Section » Poetry
the fragrance of dark coffee by Phillipe Chatelain
the fragrance of dark coffee sometimes i have beautiful thoughts, and i try to use words to describe them but very scarcely do they suffice. so i apologize in advance if these words don’t move you the way the thought moved me. they can come out bitter, like a fresh cup of coffee. if i offer you a cup: you may try and put your own Splenda into
Comments Off • Read this story »
More Articles
Three poems by Merica Teng
Rejection Those hideous words, “Unfortunately, we regret to inform you…” come to me, only after I’ve poured my wishes into the new year for a fresh purpose— they come without a scene. Telling my best friend on more days than she wants to hear, during car rides where I cannot see, “If I don’t
Comments Off • Read this story »
Three poems by Richard King Perkins II
Becoming Serpent Ex-marine seen too much killing wants to be a serpent has a plan and much money removes lips splits tongue head already shaved pulls teeth snips ears reticulates skin with tattoo cuts off fingers cuts off toes grinds down nose stitches snake-eyed lenses to his eyes fuses foot to foot
Comments Off • Read this story »
Two poems by Shane Rooney
The Christ in my heart The Christ in my heart Spoils like lard. I drink wine and blubber on And break a cross of bone Over my knee. I am waiting for the witness to his death To step forward. I know he is dead. Climb out of the cage And show your bandaged wrists. We are all of us Here Waiting. I wake
Comments Off • Read this story »
Two poems by Tammy Ho Lai-Ming
Tender Curiosity This is not the only time I have arrived home to see a cracked window. And yet, in another sense, I have never seen a crack like this. It would be trivial and frivolous to say no two cracks are alike but it’s true. Last night, there was a typhoon in your room, 3.5K away from my home. A
Comments Off • Read this story »
Three poems by Loh Guan Liang
Undressing a Bed My thighs are spread so wide the undressing looks criminal, if not comical. The elastic band surrenders and the fabric peels deliciously down shoulders into hips wide enough for sleep. I think of you as the bed moans beneath me; I don’t think this is cheating although I am not sure, not
Comments Off • Read this story »
Three poems by Chloe Stricklin
Monster Wide-eyed, skin flushed, a smile cherry-red and fingers laced with my own. You slept next to me the night before you swallowed me whole. “Broken Shutters” (photo by Flickr user jakeliefer) Hybristophilia Midnight eyes
Three poems by David Kann
Letter to L. Cohen, 2009 I skulked out of poetry’s house at thirty-three. At sixty-three I returned like a sneak-thief. Because time terrified me to staring silence. And one April Shabat night you, you seventy-five-year-old mensch, you, you blissed out 7,000 people for three hours, you with a nothing
Comments Off • Read this story »
Three poems by Steve Klepetar
Cold Days When January wind sweeps across naked brows, leaving a knife smear of blood, we have no choice but to recall the hard metal lessons of cold days, how brittle trees lattice endless blue oceans of sky, while useless sun sparkles on snow crusts and ice. Cold is a river in our veins, a serpent
Comments Off • Read this story »
Three poems by Eric Dittmar
Disassembling Required When Van Gogh cut off his ear It was for reassurance that the rest of him could disappear That illusion of ownership that nerves create Should have faded with each baby tooth I lost It didn’t though, contrariwise I worried I would extend Into roads or trees and then feel
Three poems by Joe Bisicchia
Simpleminded How commonplace this job has become, carrying out the basket of the guillotine. Makes it easier, or so it sometimes seems. Hopefully, it is not wicked mindlessness. Better to be blind, than possess such a mind. Rather be simpleminded in my banality than have inability to see the ordinary. But,
Two poems by Susan Levi Wallach
In Taiwan Her son drinks Qing Xin Oolong and dances on the moon; He tells her that the world is his — it jiggles in his pocket when he whirls, his blonde hair curling in the damp air as people ask to touch him: brings good luck, they say, like rubbing Buddha’s head. They call him beautiful man as
Comments Off • Read this story »
