November Dusk by Martha Christina

Raking under the maple,
I unsettle two small moths
the color of light brown sugar
and sweet to my sentimental eyes.

One rises, undamaged,
disappears over the fence.

The other drags its torn wing
into the beige shadow
of a dried fern.

Winter Moths, the field guide tells me;
their life cycles short and destructive,
maple trees their common victims.

I breathe in the cold air.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press).

Taken to Heart by Martha Christina

Our mail carrier’s
on medical leave: not
a dog bite; not a fall.
“Worse,” a co-worker confides.
“Political news got to him.”

In the local paper
the middle school’s
Student of the Month
smiles at the camera.
Our mail carrier’s son,
cited for his kindness
to a boy with special needs.



Martha Christina is a frequent contributor to Brevities. Longer work appears in Innisfree Poetry Journal, Naugatuck River Review, earlier postings of Red Eft Review, and most recently in the anthology Ice Cream Poems from World Enough Writers. She has published two collections: Staying Found (Fleur-de-lis Press) and Against Detachment (Pecan Grove Press).

between four & six by Justin Hyde

first
the fire truck

density itself
blazing through
a canyon

then
the ambulance

the retirement home
parking lot
bathed
in candy cane light

always
early morning

between
four & six

i think
they wake up
feeling
that absence beside them

for what?
the hundredth
the thousandth time?

they reach over
to that absence

across starched sheets
washed
by strange africans

on the
third floor or
the fifth floor

feet
touch the ground

a window

looking out at trees
they did not plant

maybe
they walk back
to those starched sheets

reach across
that absence

& let
go.



Justin Hyde's books and other poems can be found here: http://poets.nyq.org/poet/justinhyde.

that summer by Justin Hyde

we'd cut the top off a pop can

one of us would steal a little gasoline
from our father

out on the west edge of the trailer park
tucked up under the highway overpass
like hobos

we'd drop one of our
g.i. joes in the
gasoline bath with
a lit match

silent full

attention

swirling the acrid burning fumes
with wooden sticks

squatting there
that last summer before our dicks got hard

women came

simple truth disappeared

& we turned inscrutable

like our fathers.



Justin Hyde's books and other poems can be found here: http://poets.nyq.org/poet/justinhyde.

Haiku by Stephen Toft

winter trees
blossoming
with birdsong



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka."

Haiku by Stephen Toft

train at dusk
the smell of the country
on a stranger's coat



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka."

Haiku by Stephen Toft

deep in snow
breathing warmth
into my scarf



Stephen Toft is a poet and homelessness worker who lives in Lancaster, UK with his wife and their children. His first collection "the kissing bridge" was published by Red Moon Press in 2008 and in December 2016 Scars Publications released his chapbook "naming a storm: haiku and tanka."

Before Afghanistan by Matthew Borczon

I didn’t know
coffins came
in children’s sizes.



Matthew Borczon is a poet and reserve navy sailor from Erie, PA. He has published six books of poetry. His most recent is The Smallest Coffins Are the Heaviest from Epic Rites Press. He works as a nurse for the developmentally disabled.

Hurt by Matthew Borczon

The soldier said he didn’t know
what hurt worse, stepping on the IED
or telling his wife about it the first time he called home.



Matthew Borczon is a poet and reserve navy sailor from Erie, PA. He has published six books of poetry. His most recent is The Smallest Coffins Are the Heaviest from Epic Rites Press. He works as a nurse for the developmentally disabled.

Leaving by Matthew Borczon

On the day I left for Afghanistan
I felt like a kid
in my father's clothes.



Matthew Borczon is a poet and reserve navy sailor from Erie, PA. He has published six books of poetry. His most recent is The Smallest Coffins Are the Heaviest from Epic Rites Press. He works as a nurse for the developmentally disabled.

Sense Less by Edward Lee

Depression,
the great multiplier;
one hour becoming two,
one day
becoming three,
a night lasting forever,
the only end
that makes calming sense
the one that makes
the least sense,
akin to the period at the end of the sentence
that encapsulated a life
of oil-black despair.



Edward Lee's poetry, short stories, non-fiction and photography have been published in magazines in Ireland, England and America, including The Stinging Fly, Skylight 47, Acumen and Smiths Knoll. His debut poetry collection "Playing Poohsticks On Ha'Penny Bridge" was published in 2010. He is currently working towards a second collection.

Interplay by Mark J. Mitchell

Your shadow watches
every mirror you pass,
hoping—one day—
to have a reflection
it can name.

Each mirror looks back
at your vanishing
shadow, hopelessly
jealous of its grand
mobility.



Mark J. Mitchell’s latest novel, The Magic War just appeared from Loose Leaves Publishing. He studied writing at UC Santa Cruz under Raymond Carver and George Hitchcock. His work has appeared in the several anthologies and hundreds of periodicals. Three of his chapbooks— Three Visitors, Lent, 1999, and Artifacts and Relics—and the novel, Knight Prisoner are available. He lives with his wife, the activist Joan Juster and makes a living pointing out pretty things in San Francisco.

Untitled Poem #2 by Mike Meraz

The
Gashes
The world
Cuts
Into
Poets
Are only
More
Exits
For poems
To seep
Out
Of.



Mike Meraz lives and writes in Whittier, CA. His latest book "She Poems" is available at Epic Rites Press.

Untitled Poem #1 by Mike Meraz

Uniformed
Artists
Going to
Work

At 8am
In the
Morning

Probably
Hung over
From
Painting
Writing
Partying

Waiting
For that
Time clock
To hit
5

So they can
Go
Back

To their
Real
Jobs.



Mike Meraz lives and writes in Whittier, CA. His latest book "She Poems" is available at Epic Rites Press.

Sodden by Richard Martin

Only yesterday
I'd been struck by the beauty
of autumn trees
on the hillside –
now,
as cloud and drizzle
veil the landscape,
sodden is the only word
that comes to mind –
as though memories
had been blotted out,
the past no more
than empty words
and soaking woods.



Richard Martin is an English writer who lives in the Netherlands close to the point where Belgium, Germany and Holland meet. After retiring as a university teacher in Germany, he turned his attention to writing, and has published three collections of poetry and numerous poems in magazines in England, the US, and Austria.

SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) by Ben Rasnic

Life has lost
its luster.

The trees have shed
their multi-colored leaves,
now languishing in shades of gray.

Looking back
begets a painful reminder.

Looking forward
leads me closer to death.

Standard time
has deprived me
one hour of daylight.

My father once told me
“Son never grow old.”

It was his way
of saying
he loved me.



Ben Rasnic currently resides in Bowie, Maryland. Author of four published collections (three available from amazon.com), Ben's poems have been nominated for Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize.

Family Visit by Mark Danowsky

End of the first days off this year.

Two days, one recovery, it’s July.

One thing I know, there is a report
waiting for me, still, from last Thursday.

My oldest friend, like an older brother, once
told me you need to take long vacations
because that’s how you know who you’d be
if you didn’t have to work.

Probably, like a brother, too
he doesn’t remember telling me this
or any other sage advice I’ve taken to heart.



Mark Danowsky is a writer from Philadelphia who lives in West Virginia. His poems have appeared in About Place, Cordite, Gargoyle, Right Hand Pointing, Shot Glass Journal, Subprimal, and elsewhere. Mark is Managing Editor for the Schuylkill Valley Journal and Founder of the poetry coaching and editing service VRS CRFT.