Howie Good Hiking Mount Severance The higher we climbed, the hastier the sun became, & the dry, hacking cough of traffic still reached us despite our being besieged by trees, the leaves outlined in gold & acetylene, & wavering like the pale-skinned shadows of half-created things. Howie Good‘s previous books of poetry include The Complete […]
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Pat M. Kuras: Ravenhair
Pat M. Kuras Ravenhair Busy Mass. Turnpike, the NH car with the plate RVNHAIR– but she sped by too fast for me to notice. Pat M. Kuras is a poet who reads license plates and bumper stickers.
Read MoreDeborah Bacharach: “The Stay-at-Home Mom on Break”
Deborah Bacharach The Stay-at-Home Mom on Break She’s got fifteen min- utes at Goodwill with the fake leather miniskirts. Deborah Bacharach‘s book After I Stop Lying is forthcoming from Wordtech Communications.
Read MoreKelly Fordon: “Kenyon”
Kelly Fordon Kenyon In Ascension, the morning mist ran rimy fingertips over the Gothic spires but it wasn’t the only thing passing through us, whole swathes of time too, and words like fishing hooks sometimes snagged, toilet paper stuck to our shoes. Kelly Fordon is the author of two poetry chapbooks and an upcoming short […]
Read MoreKelly Fordon: “The Chicago Train”
Kelly Fordon The Chicago Train (the California Zephyr on Route from Colorado to Chicago) Outside the barn, two stuffed horses, a Carl Sandburg dream, a rainbow swing, fields like unshaven legs. Kelly Fordon is the author of two poetry chapbooks and an upcoming short story collection, Garden for the Blind, which will be published by […]
Read MoreMary Ellen Talley: “Navy Haiku”
Mary Ellen Talley Navy Haiku In constant homage to the father, the son makes a submarine kite. Mary Ellen Talley submits poetry when she isn’t working with words and children in Seattle.
Read MoreKathleen Kirk: “One Sentence in Three Places”
Kathleen Kirk One Sentence in Three Places A white curtain blows into the room from the open window, an image Xed out by poets who do not see my mother on the bed with her lover * poised on the handle of the Devil’s Teacup * her skin waxen, yellow, the color of joy elsewhere, […]
Read MoreNicci Mechler: “55 Years”
Nicci Mechler 55 Years The day he dies, she rips filters off cigarettes— counts years in matches. Nicci Mechler is hard-pressed to go anywhere without a sense of wonder and a pair of red shoes.
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