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Circus

by Salvatore Buttaci Thin long poems Wear tall stilts To keep their heads Above the crowds In someone’s life A tragedy Can make  clowns Out of poems

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Posthumous Poem 95

by Susan Dion When you asked me so many years ago you smiled satisfied saying, no one can get mad at you. How funny, but your green eyes solemnized the moment. Was the Hurricane of `38 a mere drizzle? Laugh with me.

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The Way It Was

by Joseph Milosch It began in the morning one went to the wash room and saw his bud. They exchanged flight duty so that his friend could go to the Bob Hope show. One returned to his hutch had a beer went to the mission review. Afterwards, he drank a cold beer, and as the […]

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A Family Reunion in Florida

aby Joseph Milosch Seven uncles and aunts outlived by seven uncles and aunts. Shadows lighter than their children’s silhouettes.

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The Myth of Sisyphus (Tanka Prose)

by Chen-ou Liu people awake work, eat, and sleep the Mondays of present follow the rhythm of the Sundays in past Blank years in and out. This is daily life. And then the sudden moment of being: the stab of memories, the sting of longings, the slaughter of time. There is no screaming tragedy in […]

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In the ER with my Father

by Michael Gullickson I touched your forehead for the last time, and willed you to recognize I was there. They said the ocean of your brain had stilled, no more waves, rolling to the shore. That no man or machine, could ever stir them again. Choose to disconnect, they said, let go. I touched your […]

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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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What My Stepson Couldn’t Say

by Persis M. Karim I hate you because you aren’t my mother and even though you didn’t pretend to be her, you gave more of what I needed. And I hate you now because I don’t’ know how to hate her and you aren’t my mother.

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Evidence

by Chrissie Burke when I told him about how a single flower symbolizes a dead child’s existance he was flabbergasted and enraged because the substance supporting hope became evidence supporting hopelessness.

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What Does A Man Do

By Joseph Milosch As a young man in the seminary, Father Martin asked us to meditate on this question, What does a man do when he’s alone with his aloneness? At seventeen I felt so alone I was embarrassed to say: Because I can’t sleep, I walked through the maples every morning between 3:30 and […]

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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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A Window

by Dretta Grace White A window Coffee Oranges and Blue china cups What is so simple We forget And yet Set a wing Against the finest azure blue And that is what there is

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Smog

by Darla Himeles I went out to buy smog today after two years away from my concrete Pacific, my crashing head smelling waves as I landed at the storefront where smog is sold as an eye shadow color. It is not the same as my heavy home horizons, but it is perfect.

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Stash’s Letter to His Lost Chiid ( Good Friday)

By Joseph Milosch In the last dream before waking I see the shadows of the spots of a snow leopard. Maybe I saw them during a medieval meditation. In any event the leopard and the lion drank from the pool of my heart as the mountains secreted echoes of the she wolf. How can I […]

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Concerto for Clarinet and Feet

by Joseph Milosch Inside the neck of the clarinet an army opposes breath. They ride miniature warhorses, Belgians, with saliva icicles hanging from their bits. Before the cavalry charges, they slap their chests with their ancestors’ guns. Beneath the keys of the clarinet exists a longing for the splendor of a frost- tipped rose, as […]

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