Category Archives: Poems


Steve Klepetar


My cousins built green houses, red hotels,
I bought a railroad or two,

and then my aunt came in with cookies,
but they were burnt,

so we crumbled them in our fingers,
dropped an offering to the scattering birds.

Steve Klepetar has never completed a game of Monopoly.



Fiona Tinwei Lam 

A Brief Ode to Brief Poems

Little splash
licks the rocks,
carries the moon.

Canadian poet Fiona Tinwei Lam has authored three poetry collections and a children’s book and teaches at Simon Fraser University Continuing Studies.



J.R. Solonche

On the Wall of the Hospital Room

On the wall of my hospital room,
above the mirror above the sink,
there is a wooden crucifix
with the figure of Christ in pewter,
arms stretched outward and upward
and forward slightly in benediction
or as though ready to execute a swan
dive, preparing himself mentally,
finding his balance on the balls of his
feet, wearing a strange robe that seems
to give to his back a closed set of wings,
like the carapace that beetles have over
their real wings.

J.R. Solonche is the author of 23 books of poetry and coauthor of another.



J.R. Solonche

My Shadow

After all these many years
of following me around and
leading me by the nose and for
just a minute without movement
disappearing under my skin,
today my shadow finally
introduced himself to me,
but under threat of death,
I cannot speak his name.

J.R. Solonche is the author of 23 books of poetry and coauthor of another.



Frederick Charles Melancon

Apartment’s Sonata

The voice next door belongs
to a former music student,
current banker, whose words
ring staccato in the morning:
legato at night.

Frederick Charles Melancon lives in Mississippi with his wife and daughter.



Jon Densford

A Poem As a Precipice

The point is not to understand,
but merely to appreciate
this one last idea … that
our minds whirl around
a veined outcrop which is both
the stone altar of time
and the ledge of our letting go.

Jon Densford agrees with Jeff Tweedy of Wilco when Jeff sang “Maybe all I need is a shot in the arm.”



Gwen Hart

Living out West

becomes real to me
when the horses
I thought were painted
on the Wells Fargo
billboard step out
of the frame
and gallop past me
down the long hill
toward town.

Gwen Hart lives in Havre, Montana, near the Bear Paw Mountains.