Bill Yarrow The Little Things It’s the little things that trip us up: a small hole in a level field, an innocuous root in a well-trod path, a disinclined sidewalk… yet not every stumble is a fall, even as by a certain age we’ve learned to outmaneuver the looming yet are still upended by tiny […]
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Michael J. Galko “The eave’s spiderwebs …”
Michael J. Galko The eave’s spiderwebs catch the floating cottonwood seeds, preparing for Halloween. Michael J. Galko is a scientist and poet from Houston, Texas.
Read MoreDevon Balwit “The Lesson of Ilmarinen”
Devon Balwit The Lesson of Ilmarinen Before you feed your forge, consider why— otherwise, though ductile, your metal will cool bent, your golden crossbow ever-hungry for blood, the prow of your shining ship locked towards war, your bright ox belligerent, all hoof and horn, your shimmering plow uprooting fields— and by the time you work […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar “They Named My City a Hundred Times”
Steve Klepetar They Named My City a Hundred Times Once for a woman with golden hair, and once for the spirit hills rising to the west when every street had a hundred names – Pear Street became Lion Street, and then Flood Way, or Disaster Boulevard, and when the smoke cleared, The Avenue of Curses […]
Read MoreSalvatore Difalco “Doll”
Salvatore Difalco Doll Tell me about the other side of you, the one I wanted to know when I first met you then lost interest in as your reticence lost air. Sal Difalco lives in Toronto.
Read MoreDavid Hanlon “Breathing with the World at Large”
David Hanlon Breathing with the World at Large Approximately sixteen people are born & eight die in the time span of one breath. David Hanlon is from Cardiff, Wales. You can follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/DavidHanlon13
Read MoreDaya Bhat “Here’s why”
Daya Bhat Here’s why Listen to the soul in silence because lips pick up popular noise by default. Daya Bhat from Bengaluru, India loves reading and writing prose and poetry.
Read MoreShauna Robertson “Mutation”
Shauna Robertson Mutation There is no word for nights that reach backwards and help themselves to half the afternoon, or for a sea so hungry it eats its own waves, or for the pebbles you turn over and over in your hand, weighing them against the mind’s grasping. Shauna Robertson’s poetry chapbook, ‘Blueprints for a […]
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