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Poet C. D. Wright Dies at Sixty-Seven

January 18, 2016 – 6:35 am | 2 Comments

Prize-winning poet and Brown University professor C. D. Wright, age sixty-seven, passed away unexpectedly yesterday evening at her home in Providence, Rhode Island. The cause of death has yet to …

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The Months

February 12, 2016 – 7:01 am | No Comment

The Months
By Linda Pastan


Contorted by wind,
mere armatures for ice or snow,
the trees resolve
to endure for now,

they will leaf out in April.
And I must be as patient
as the trees—
a winter resolution

I break all over again,
as the cold presses
its sharp blade
against my throat.


After endless
on the windowsill,
the orchid blooms—

embroidered purple stitches
up and down
a slender stem.
Outside, snow

melts midair
to rain.
Abbreviated month.
Every kind of weather.


When the Earl King came
to steal away the child
in Goethe’s poem, the father said
don’t be afraid,

it’s just the wind. . .
As if it weren’t the wind
that blows away the tender
fragments of this world—

leftover leaves in the corners
of the garden, a Lenten Rose
that thought it safe
to bloom so early.


In the pastel blur
of the garden,
the cherry
and redbud

shake rain
from their delicate
shoulders, as petals
of pink

wash down the ditches
in dreamlike
rivers of color.


May apple, daffodil,
hyacinth, lily,
and by the front
porch steps

every billowing
shade of purple
and lavender lilac,
my mother’s favorite flower,

sweet breath drifting through
the open windows:
perfume of memory—conduit
of spring.


The June bug
on the screen door
whirs like a small,
ugly machine,

and a chorus of frogs
and crickets drones like Musak
at all the windows.
What we don’t quite see

comforts us.
Blink of lightning, grumble
of thunder—just the heat
clearing its throat.


Tonight the fireflies
light their brief
in all the trees

of summer—
color of moonflakes,
color of fluorescent

where the ocean drags
its torn hem
over the dark


and sun-dazed,
I bite into this ripe peach
of a month,

gathering children
into my arms
in all their sandy

my table each night
with nothing
but corn and tomatoes.


Their summer romance
over, the lovers
still cling
to each other

the way the green
leaves cling
to their trees
in the strange heat

of September, as if
this time
there will be
no autumn.


How suddenly
the woods
have turned
again. I feel

like Daphne, standing
with my arms
to the season,

by color, crowned
with the hammered gold
of leaves.


These anonymous
leaves, their wet
bodies pressed
against the window

or falling past—
I count them
in my sleep,
absolving gravity,

absolving even death
who knows as I do
the imperatives
of the season.


The white dove of winter
sheds its first
fine feathers;
they melt

as they touch
the warm ground
like notes
of a once familiar

music; the earth
shivers and
turns towards
the solstice.

Ephram Pratt Extols a Verdigris Patina

February 10, 2016 – 6:59 am | No Comment

Ephram Pratt Extols a Verdigris Patina
by Jack e Lorts
Growing in unison
with time,
carrying filaments
of desire
no one understands,
like killing small mountains,
burying old glass bottles,
currying favor with
divided loyalties,
held close to
prying eyes,
a voice no …

A Real-Life Drama

February 8, 2016 – 6:57 am | One Comment

A Real-Life Drama
By Michael Collier
This dog standing in the middle of the street,
tail stiff, fur bushy with fear, and a pedigree rabbit,
its neck broken and bleeding beneath his paws,
might have …


February 6, 2016 – 6:55 am | No Comment

by D George Gawlik
Butch poured himself another two fingersful of whiskey. The front door of the house was still gently swinging on its hinges where Jeannie …

Dum-dum Verse

February 4, 2016 – 6:51 am | One Comment

Dum-dum Verse
by Volodymyr Bilyk
with the hideous leer
and the odious sound:
Crank the bubble –
when echo falls –
mouth the hum unjustly.
sky will foul you.
clang knees
snap below
into the breathes mist
and lapse into unkind …


February 2, 2016 – 6:50 am | 2 Comments

by Marc Carver
We all have to find our place in the world, don’t you think?
There has to be some place where you want to be
To …

to an abandoned bandage on the cta

January 30, 2016 – 6:45 am | One Comment

to an abandoned bandage on the cta
by Alexandra Weiss
chicago beat me up too;
moving here was like a punch in the gut:
slamming head into building
(this actually happened
a thick crust peeled off …


January 28, 2016 – 6:46 am | One Comment

by Melissa Balmain
Your TV cable’s on the fritz.
Your Xbox is corroded.
Your iPod sits in useless bits.
Your Game Boy just imploded.
Your cell phone? Static’s off the scale.
Your land line? Disconnected.
You’ve got …

Communicable Communication

January 26, 2016 – 6:44 am | One Comment

Communicable Communication
by Casey Bush
the problem with reading
is that it involves thinking
and so the true meaning of words
may not be apparent to everyone
especially given the fact they evolve
like several generations of …

Dead Astronauts, Helpoemer, Vaucanson’s Automaton, Zardoz, Giorgio De Chirico, The Smurf Queen Editoress of Indiana, Eiga Monogatari; Try that on for Synthesizer

January 24, 2016 – 6:43 am | No Comment

Dead Astronauts, Helpoemer, Vaucanson’s Automaton, Zardoz, Giorgio De Chirico,
The Smurf Queen Editoress of Indiana, Eiga Monogatari; Try that on for Synthesizer
By Quasimofo

