker’s high gloss black shoes. He floats among the buoyant atoms- the iron […]
Read moreAnother stormy night in their neighborhood a warning came for twisters, hail and fire no one said anything about ghosts in the dark. Eerie hours when the clocks have failed […]
Read moreIn a chamber with three hundred ninety eyes there is no place not to be seen. No blind spots. The corners, the ceiling, on the back of two cattle statues […]
Read more“My mother says the camera steals souls,” #MetaworkerMonday
Read moreShe wasn’t a phoenix, but she knew ash. She painted herself with coals, with cinders. War paint disguising the woman of the woods. She felt knighted, unable to cry out […]
Read moreThis dimly-lit café, there’s a voice then two, then three speaking like a detuned triangle with so much impatience. Winter, dense and black, crams itself into this room. Outside, muted […]
Read moresomewhere up here you might bite the whole horizon. love pours in like an emptied sack of apples. tastes fresh like apples, and smells like apples too. I am on […]
Read moreI would step out of my bodyto dream I was concurrentwith the wind and light,or the painted stonestossed over the embankmentinto the hearts of rivers.I would grow more frailthan the […]
Read moreTwo to speak loud and clear for all and too many to hear; secrets of an alcove and two more join for some chatter; it is a talk show of […]
Read moreConnie Woodring is a 75-year-old retired psychotherapist/educator/social activist who is getting back to her true love of writing after 45 years in her real job. She has a B.A.in English […]
Read moreThere used to be an edge where the world ended, where ships would tumult down cataracts into nothingness. There are places still, buffers and hallows where the edges become light, […]
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