Ray Templeton

The Wait

He wakes in the night,
the bed half-cold,
and moves to shift
the bare facts,
coughs to unmake
the space in the room,
stretches to fill
the house,
still sharp, still broken
when outside, the sun
lifts into the branches.

Ray Templeton writes poetry, prose and songs and sometimes the same words end up in all three.

Ray Templeton

So Near

In almost a blizzard
I break into almost a run,
skittering on the almost frozen pavement,

and when I’m almost there,
I see the skin of powdery white
that almost coats the window glass,

with a finger trace of letters,
that I can almost read.

Ray Templeton has been writing poetry since he was a schoolboy, and is confident that he’ll get the hang of it any day now.

Ray Templeton

Cut-outs

With paper and scissors
I formed the shape
of a human being,
but it wouldn’t tell me
what I needed to do,
and when it finally did speak,
it told only of long nights
without a moon, of rivers
with no reflections
and plants that grew to bud
but never flowered.

Ray Templeton is a European.

Mike Harrell 

What Was Said

Give me a call.
I don’t have phone numbers,
you said, and I thought it was a koan,
but I called and though you weren’t there,
your voice was, serious and beautiful,
and though I didn’t leave a message,
I sent mail to the mailbox
you don’t have, just to say
that I miss you, and wish you weren’t
so far away, meaning you there,
and me here,
at the other end of the room.

 

Mike Harrell lives in Brooklyn, NY, makes his living in the film industry as a props person, and has been published in Avatar Review, Apocrypha & Abstractions, IthicaLit, The Centrifugal Eye, Clapboard House, Soundzine, Barnwood Magazine, Deep South Magazine, and The Alligator.

Selina Mahmood

Tongue

Give me truth 
and I’ll pour

this bitter sweet soul

onto your
smoldering tongue.

Selina Mahmood is a medical student who enjoys stepping on fallen crunchy leaves and dancing in monsoon rains.

Richard Jones

Hover

I fill the flower-shaped feeder
and hang it in the garden,
but each spring the hummingbirds
mistake the blossoms of my ears for flowers.

Richard Jones was once a surfer who rode storm waves off Hatteras.

M. A. Istvan Jr.

The world that becomes so small
in the myopia of hunger
opens up again after some bread.

M. A. ISTVAN JR., an animal dealer based out of Austin TX, has spearheaded a campaign to display zoo creatures in “unnatural” settings (walruses, for example, in replicas of office mailrooms.)