My white upper middle-class male professor told me no one is interested in reading poetry about male/female power dynamics. He shook his head over my pastlike a sad sheepdogand said I should really try to stick to nature and “moments of quiet.” I smiled, marked a momentand left. Another time, with a beer, I said I wanted a roomof my own,that maybe that would help me get it … Continue reading This Is Not A Power Play by Janna Grace
She had a face sopitted by acneshe was the walking surfaceof a cratered moon.I sat kitty-corner across from her inadvanced English class.One thing I noticed: her body’s shape,an erotic transportshe would offer to anyone. I seldom spoke to herbut one day at a carnivalwe rode the rocket wheel together.Spinning, I put my arm around her and breathed on her face and neck andher two warm … Continue reading Me and Dorothea and the Rocket Wheel by Hunter Boone
He was tormented. His leather-bound chair had, through the hours, curved to the dimensions of his body. It had become horribly dolorous. His fingers grew tired as he twirled his pen between them and sighed despairingly. He was in agony, for an aspect of his being was viciously girdled and quickly losing its functionality. His creativity was being choked and his ability to write was … Continue reading Quiet Quandary of the Quill by Joseph V. Pali
Joanna was a poet, the most poetic poet I had ever met. She was recognised as the best Polish one of her generation. She also thought, talked and behaved like a poet. By that I do not mean that she spoke in rhymes, far from it, but her thinking and talking had the sharpness, directness and simplicity of a metaphor. When she talked, she omitted … Continue reading A Letter From the Other Side by Ewa Mazierska
An ancient sweeper stationed outside the museum’s entrance doors. The same one every day. A mute. Diminutive. Crescent back, leathered skin, toothless sunken cheeks. Garb a coarse blue denim sack. Something foreign in her withered face.Her look like a model for avant-garde images exhibited inside,conjures sculpture, oil on canvas, a book of verse. She pushes a wooden broom along. Hard brown bristles. Artful, jerky, syncopated … Continue reading Brushwork by Victor Marrero
In dreams As in bygone times I seek A shadow A stifled breath, And there I find us Dancing in a field Of poppies Of bones And breasts. On ancient women And ancient men The two of us We build our home. Stranded in time, Abandoned in space, Infinite – With no return, In rapture Captured, And there Devoured By black matter, There, Someone seeks, … Continue reading Untitled by O’ar Pali
