Walking hard on a stone beach, both of us
(as we joked) literally around the bend,
we came to where once upon a time a cliff
collapsed-- the wreckage of what had been
a cottage with a view
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For Jermaine, Six, Dead in Boston By Patricia Smith
Spent bullets sparkle on streets grimy with the thud of winter.
Knives bulge odd angles in children’s pockets, and any one
of their upturned words could bring us another you.
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Symptoms of Homesickness by Gabriella R. Talmadge
Constant state of what. Word for word for what.
what wounded. Thirst of what, tending the fires of what.
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Two Poems By Grant Kitrell
Things are not always dead. Dad’s elbow, for instance, I thought I saw it folding in the shallows among the orange tree scraps. Mom dumps them off the end to float the creek.
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Three Poems By Ladan Osman
I can't tell why I think the dried corncobs
in the gravel and the mattress under the tree
were not put here by children who bite so fast
they leave rows of kernels.
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Two Poems by Cortney Lamar Charleston
And it darts across the street with the speed
of a rumor’s shadow – a dark and discreet beast
about his size, small configuration of bones
that he is.
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Three Poems by Wendy Chin-Tanner
Poetry and Art by Joshua Ware
In the avocado night, lit green by the avocado light, we wait, suddenly, for the sun to break bright, binding us together in the avocado dawn. In the repetition of our words, of our sounds, of our songs, of our thoughts made from music from our mouths, we love what binds us together.
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Three Poems by Jeff Alessandrelli
Using too many adjectives
is no different than leaving
the price tag
on
a designer sports jacket
you purchased second hand.
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Two Poems by Glenn Shaheen
Let’s party. Like, I want to be a believer in the power
of dance, the point of the party. There are individuals
in every corner, bellies filled with animal something.
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Three Poems By Philip Metres
the margin is not the margin
to the margin / the central drone
trails a sound like a lawnmower
mowing down the sky / you look up
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Three Poems By Laura Bernstein
We follow directions: spread a shallow bed of seeds
in my belly button, place plastic wrap layers over
my stomach, and lay my body out in sunlight.
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1979 by Hayan Charara
We were stopped
at a red light, I was in the passenger seat,
and a guy crossing the street looked
at the Buick, then at us
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Gaza by Hayan Charara
Three Poems By Kwame Dawes
I heard something other than
the chattering of birds in the trees,
something like the hint of music
Kablooey is the Sound You'll Hear by Debra Marquart
then plaster falling and the billow of gypsum
after your sister blows a hole in the ceiling
of your brother’s bedroom with the shotgun
he left loaded and resting on his dresser.
Flower Gate and Sea of Gallilee By Kazim Ali
My disobedient body pierces the I
Music drifting landward hand in hand
Two Poems by Charlie Clark
The cafés have a kind
of tea that is just
the temperature and taste
of air breathed in summer
Two Poems by Gary Jackson
Men smoke on Hagwon-ga, eyeing
the dark borders of my body.
Two Poems by Shelley Puhak
I’ve seen and Ginny, darling, I can no longer breathe. I got off
the interstate, cut through an industrial park, throbbing.