Category Archives: Poems

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Tomoko Sawada

Homeless

Her thank you
was like
that of
10 year old

wiping

tears away
with both hands
when

i gave her
2 bananas
so cold
in this

april
night.




Tomoko Sawada lives in New York City.

 

Lillian Hallberg

Specs Asunder

He was an architect by trade,
with meticulous plans
and blueprints for his life,
until she walked in one sultry night,
and curves upset right angles.

Lillian Hallberg is from Boston, enjoys rejuvenatement (never say retirement) and begins each morning with a steaming cup of coffee, reading, and writing poetry. http://lillianthehomepoet.com

A.S. Coomer

Passive (Aggression)

I had to wait
for the whole backhand
to weigh
the compliment.

A.S. Coomer writes stuff, novels include Rush’s Deal, The Fetishists, Shining the Light & The Devil’s Gospel. www.ascoomer.com.

Hannah Silverstein

Shapeshifters

The goldfinches rise
from the goldenrod

as if the field had taken wing
from flowers, discarding
a life of dirt and crawling things

for sky, if only as far
as a branch on the gray
wetland snag—
what might have been

a tall birch, once, or a maple,
before beavers turned the land
to marsh, before the marsh
filled with sediment and dried,

before the goldenrod took root
in the thistle scrubland where now
goldfinches build their nests

and cast their yellow fledglings
to the wind like seeds.

Hannah Silverstein lives in Vermont, but her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Terroir Review, The Ekphrastic Review, SWWIM Every Day, and The New Guard.

Hannah Silverstein

The Tricycle

The girl—maybe five,
maybe six years old,
band-aid elbow,
dirt-scrubbed knee—
who (her brother
calling her to race)
pauses her green
trike in the gravel
dust to wave
at the jumbo jet
miles and miles more
already away
from the outer arm
of this spiral galaxy
of washboard road
and woodlot track—
when will she forget
she is the sun?

Hannah Silverstein lives in Vermont, but her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Terroir Review, The Ekphrastic Review, SWWIM Every Day, and The New Guard.

 

 

Hannah Silverstein

Where to Look

When you realize you were focused
all along on the wrong thing—

swatting mosquitos the moment
the meteor flamed the atmosphere,

your friends gasping while
too late you look up to see

only what assumptions of familiarity
have made banal, only a dome

of imperfect stars, milky light
bridging moments beyond counting,

past this moment you have,
by cynicism or arrogance,

missed forever—what, if not hunger,
would you call the regret, rising

like the moon over the ridge, the sense
of worlds moving in silence

while you were asleep, the vow,
soon broken, not to blink again?

Hannah Silverstein lives in Vermont, but her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Terroir Review, The Ekphrastic Review, SWWIM Every Day, and The New Guard.

 

 

Hannah Silverstein

Weather

Lately I’ve been trying to solve a problem
with my heart,

how it clenches, sometimes,
as I walk up the street, how

sometimes it flares with anger, and
then the anger passes,

a freak storm so quick,
who would notice in this glare,

if not for the excess
draining down the gutter, to the

subterranean channels that flush out
into the Connecticut, where,

in the muck and shallows
above the hydroelectric dam, a minnow

filters oxygen through tender gills,
unaware of the

coil-necked shadow,
the needle beak

poised to strike.

Hannah Silverstein lives in Vermont, but her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Terroir Review, The Ekphrastic Review, SWWIM Every Day, and The New Guard.

 

 

A.T. Lynne

Beyond Vegas

In the desert at dawn,
a few steps beyond the glittery lights,
the gambler—taking a break to breathe real air and count his remaining cash—
smells
the richly-scented creosote bush that provides
shade to the tarantula,
a perch to the curve-billed thrasher and
refuge to the swift-darting roadrunner,
and finds,
as he wanders out a little further,
a few old weathered boards and
half a dozen real tin cans, turned entirely to rust,
made so thin and brittle they collapse with his touch.

Writer and hypnotist, A.T. Lynne believes there is no difference when the work works.