One Sentence Poems

Steve Klepetar My Old Life As night falls I leave my body, float out to sing with frogs, but when I return the house is burning, my old life smoldering in smoke and ash. Steve Klepetar writes one-sentence poems (and sometimes two- or three-sentence poems) in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and he watches the money […]

Steve Klepetar Cities of the Plain You peer back toward the cities of the plain where you smell the smoke of their burning, watch white ash fall among pines Steve Klepetar plans to watch the presidential election returns with a towel over his head. (We are planning to spend election night just staring at the […]

Steve Klepetar A Green Country We are dreaming this, listening to flame as it eats wood with its teeth and translucent tongue. Steve Klepetar listens to Pandora while he walks in his nearly deserted neighborhood, glad not to explain why he wears a Yankees cap in Massachusetts.  

Ian Willey Strange Comfort When my car died after a long and debilitating illness everyone said the same stuff about moving on and you should be thankful for this, that, and the other thing, except for my neighbor, the one who’s always driving over our lawn when backing out, who put down his hoe and […]

Steve Klepetar Night Sounds I hear someone singing a little way off, the tune bouncing off rooftops and walls, and frogs, every voice, every note clinging in a rich stew of sound. Steve Klepetar has read 7 dystopian novels in the past two weeks.  

Steve Klepetar Late Because our train was diverted from its usual stop we had a long walk across town but we couldn’t find the right house so I had to ask directions from a tall man with a straw hat and by then we were so late I could hear search dogs howling beneath the […]

Steve Klepetar Waking Waking blind in a blur of snow, into sky trembling like water in a storm, to the radio telling news of fires and smoke pouring through canyons, to armies marching over a snowy field, to weapons scattered across the hills, to something scurrying over the roof, to crows startling the gray air, […]

Steve Klepetar The Boat of my Birth They say it happened on a night with no stars, a night of mist that was almost rain, and when it was over, my mother held me above the waves, her quiet face stained with tears as I lay wrinkled and red, crying a little, then quiet, as […]