M.J. Iuppa Another New Year No snow to speak of on the city sidewalk, or ice for that matter; only a black Mercedes-Benz with tinted windows pulled tight to the curb where a lately bagged Christmas tree waits to be picked up. M.J. Iuppa lives on Red Rooster Farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. […]
Read MoreAllison Rhodes Clean Slate After he left, for good that time, she grabbed the remaining scrap of his soap and thumbed it down the drain. Allison Rhodes spends her time at family gatherings writing one-sentence poems.
Read MoreHannah Mahoney North I remember in the mornings the bright snow-reflected light in the kitchen window, as though that light shone always in that window, as though it were the antidote to the nights we fled our mother’s rages, trudging to town and back and around the iced-over pond till the house had gone dark. […]
Read MoreSteve Klepetar Beethoven, they say died with his ears turned inward toward flame. Steve Klepetar admires those who can write a good one sentence poem.
Read MoreLen Kuntz Home for the Holidays My daughter’s black eye is the gift she brings home for the holidays, her slippery as a fish, not wanting to talk about it, avoiding my eyes when I say, “This isn’t over yet.” Len Kuntz is an editor at the online magazine Literary Orphan and he writes regularly […]
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix Precipice I pile my ashes and proclaim “My fire was here!” while fearing even the tiniest breeze. H. Edgar Hix is widely published and has appeared here and on Right Hand Pointing, and many places elsewhere.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix Incapable of Sound The blizzard’s deaf world was incapable of sound until the limb snapped. This is the 2nd of 3 consecutive poems we’re running by H. Edgar Hix.
Read MoreH. Edgar Hix Plash The sound of one soldier falling in dry sand. H. Edgar Hix would rather write poetry than have sex –tuplets.
Read More