Posts by twocities

Featured: The Seed, a Sonnet

Daria Smith Giraud

The clapping of my beaded braids
were downbeats to dirty New York streets.
Brand new shell top Adidas chasing a gaze
of graffiti tags thrown up subway upbeats
where summers were my treasure under stars and moon.
I’d dance like Ancestors with aether in my lungs
under Union Square women heavenly commune
shekeres chasing trance in polyrhythmic tongues.
And I and I embodied in space and time
channeling forgotten pasts forbidden to die
from Pangea to Americas to this paradigm.
We’d meet in this plane where the dance survived.
Serenaded by a sea of black bodies jumping …

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Featured: Visit to a Small Planet

D.G. Geis

No telling
what He thinks—or if.

His ears,
a zillion light years wide,

pressed to the fizzy heart
of the universe,

a hydrogen gasbag
folded in on itself

like table napkins
on the Hindenburg,

an omelet,
or a quantum quesadilla.

What we call spiral galaxies,
He calls soup and sandwiches.

What we call supernovas,
He calls shoe polish.

What we call black holes,
He calls a paycheck.

What we call space,
He calls the barstool.

What we call the Big Bang,
He calls Louise.

It’s why the sun’s
so hysterical

and the moon
so matter of …

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From Issue 17: Metra

J. Ray Paradiso

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

J. Ray Paradiso is a recovering academic in the process of refreshing himself as a street photographer and an EXperiMENTAL writer.…

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From Issue 17: San Francisco, Architectural Design

Keith Moul

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith Moul’s poems and photos are published widely. Aldrich Press published Naked Among Possibilities in 2016; Finishing Line Press has just released (1/17) Investment in Idolatry.  In August, 2017, Aldrich Press released Not on Any Map, a collection of earlier poems.…

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From Issue 17: Buenos Aires, Argentina, Architectural Design

Keith Moul

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Keith Moul’s poems and photos are published widely. Aldrich Press published Naked Among Possibilities in 2016; Finishing Line Press has just released (1/17) Investment in Idolatry.  In August, 2017, Aldrich Press released Not on Any Map, a collection of earlier poems.…

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From Issue 17: New York Minute

Harold Ackerman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Harold Ackerman works in Berwick, PA, close by the Susquehanna River, where he lives with his spouse, Jane.  He has published poetry and fiction and maintains a photo gallery at briarcreekphotos.weebly.com

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From Issue 17: Bed Stuy Stories

Listen to this audio story here:

Vivien Schütz recently graduated with a Master of Fine Arts in Media Art and Design in Germany and is working as a freelance audio producer and director’s assistant for German public radio, and is now relocating to New York City. She did her Bachelor in Journalism and worked for a local radio station as a reporter.…

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From Issue 17: Phone Calls and Flowers

Hilary Brewster

 

March, 1995

I let the phone ring three times before I answer. I’m hoping it’s the boy I have a crush on, and I can’t seem too eager, says Seventeen. I close my algebra textbook.

“Hello?” I lilt the O.

“Can I talk to Katharine?” a man drawls. I’m disappointed it’s not for me.

“Sure, hold on one minute please.” My phone etiquette education did not include requesting the caller’s identification. I put down the receiver and walk to the landing to shout downstairs. I lift the phone back to my ear to confirm she’s on …

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From Issue 17: Fly Fishing

K.B. Holzman

 

Hip-deep in crystal clear water, they posed every morning. Two, three, sometimes as many as five men silently casting their lines soon after the sun appeared on the horizon. Whether they spoke before or after, she never knew. By the time she passed, they were already in position, each facing a unique direction, intent on casting their line with graceful precision, reeling in with stoic optimism.

*****

Before 9/11, cars were allowed to drive over the dam on the Western side of the reservoir. After the terrorist act, cement blocks were deposited on both ends of the …

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From Issue 17: Collateral

Brian Phillip Whalen

This poem was originally published in The Cardiff Review.

When I eat pepperoni pizza late at night, I have nightmares. I’m 35 years old, the same age my father was when he slept nights inside a bottle of Boone’s Farm wine. [My father was 13 when his mother warned him:“Boys like you end up in jail or Vietnam.”] When I was 13, I read the morning comic strips: Garfield ate a pepperoni pizza late at night and had a ghastly nightmare. He woke Jon and Jon took on his monsters. [I was 7 when my father …

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