All posts by Dale Wisely

J. R. Solonche

The Pine Two-by-Four

The pine two-by-four,
now newly sawn
exactly by the carpenter,
smells exactly like a newborn.

J. R. Solonche has been publishing in magazines since the ’70s and is the author of six poetry collections.



Alessandra Davy-Falconi

better left unsaid

I think people can love,
but it’s like pressing a flower
and missing the time when it breathed.

Alessandra Davy-Falconi is a dragon preparing to set herself free.



Moss Ingram

Icy Dawn

Tires slid,
and a guardrail caved,
while orphans slept.

Moss Ingram enjoys reading and writing work that requires taut constraints, as well as teaching this appreciation and practice at Grand Rapids Community College.

Devon Balwit

How like Banksy, God is,

our hidden telomeres
programmed to shred
just when we become
sure of our worth, our
readiness for a climate-
controlled museum
cabinet, for an encomium-
laden retrospective,
gavel banging down
on a million-four,
our loved-ones gaping
at our disintegration.

Devon Balwit wouldn’t mind being the Banksy of verse.

Howie Good

The Colonel of the Dead

after flexing
his cramped fingers,

records your name
in black ink
on black paper,

then lies back
with a weary sigh
on a sun chair,

pink high tops
crossed at the ankles.
Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.



Howie Good

October Trees

I see them out my window,
grinning, angelic,
committed to the outrageous thing,
to be alive in spaces
that are designed to kill them.

Howie Good is on the pavement, thinking about the government.