Category: Poetry

by Alyssa Troy i shuffle through relicsfrom the wreckage ofmy adolescent archivesand resurrect an albumone month’s allowance paid forthat hosts images of modelsbearing no resemblance to mypudgy, pear shaped bodyi wish cutting up the pagescould have killed their allure i followed every dietthe magazines possessedto see my face reflectedon its laminated skinsto no avail i…

by Alexis Gostelow I am made of the clock tickingAt one and two, right after lunchWhen I left class,Walked through concrete hallwaysTo sit alone, surrounded by cementbrick walls and metal benchesAfraid someone would see I was whereI shouldn’t beDawdling in the cold,Watching time change shadows About the Author: Alexis Gostelow is a professional in the…

by Grace Jaycox I’m so tired I feel as though I may cry.You wonder if the worship service will ever end. At least the music is decent.I always had a fondness for this band.You are talked to for a little while,But really she’s talking to your sister.Everyone talks to her.I’m not jealous.You don’t have the…

by Aubrey Accomando You once told me that my body was yours,that it was proudly owned by you.Did that mean all of my insecurities were yours, too?All the tears shed looking in the mirror?The squeezing of my stomach—begging to look like someone else?The times my head throbbed from not eating?The unwelcomed hands that touched my…

by John Grey Lusty, lustrous summer afternoon,the pond air still,the egret is even stilleras it feigns a humble stalk with feetwhile its keen eye surveysthe waters below. Beak like an arrowand the stealth of a spy –it’s a bird whose formis everything its functioncould ask for. I watch from the other shoreas it finally takes…

by James Engelhardt Dungeons and Dragons, Gary Gygax and Dave Arneson Tactical Studies Rules, Inc., 1974 About the AuthorJames Engelhardt’s poems have appeared in the North American Review, Sheila-Na-Gig, ACM: Another Chicago Magazine, Terrain.org, Painted Bride Quarterly, Fourth River, and many others. His ecopoetry manifesto is “The Language Habitat,” and his book, Bone Willows, is…

by Justin Evans One of the last robins of the yearleft yesterday, cutting across myperipheral as I turned into my streetat sunrise, driving east for an appointmentsome hours away―both tryingfor an early start. I made it there andback in time for supper, but I worry nowover that bird, wonder if it found safetyin the waning…

by Barbara A Meier My shadow, crowned with a glory,bending the waves of lightat the tops of mountains,where they catch the rays in their gnarly teeth,spitting them out to bounce around peaks.I am the pilot surfing my life throughthe wave tunnels where I am refracted,and redistributed, till my body visible,fingers cold in the night,grasp the…

by Margaret McGowan after Tyler Raso The tamper-evident waterFalls onto the floor. We needGaloshes. We need a pitchfork.We need conjugation. M says he will not sleep tonightBecause the fire hydrants wrappedAround the house will give him Nightmares. The water continues to fall.There are puddles in the kitchen. The onlyWay to remedy this is to make…

by R.T. Castleberry Rain has shifted west to east,flooding barrio ditches,potholes of patched streets.Wind tears at fuel station signage,jungle gym park, bus stop plexiglass.My wife dozes on sofa pillows,stilettos off, Drambuie glass drained.Her request, benignly drunken,is an action I can’t complete.On our first night,she unhooked her bra, saying,“I guess the date part ofour evening is…