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Word’s Weaver for J. E.

by Oritsegbemi Emmanuel Jakpa a) Word’s Weaver for J. E These words are glassed in moon — relics of this generation, to be preserved. No more roses. These suffice a thousand bouquets. Why won’t I, these words in my palm, walk with blossom head and a smile?

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Otter Art

by joseph Milosch Stretched like a log a statue of an otter seems to smile as sea gulls walk across its side. Besides the birds, cats, kids, a few teenagers use it for a walk way. Every once in a while a shy lover rubs its head like a pet; instead, of the skilled navigator […]

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Ancestral

by Margarita Engle Descending into the land of childhood a yellow-walled town on the coast of light memory’s turbulent landing each rediscovery of time flow and place love always new.

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Trapped Between Trellis and Solarium Glass

by Ed Coletti furious flapping frantic brown towhee sudoku solver without an eraser miniscule logic crazed exit seeker no rhyme or reason all bump and banging

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Monkey Planet

by Daryl Muranaka A monkey patrols the lookout for scraps, picking through trash. Sticky, brown syrup clings to his soft gray fur. Regally, he perches on the roof of our car. He takes in the view while calmly disregarding all our noisy protests. Blogged with the Flock Browser

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Autumn Haiku, 2010

by Neal Whitman Autumn is a time to harvest pumpkins. How about a U.S. harvest of 1.5 billion pounds! Two hours north of me up California’s Highway One is a lovely coastal town, Half Moon Bay, home to the World Pumpkin Festival — its 40th will be held October 16 – 18. We kick off the season […]

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Landscape of a Woman and Hummingbird

by Joseph Milosch He twists his neck to catch the sun, which turns his throat to the same shade of red as the fluid in the gourd-shaped feeder. Peeling grilled tomatoes, she lifts her head to see him dip his beak, turn his head, and burst into shadow. As they slip through her fingers, tomato […]

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My Cousin Djurdja

By Neal Whitman, Poetry Prof I treasure connecting with poets around the world  made possible by the Internet. One such poet, Djurdja Vukelic-Rozic, and I call each other “poetry cousins” – she is the haiku editor for an art magazine published in Serbia / Bosnia-Herzegovina: Diogen Pro Kultura Magazin. She lives in Ivanic Grad, a […]

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A book of poetry in his right hand…

by D.B. Nicely A book of poetry in his right hand, a bottle of whiskey in his left. He lets his back crash into the pale yellow wall, the whiskey sloshing in the bottle, and he allows gravity to ease him down with his jacket rising up, bunching at his shoulders. He is slouched in the corner beside […]

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The Red, White, and Blue

By Joseph Milosch I drove heroin hooked soldiers to the infirmary. These men openly cried, or moaned rocking on the back bench of my pick up. One, with his blond hair parted down the middle, wore glasses with circular blue lenses. The MP’s made him sing “TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME.” His voice split, […]

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Why I Feel How I Do

by Howie Good Because day by day I am less real Because the cemetery half-listens Because the mirror mutters too Because stranded here for now Because the sky is everyone’s Because though poorly patched in places and attracted to the form of a mountain Because like an accidental gunshot Because she says it isn’t raining […]

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Going Outside at Night

by James M. Cox Going Outside at Night After Writing All Day After the rain, boxes of light from the buildings puncture the night sky; they look like kites tethered to the ground. Yellow gleams on the streets glisten. Black bands bind the earth.

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Still

by Paul Hostovsky When there’s nothing to say there is still this to say, still there is this like a birdbath in someone’s yard in your childhood, not your birdbath or your yard and no birds now, or rainwater yet, just this palm, this listening for the rain, this memory of a waiting place made […]

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Naming

by Francine Marie Tolf We have lost our ability to name. We say collateral damage, downsizing, factory farm. Error in judgment. Extraordinary rendition. We say sky, but we don’t mean it. We say antelope, owl, as if these words had power. As if the names of animals hadn’t long fled back into animals, where they […]

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February Trees

by Daryl Muranaka In the morning, the trees surprise me. Pure white blazing with a puff of snow balancing on the tip of each branch the head of an elegant white snake bursting from the unsullied trunk. Everything clean. Everything brilliant in the sun. But beneath the snow we know the wet bark waits to […]

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