Larry Wright Lava doesn’t know your stuff burns. Larry Wright was born, raised and still lives in Sitka, Alaska, where in public, he’s been a bad singer a worse comedian and mediocre actor.
Read More10/10/2018 — 0
Poems
10/09/2018 — 0
Marga Fripp “My worries are pink gerbera daisies”
Marga Fripp My worries are pink gerbera daisies My heart, your worries are pink gerbera daisies — large blooms, bold and long-lasting, flawless in form, seed-bearing bright eyes in the center, nightless silhouettes holding on to the darkness within. Marga Fripp is a women’s empowerment social entrepreneur who writes poems, that like music long to be heard, danced with and […]
Read More10/06/2018 — 0
Larry Wright “Black Tail Deer”
Larry Wright Black Tail Deer I am running red-eyed through the wet woods, over ancient roots and rocky menaces into the endless arms of night. Larry Wright was born, raised and still lives in Sitka, Alaska, where in public, he’s been a bad singer a worse comedian and mediocre actor.
Read More10/05/2018 — 0
J. R. Solonche
J. R. Solonche The Lake in the Rain The lake in the rain remembers when it was the rain and quietly cries in the depth of its sleep, which, if you carefully listen, sounds like rain on a lake. J. R. Solonche has been publishing in magazines, journals, and anthologies since the early 70s and […]
Read More10/04/2018 — 0
Howie Good “The Osprey”
Howie Good The Osprey Coming out of the sun, it passes with steady, languid wingbeats over the marsh, clutching in its claws a fish that must be astonished to be flying. Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.
Read More10/03/2018 — 0
Howie Good “Accidentally Like a Martyr”
Howie Good Accidentally Like a Martyr I don’t pray and I don’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes it just happens – our eyes allow beautiful light to get in. Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.
Read More10/02/2018 — 0
Cary Hunter “America looks the same from both sides”
Cary Hunter America looks the same from both sides The landscape changes like a t-shirt on a pretty boy you already know isn’t into you. Cary Hunter is the unknown author of many, many poems.
Read More09/29/2018 — 0
Steve Klepetar “Sunday”
Steve Klepetar Sunday Here in the garden, where nobody waits, we wrap our bodies in fog, river’s breath, and our eyes strain to see past this flesh into other lives. Steve Klepetar has taught one of his granddaughters to do the Loco-Motion, though she insists that it is not easier than learning her ABCs.
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