Seeing the empty swing, hanging from the black
willow’s thickest branch, I want to test its seat, I
want to steady myself on its warped wood & fly
out over the pond that rents the sky. I want
to lean all the way back, face up to sunlight
that seems to be caught in leafy-green
braids that sway, back, and forth, like curtain
call— this is it —I feel it in the pit of
my stomach, this memory of
feat, of encore, of swinging
into vast darkness.
M.J. Iuppa ‘s third full length poetry collection Small Worlds Floating was published by Cherry Grove Collections in July, 2016. For the past 28 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario.
Monday, April 24, 2017
Sunday, April 23, 2017
Air Strikes by Mark Danowsky
I get up to the news
set down my phone
feed my dog
make coffee
check email
Twitter
a checklist I've developed
that takes hours
breaking for dog walks
opening the fridge
for no reason
worrying
about productivity
why I'm not
getting to the DO IT LATER
half of my steno pad
dreams I have
opportunity
to pursue if I choose
Mark Danowsky’s poetry has appeared in About Place, Cordite, Right Hand Pointing, Shot Glass Journal, Subprimal, Third Wednesday and elsewhere. Mark is originally from Philadelphia, but lives in West Virginia. He is Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal and Founder of the poetry coaching and editing service VRS CRFT.
set down my phone
feed my dog
make coffee
check email
a checklist I've developed
that takes hours
breaking for dog walks
opening the fridge
for no reason
worrying
about productivity
why I'm not
getting to the DO IT LATER
half of my steno pad
dreams I have
opportunity
to pursue if I choose
Mark Danowsky’s poetry has appeared in About Place, Cordite, Right Hand Pointing, Shot Glass Journal, Subprimal, Third Wednesday and elsewhere. Mark is originally from Philadelphia, but lives in West Virginia. He is Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal and Founder of the poetry coaching and editing service VRS CRFT.
Saturday, April 22, 2017
vagrant by Robert T. Krantz
these boxcar doors slide
open with great clamors
of fear and trembling
shake our cups
spilling brown coffee onto pine pallets—
we dream generous portions
of flaked biscuits and gravy
at the diner in the town up ahead
Baxter smiles when the first purple light
peaks over the northern plain
just in case
Robert T. Krantz is a poet working out of Michigan. He studied creative writing and English Literature at both Niagara County Community College, NY and the University of Akron, Ohio. Robert published a chapbook of poetry and prose entitled Leg Brace Legato (2013) which earned him admittance into the University of Arkansas-Monticello's MFA program for Poetry. His second chapbook, Gargoyle, was published in 2015. In 2016, Bitterzoet Press published two chapbooks of Robert's work (Hansel & Plus 4) and his poetry has appeared in Gargoyle, Hoot, Watershed Review, Wilderness House Literary Review and others.
open with great clamors
of fear and trembling
shake our cups
spilling brown coffee onto pine pallets—
we dream generous portions
of flaked biscuits and gravy
at the diner in the town up ahead
Baxter smiles when the first purple light
peaks over the northern plain
just in case
Robert T. Krantz is a poet working out of Michigan. He studied creative writing and English Literature at both Niagara County Community College, NY and the University of Akron, Ohio. Robert published a chapbook of poetry and prose entitled Leg Brace Legato (2013) which earned him admittance into the University of Arkansas-Monticello's MFA program for Poetry. His second chapbook, Gargoyle, was published in 2015. In 2016, Bitterzoet Press published two chapbooks of Robert's work (Hansel & Plus 4) and his poetry has appeared in Gargoyle, Hoot, Watershed Review, Wilderness House Literary Review and others.
Tuesday, April 18, 2017
Late and Dark by Martha Christina
The cat's in
his usual place,
stretched out
against my
outstretched legs.
The bedside clock
reads 3:00 a.m.;
what's that to him
in his reckoning
of time?
Dark? He can
easily see
me, sitting up,
face buried in my hands.
Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears or is forthcoming in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published by Pecan Grove Press in April 2016
his usual place,
stretched out
against my
outstretched legs.
The bedside clock
reads 3:00 a.m.;
what's that to him
in his reckoning
of time?
Dark? He can
easily see
me, sitting up,
face buried in my hands.
Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears or is forthcoming in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published by Pecan Grove Press in April 2016
Monday, April 17, 2017
At the Arboretum by Martha Christina
Sun breaks through
heavy cloud cover,
shines like a spotlight
on her memorial tree.
Still a sapling;
my hand can
encircle its trunk,
slender as her wrist.
* * *
Our hands
interlocked,
paramedics busy.
* * *
White blossoms,
five-petaled,
touch my face.
Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears or is forthcoming in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published by Pecan Grove Press in April 2016.
heavy cloud cover,
shines like a spotlight
on her memorial tree.
Still a sapling;
my hand can
encircle its trunk,
slender as her wrist.
* * *
Our hands
interlocked,
paramedics busy.
* * *
White blossoms,
five-petaled,
touch my face.
Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears or is forthcoming in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, and earlier postings of Red Eft Review. Her second collection, Against Detachment, was published by Pecan Grove Press in April 2016.
Saturday, April 15, 2017
My Students' Wheelbarrows by Tyler Sheldon
after B.C. and W.C.W.
One by one they trickle to their seats.
They expect another day of scribbling
in their notebooks what they’re only
pretending to think, but I tell them,
it is finally time to have our talk
about poetry.
I tell them, look here at how Williams breaks
his lines, so unlike Shakespeare, and one,
her hand above the sea of heads, says
they’re wheelbarrows. You can lift
these lines and even pivot, if you wish.
She drops her hand and just like that the silence
breaks.
Another stands to speak: white, he says,
means purity. For the rest, so much depends
upon these words. All they want to do
is tie chickens to that color
so they won’t escape.
When they finally trickle out, talk shifts
back to other things. A few leave
with pens in hand. I turn off the lights.
Beyond our classroom, the trees
are glazed with rain.
Tyler Sheldon is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and MFA candidate at McNeese State University. His work has appeared throughout the US and Canada, such as in Quiddity International Literary Journal, The Dos Passos Review, The Prairie Journal, and others. His chapbooks include First Breaths of Arrival (Oil Hill Press, 2016), and Traumas, forthcoming from Yellow Flag Press.
One by one they trickle to their seats.
They expect another day of scribbling
in their notebooks what they’re only
pretending to think, but I tell them,
it is finally time to have our talk
about poetry.
I tell them, look here at how Williams breaks
his lines, so unlike Shakespeare, and one,
her hand above the sea of heads, says
they’re wheelbarrows. You can lift
these lines and even pivot, if you wish.
She drops her hand and just like that the silence
breaks.
Another stands to speak: white, he says,
means purity. For the rest, so much depends
upon these words. All they want to do
is tie chickens to that color
so they won’t escape.
When they finally trickle out, talk shifts
back to other things. A few leave
with pens in hand. I turn off the lights.
Beyond our classroom, the trees
are glazed with rain.
Tyler Sheldon is a Pushcart Prize-nominated poet and MFA candidate at McNeese State University. His work has appeared throughout the US and Canada, such as in Quiddity International Literary Journal, The Dos Passos Review, The Prairie Journal, and others. His chapbooks include First Breaths of Arrival (Oil Hill Press, 2016), and Traumas, forthcoming from Yellow Flag Press.
Monday, April 10, 2017
Another one by Matthew Borczon
He had
21,000
rounds of
ammunition
5 illegal
guns and
a list
of enemies
but in
the end
the soldier
only shot
himself.
Matthew Borczon is the author of two books of poetry: A Clock of Human Bones from Yellow Chair Review and Battle Lines from Epic Rites Press. His third book Ghost Train will be out in June from Weasel Press. He is a nurse and Navy sailor in Erie, Pa.
21,000
rounds of
ammunition
5 illegal
guns and
a list
of enemies
but in
the end
the soldier
only shot
himself.
Matthew Borczon is the author of two books of poetry: A Clock of Human Bones from Yellow Chair Review and Battle Lines from Epic Rites Press. His third book Ghost Train will be out in June from Weasel Press. He is a nurse and Navy sailor in Erie, Pa.
Saturday, April 8, 2017
I shouldn't watch the news by Matthew Borczon
After a
nightmare
full of
the dead
children
of Afghanistan
carrying the
dead children
of Syria
I wake up
to carry
my 8 yr
old up
the stairs
to bed
fighting back
the urge
to wake her
just because
I can.
