Dion O’Reilly: Post Anthropocene
Can we imagine such emptiness? Such quiet.
Every bit of us, gone: the jackal-mouthed
and gospel-wild, razor wire
keeping out the needful
of our kind, even the ruins of holy cities
Brad Davis: On the Way to Putnam
in late summer’s
westering light,
his yellow cornfields and,
toward the middle,
that lone, misshapen tree
Susan Kelly-DeWitt: Sunrise at the River
The light steps forth out of the heatand darkness, out of the stillnessand ghost-lit world while I feel the dead staring downat me from some other shoreas if I was … Continue reading
James Wright: Sappho
Fire does not rest on iron, it drifts like a blue blossom
And catches on my breath;
Coiling, spinning, the blue foam of the gas fire
Writhes like a naked girl
Emma Grover: Finding Sappho | Four translations in conversation
In this article, I review four translations of Sappho produced over the past six decades.
Molly Fisk: The Northeast Edge of Normal
parents of children
I’ll never meet are gone into the open
arms of the sky and the sea and their
sons and daughters with them how
can this happen again
Thomas Lux: And Still It Comes
thudding and tearing like footsteps
of drunk gods or fathers; it comes
polite, loutish, assured, suave,
breathing through its mouth
Adam Patric Miller: October 14
I walk for miles at night
arguing with a half-century old friend
who talks about the Middle East
like it’s a problem to be solved
Roberta Hatcher: Two Poems
In February that year a man entered the wilderness,
drifted down a river forty days and forty nights.
He emerged to a world utterly transformed.
Dick Westheimer: Skeleton Key
when his bones—
burned and ground to dust—
reassemble, they visit here
and tell me to
clean my room
Jennifer L Freed: Angel
she the last of all
the rest, and oh
how everyone cheers – Go, Angela, go!
Mark Danowsky: The Rocky Mountain Locust Surge
One story is about the farmer
who just started running
right into the black mass
Frank Lehner: Mrs. Nussbaum’s Monkey
Pops never said much, but there he was in his T-shirt and loose boxers telling Jessers about the Easter Tuesday night he lost his mother and taking the streetcar to go to work because there was nothing to do until the next day, and the plant owner only gave two days off for deaths.
Linda Belans: The mirror doesn’t lie
Do I look fat
in this outrage?
puffed up?
