By Will Neuenfeldt
Posted on
Ten days after Christmas,
a six-foot-four woman in heels
clops in front of me from
the convenience store bathroom,
her face sweats tree lights
with her candy cane eyes
as the scent of pine
lingers in the pop aisle.
Red tights blend thighs and cheeks
into a sack of presents now
leaning beside her man of five-five
who tosses another scratcher
into his pile of losers.…
...continue reading
By Mimi Whittaker
Posted on
I read Ken’s poem online
about his father and the paucity
of love words
the mental leaps
across the gaps
of knowing love was there
it reminded me how Dad
loved us without ever
saying that word
without giving up
his helpful notes
on jobs we should apply for
or cars we might buy
or ways we should save money
like the way he saved words
his suicide note typed out
with his one good hand
apologized
for leaving the way he did
he was proud of each of us
and wanted us to care for mom
whom he said deserved
great love
and then he signed it
Dad
Note: This piece was originally self-published in a book called In a Dark Sea.…
...continue reading
By Christy Wise
Posted on
Last time I gripped
a badminton racquet: Puerto Rico.
Wide white sand bracketed
by palm trees, Atlantic Ocean.
Small waves rose a half mile
from shore
broke in rhythmic ripples,
spilled warm water
onto heated afternoon sand.
Tardy for family dinner
and we didn’t care,
protected by vaulted status
of newly betrothed.
There was no badminton.
We snorkeled in a crescent cove,
searching for the barracuda
Bob glimpsed the day before,
sharp needle-file nose
sliced through clear water.
He likes to hang out in that reef,
Bob said,
dove under.
I shook my head like a dog
freeing water from her ears.
Grinned with anticipation.
The man I’m about to marry
believes he thinks like a barracuda.
By Amanda Leon
Posted on
I rage
I rage against so much that I cannot handle all this pain in my body
I refuse to submit to the numbness of apathy
Of the sugar coated nihilism of easy escape plans
Halfhearted shrugs
This is the way it’s always been
And they move clockwise, another cog in this blood soaked, dying machine
I rage against it all
Scream to jumpstart the momentum
Force myself to stay standing
Move against those shoving me back
I exhale and run due north
Where change lies and a better future waits for us
Author’s Note: I wrote this poem after a school shooting occurred in the news, and witnessed a congressman’s response to the question if there was anything lawmakers could do to pass gun control or any measures to keep children safe.…
...continue reading
By izzy maxson
Posted on
Instead of being, so beautiful
You could photograph
The yearly
Flight-of-the-soot-faced-children
Pinocchio-esque from the mines
So eat your damn vegetables
Or maybe flip a coin
After all
A coin flipped
On the surface of the moon?
You could make a lot of wishes while its turning
Author’s Note: “Guilt trip” is kind of a surreal little monolog of a poem, and the title is to some extent my having fun with the idea of a poem hectoring of badgering or moralizing to the reader.…
...continue reading
By Poison thorn
Posted on
This time instead of flowers lots of poison flowers
Have I spread on your pulpit in worship elements
You take those and look at me blinkingly
This time instead of an idol I have made a bumpkin
In the temple is playing on diabolic song
You stare at me while sitting
Engaged in thinking if there was any wrong
And I pinching on friends’ buttocks speak out hurrah.
By Sarah Al-Hajj
Posted on
1. Acquire a flower – most preferably one with sentimental value, otherwise why are you even bothering. You need emotion to motivate writing.
2. Spread out each petal so that it lays flat on the tissue paper. Make sure the stem is gone because why on earth would you press a stem. Unless you are composing an Ode to Thorns, paired with the poetic balance of beauty and pain. Be still my heart.
3. Cover both sides of the flower with the tissue paper in order to soak up the fluid. Whilst doing so, formulate a simile about the tissue soaking up the lifeblood of the flower like the pillow soaks up your tears every night. Find other love-sick examples on the world-wide-web.
4. Place the flower in a tight vice, or for regular people, under a stack of heavy books.…
...continue reading