Tag: Poetry

Poetry: Ace Boggess’ “Has the Music Faded at All?”

—Lawrence Watt-Evans, Night of Madness The walls have learned a low hum—basso, staccato—like a tuba stuck in a wind tunnelor so many elephants endlessly marchingaround the perimeter.The opposite of a canine whistle,it marks its moansin sensible waves setting cinderblocks atremblein aftershocks.A little of the shake, rattle & roll,rockin’ in the unfree world,more twisting, less shoutingexcept…
Poetry: “Press Conference” by Gabriel Welsch

Lies are a special Esperanto.A language spoken with a set of the eyes,in a suit a few sizes too big, to makeroom for spasms of the heart’sremaining muscle, the tornslips of paper and innuendoadding up to a surrogate soul,the meaning holds its feet notin syllables but the telemetryamong the vicious. A podiumhas to prop the…
Poetry: Genève/Geneva Chao’s “Things I’ve Vomited Since Nov. 9, 2016 (a partial list)”

Things that I’ve vomited since Nov. 9, 2016include my breakfast on Nov. 10, 2016, whichwas the first day I attempted to eat breakfast,blobs of egg and beans that did not decideto become part of my cells; include threechocolate chip cookies that I baked beforeI realized my gorge was still rising, and whichcame out like play-dough,…
Two Poems by Katie Armstrong

Donald John Trump I expected this Samsonbombast. His boast aballoon, a hot warren riddle,and a big bag of duck down—and that’s not to mention how he’llpillow in the rubble. But who was it saidout of the strong, somethingsweet? I do know you said it was for me,notwithstanding endangered bees. Imagine, for a moment,the taste of…
Three Poems by Dan Chelotti

Depth of Field There are four triangular slotsto hold the pictures downand some have been there so longthey’re stuck. They could take usanywhere. Back, back beforethe sand in the hourglasswas replaced with ash:a playpen in the middle of a field.The fly in the room buzzes.It won’t come back. The standof birches on the edge of…
Poetry: Matthew Harrison’s “Learning Circles”

I learned to dance by dropping soap in the showerand catching it. You should see me cut a lineon the raised floor that flashes beside the roller rink.A head spin: that’s something I don’t do, but I do noodle.Windmill. Worm. The Manic Alligator. I learned to roller skateby sliding in acrylic socks across the polished…
Two Poems by Carolyn Zaikowski

Summons Where do they go after the stormWhere do they go after the tideWhere do they go after they’re lostWhere do they go after the sprawl Where do they go when there’s no bridgeWhere do they go when there’s no brideWhere do they go when there’s no stationWhere do they go when there’s a mountain…
Poetry: Amy Forstadt’s “What My Son Learns”

My son learns to readin school. His teachers are calm and cold.They teach him words like contrarianbut not denier. Alleged not false.Alt-right not wrong. My son learns math. His teachers smilewhen they’re furious.They show him two plus twoequals five. And how divisionmatters most of all. My son learns art. His teachers give him all white…
Three Poems by Julie Rouse

The Direst I’ve been the same bad dream since I was eight.Still the body its interlocutors.Pierce my ear and listen to the crunch.Stick a needle underneath my thumb.Listen to mom and dad in the next room.Listen to the Bangles Egyptian.Piss in the corner, old enough to know.Dippy puppies hump each other for fun.Out in the…