Featured: Good Morning, Get Up

Michael Brosnan

Birds, as they must,
Sing at the first sign
Of light,

The blue hour.
There’s a word:
Perforce.

You and I, we push
Through — as if to stop
Is to lose.

But lose what?
(The severely imagined)
God knows.

I only know
That possibility
Punishes every pause.

 

Michael Brosnan is the author of The Sovereignty of the Accidental (Harbor Mountain Press, 2017). About the collection, poet Naomi Shihab Nye writes, “A stunning book…. Poems which stir language, memory, momentary intense awareness, to give us back the bracing joy of clear thinking.” Read more at www.michaelabrosnan.com.…

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 …

From Issue 2: An Explorer’s Life Guide

Adriana Hammond Where are those corners of the world where we find Meaning to fill our heavy desires? The shrouded corners for those who seek and seek for more than triviality yet understand that our dreams may remain in an undisturbed respite without the temptation of the frivolous. I believe in the frivolous as much as I believe in depth and I find myself searching for the profound as two parts (an unbridled duality–not a contradiction, for they are a powerfully united dialogue). One part, so reactive and so ablaze, carries a compass that points firmly toward pleasure. She breathes… …

From Issue 2: For Irina

Peter Zhuang Dearest Irina, I arrived in your fair city on Thanksgiving, just short of five years after I first met Alyssa in the hallowed halls of Butler Library. Russia, of course doesn’t celebrate the traditions of North American pilgrims. And no one was celebrating my anniversary with Alyssa, especially not me. I was welcomed at Pulkovo International airport by crisp, chilly air and a porter named Ivan. He fit every stereotype of a Russian bear that came to mind. Aside from being exceedingly courteous and filled with curiosity about America. Shockingly, no one travels out of the States on… …

From Issue 2: The Girl’s Desk

Alan Blaustein Laurence Kent Halland glanced across his long, neatly rectangular office at the administrative assistant’s desk and sighed as his intercom buzzed. The cold-sounding young receptionist announced that his temp for the day had arrived, and he winced. He’d had three temps in the past two weeks, each worse than the last. Through phone calls and bathroom breaks, very little was done and not very well despite his constant supervision. He gazed at the pile of work he had ready to be typed, and he wondered how much would actually get done. As he rummaged through the pile, seeking… …

From Issue 2: Winter Outside a Grocery Store

The road is a messy half-eaten casserole. The weekend sun, a limp slice of lemon. It sneaks out without a whimper. and is not missed. I sit in the car, waiting for you to return with vegetables, their attendance necessary for updating the week’s meal roster. Three young men emerge with their acquisitions. Bottles of wine, local and exotic. Another, a store helper, battles the stabbing arctic chill to push a fresh batch of carts, left behind by shoppers. The store’s sliding doors open, a mother and son come out bearing yellow bags. Their tired feet scurry through the snow…. …

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 …

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.…

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.…

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.…