Matthew Borczon is the author of two books of poetry: A Clock of Human Bones from Yellow Chair Review and Battle Lines from Epic Rites Press. His third book Ghost Train will be out in June from Weasel Press. He is a nurse and Navy sailor in Erie, Pa.
nightmare
full of
the dead
children
of Afghanistan
carrying the
dead children
of Syria
I wake up
to carry
my 8 yr
old up
the stairs
to bed
fighting back
the urge
to wake her
just because
I can.
Matthew Borczon is the author of two books of poetry: A Clock of Human Bones from Yellow Chair Review and Battle Lines from Epic Rites Press. His third book Ghost Train will be out in June from Weasel Press. He is a nurse and Navy sailor in Erie, Pa.
Friday, April 7, 2017
Senryu by Maureen Kingston
in the exurbs
cornfields exhale
walmart bags
Maureen Kingston’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Akitsu Quarterly, Blue Earth Review, B O D Y, Chrysanthemum, Failed Haiku: A Journal of English Senryu, Haibun Today, hedgerow, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Modern Poetry Review, moongarlic E-zine, Prune Juice: Journal of Senryu & Kyoka, and Red Paint Hill.
cornfields exhale
walmart bags
Maureen Kingston’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Akitsu Quarterly, Blue Earth Review, B O D Y, Chrysanthemum, Failed Haiku: A Journal of English Senryu, Haibun Today, hedgerow, Hermeneutic Chaos Literary Journal, Modern Poetry Review, moongarlic E-zine, Prune Juice: Journal of Senryu & Kyoka, and Red Paint Hill.
Thursday, April 6, 2017
Baiting the Hook by Ben Rasnic
Coming to terms
with that last offering
from a crushed pack
of Salems
now snuffed
down to the filter,
you sift frantically
through the overfilled ashtray
for something to light
because the lure
of vodka & tonic
still wavers enticingly
from the shallow bottom
of your crystal cocktail glass.
Ben Rasnic finds sanctuary in a quiet Bowie, Maryland subdivision where the only sounds at night are crickets and the lonesome wail of a passing Norfolk Southern freight train.
with that last offering
from a crushed pack
of Salems
now snuffed
down to the filter,
you sift frantically
through the overfilled ashtray
for something to light
because the lure
of vodka & tonic
still wavers enticingly
from the shallow bottom
of your crystal cocktail glass.
Ben Rasnic finds sanctuary in a quiet Bowie, Maryland subdivision where the only sounds at night are crickets and the lonesome wail of a passing Norfolk Southern freight train.
Tuesday, April 4, 2017
The Opposite of Love by Jessica Siobhan Frank
I’d prefer apathy to his blatant
hatred of the woman
he’s falling out of love with.
She hollers and he responds.
I have to watch.
I hold him up,
my body is his backboard
my affections keep him from falling,
but I ache for his attention
towards me, towards us,
the future he promised me,
the feverish words he used
when he was wooing me.
Let me take care of you.
I said he was wounded,
needed time to heal,
a year at least,
even if that meant we missed out
on each other. I loved him that much.
But his words were sure:
A year is arbitrary. I’ve found you now.
His convictions more solid than mine.
And now I’m here for him,
dressed in armor.
I know more about her
than he knows about me.
His anger for her his favorite
thing to talk about.
And I hate being right.
Jessica Siobhan Frank is an MFA candidate at McNeese State University. Her work has appeared in Ninth Letter (online), Cliterature, Portage Magazine, and other publications. She currently lives in Louisiana, but is originally from the Chicago area.
hatred of the woman
he’s falling out of love with.
She hollers and he responds.
I have to watch.
I hold him up,
my body is his backboard
my affections keep him from falling,
but I ache for his attention
towards me, towards us,
the future he promised me,
the feverish words he used
when he was wooing me.
Let me take care of you.
I said he was wounded,
needed time to heal,
a year at least,
even if that meant we missed out
on each other. I loved him that much.
But his words were sure:
A year is arbitrary. I’ve found you now.
His convictions more solid than mine.
And now I’m here for him,
dressed in armor.
I know more about her
than he knows about me.
His anger for her his favorite
thing to talk about.
And I hate being right.
Jessica Siobhan Frank is an MFA candidate at McNeese State University. Her work has appeared in Ninth Letter (online), Cliterature, Portage Magazine, and other publications. She currently lives in Louisiana, but is originally from the Chicago area.
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