Steve Klepetar

W. S. Merwin

I knew a man
who transcribed
the wind

who etched
its song onto
rock ledge
and cliff

as he sat
quietly
by a window
in the sun

his lightning
eyes burning
the world to ash.


Steve Klepetar has a heart too soon made glad, too easily impressed.


 

Steve Klepetar

Will You?

If the wave gathering
strength over the western sea

churns, builds, rises
above coastal cities
like a giant hand,

if it roars us into deafness
or shines like a blinding wall,

will you stand with me
on the cliff’s bare face
to watch the old world drown?


Steve Klepetar has a heart too soon made glad, too easily impressed.


 

Raymond Luczak

Bump in Front of Mrs. Kichak’s House

Whenever I raced down on my banana bike,
I always swerved around it—
it was a landmark of sorts,
nameless and unmapped
yet easily identifiable from the kitchen
window overlooking Oak Street,
so when I heard the city of Ironwood
had slit open that bump to let out
its trapped air from too many winters
and repaved the entire street,
I saw the last of my childhood spin
crazily like a balloon expiring
the ghosts of bad haircuts,
terry socks, peanut butter sandwiches,
trips to Lake Superior, and no TV in summer,
only to be ironed out into fade to black.


Raymond Luczak is the author and editor of 22 books, with the latest titles being Flannelwood and Lovejets: Queer Male Poets on 200 Years of Walt Whitman.


 

Hannah Mahoney

Bloopers

I watched one of those video compilations
of summer mishaps—kiddie pools and diving
boards and water slides and someone going
to jump dive slide swim and ending up all
wonky—and laughed once or twice in spite
of myself, but lingering afterward is that
moment when things change from fun to not,
and how vulnerable we all are, one moment
to the next.


Hannah Mahoney lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where she enjoys clouds, trees, and sentences.


 

Mark Jackley

My Father Is Drinking Gin and Reading a Detective Novel

Eyes closed,
paperback
pressed against
his chest,
he is breathing
slowly in
the dark
as mysteries
whisper through
his Banlon
shirt into
his unsolved
heart.


Mark Jackley‘s poems have appeared in Sugar House Review, Fifth Wednesday, The Cape Rock, Talking River, and other journals.


 

David Jibson

H²=8/3 π Gρ

Mathematics which few of us understand
proves that while we are standing still
the space between us is expanding,
pushing us further and further
from everything in the universe,
friend from friend,
mother from child,
lover from lover.


Having grown up in rural Michigan David Jibson now lives in Ann Arbor where he is a co-editor of Third Wednesday, a literary arts journal and a member of The Crazy Wisdom Poetry Circle.