Megan Collins When Athena Can’t Sleep She remembers her father’s skull, how her armor grew from bone, how the days spent whipped by his pulse never undid her skin. Megan Collins is a writer, teacher, and editor who lives in Connecticut.
Read MoreDale Wisely
Megan Collins: “Lethe”
Megan Collins Lethe She went to the water to drown an old love, but it clung to her body like the wet white lace of her dress. Megan Collins is a writer, teacher, and editor who lives in Connecticut.
Read MoreMatt Rouse: 2 poems
Matt Rouse (2 poems) THE WISDOM OF BONNIE (AGE 7) If you drink from the tap, you’ll grow three heads. THE WISDOM OF LOIS (AGE 8) Never stand in front of a Pikachu with a cold. When Matt Rouse writes poetry, the voices in his head stop shouting.
Read MoreJohn McDermott
John McDermott Polysyndeton: A Love Story for Audrey And the girl at the breakfast table has her mother’s eyes and my crooked mouth and hair like the braid cut from my grandmother a century ago, brown with strands of gold, and once I thought that braid was disturbing and now what’s disturbing is this fleeting […]
Read MoreA note from the editors
This is not an anniversary of the founding of this journal. We haven’t just posted some big round number of posts. It’s just a Friday night in North America and we are moved to take this moment to thank all the poets who have sent One Sentence Poems their work, accepted or not accepted. Special thanks to […]
Read MoreGil Hoy: “Presidential Temperament”
Gil Hoy Presidential Temperament A radioactive red wheel barrow loses its dependability when glazed with black rain beside the dead chickens. Gil Hoy is a Boston trial lawyer and poet.
Read MoreSarah Valeika: “Religious Fervor”
Sarah Valeika Religious Fervor “He’s not a scary, creepy guy,” my sister says of God. Sarah Valeika is a poet, actress, typewriter fanatic and grateful daughter and sister.
Read MoreAlan Toltzis: “Without a Trace”
Alan Toltzis Without a Trace If only I were tubes and hollows, some vast landscape of regimented purpose coursing under aging skin, hurt and need would travel untrackable within me, the ground unscuffed even in places, soft and wet, and my spirit would weave through unbent grass and weeds alighting on an unbowed reed, its […]
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