The Battle of Karansebes 1788–Austrian scouts come upon …

Dream Plated Towne

January 22, 2016 – 6:41 am | One Comment

Dream Plated Towne
by Pat A Physics
It is so good, the things we dream in our perfect leisure towns
that haven’t broken under terrible plastic hoof prints. Spreading
our hands wide for …


January 20, 2016 – 6:37 am | 2 Comments

by Holly Day
The maple sends its helicopter seeds across the yard
in desperation dreams of propagation. I rake most of them up
rip out the long roots of the ones that slip …

all in the family p.02

January 18, 2016 – 6:36 am | One Comment

all in the family p.02
by Cerebella
i would like to alert you of a crime you continuously
commit, one
i seem unable to commit, not
that i hold interest in doing so. it is, …

Book Review – Public Library and other Stories by Ali Smith

January 5, 2016 – 6:47 am | One Comment

Book Review – Public Library and other Stories by Ali Smith
Review by Ben Macnair
9 out of 10
Following up the enormous critical and commercial success of the award winning novel How …

Winter Sunrise Outside a Café Near Butte, Montana

December 23, 2015 – 8:54 am | 3 Comments

Winter Sunrise Outside a Café
Near Butte, Montana
by Edward Hopper
A crazed sizzle of blazing bees
in the word EAT. Beyond it,
thousands of stars have …

12 Days in December and January

December 21, 2015 – 4:25 am | One Comment

12 Days in December and January
by Dan Raphael
A farm without chickens
A car without stains
A day that’s only 24 hours
A glass that’s never been hollowed
>< Two bends ...


December 20, 2015 – 5:49 am | One Comment

by Hugh Fox
Christmasing and Chanukaing
into violin-tromboning blasting
Polonaise from Rimsky-Korsakov’s
Christmas Eve Suite into the BBC’s
Slaughter-Evening News, vegetarian
deer on the side of the road waiting
to be shot, does grass feel pain/loss,
fifty, sixty, …


December 19, 2015 – 8:36 am | One Comment

by Clinton Van Inman
I learned at an early age
What happens to all snowmen,
Why the fake beards
As I sat upon his lap
And took his hard candy.
Now there …

Hold It Down

December 18, 2015 – 8:43 am | 2 Comments

Hold It Down
By Gina Myers
It’s 70 degrees outside but in the drugstore
Christmas music plays over the speakers as
I stand in line balancing my checkbook
in my head, stretching things thin until
my …

Ode to the Midwest

December 17, 2015 – 5:09 am | One Comment

Ode to the Midwest
By Kevin Young
The country I come from
Is called the Midwest
—Bob Dylan

I want to be doused
in cheese
& fried. I want
to wander
the aisles, my heart’s
supermarket stocked high
as cholesterol. I …


December 16, 2015 – 6:02 am | One Comment

by Stephanie Bennett
The value of time
Made tender
Is when
Two look-alike
Flowers are
With rain -.

ultima multis

December 15, 2015 – 5:01 am | 2 Comments

ultima multis
by Alexandra Weiss
they’ve emptied the fountain for winter
and, on the grass, a wrinkled coverlet
out of season
cheapened and disgraced
a wrought figure tilted
to the unforgiving sky
repelling rain
a wax of itself
the size …

Heaven’s Gate

December 14, 2015 – 8:51 am | One Comment

Heaven’s Gate
by Robert Morgan
In her nineties and afraid
of weather and of falling if
she wandered far outside her door,
my mother took to strolling in
the house. Around and round she’d go,
stalking into …

Wicked smile

December 2, 2015 – 7:28 pm | One Comment

by: Halifax
The divisions
of Heaven from Hell
grow from gums flapping
While language learning
a practice set comes in
primitive understandings
not meant to last forever
Mature teeth are crowned
with mouthfuls of silver
Some lost as babies
that will …


December 1, 2015 – 4:52 am | 2 Comments

By Michael Miller
I want to be a passenger
in your car again
and shut my eyes
while you sit at the wheel,
awake and assured
in your own private world,
seeing all the lines
on the road …

glorious sticks shift, trending like bees out of orbit

November 10, 2015 – 12:08 pm | One Comment
glorious sticks shift, trending like bees out of orbit

Giddily sky piloting, and waltzing madelaine home with the lights turned way down low.


November 9, 2015 – 6:32 pm | One Comment

dogs are barking
By Halifax
after aglets on our laces go missing
their ties intertwine gnarled bramble
till they twist to pair gathered nests
laying cockleburs inside matted felt
knotted ends prevent further fraying
lest additional losses …

Max Ernst

November 6, 2015 – 5:48 am | 2 Comments

Max Ernst
by Paul Eluard
In a corner agile incest
Circles the virginity of a little dress.
In a corner the sky turned over
To the spines of the storm leaves white balls behind.
In the …

3 Poems translated by Jacques Corrida

November 3, 2015 – 5:51 am | 2 Comments

3 Poems translated by Jacques Corrida
(translated from the Spanish by Michael Paul Hogan)


Consuela /


November 2, 2015 – 6:10 am | One Comment

by Philippe Soupaul
Night jostles her stars
It rains sand and cotton
It is so hot
but silence weaves sighs
and the glory of summer
Signals a little bit everywhere
of heated crimes
of people who’ll overthrow …

Removing the Dross

November 1, 2015 – 7:39 am | One Comment

Removing the Dross
by Thomas Moore
After snowstorms my father
shoveled the driveway where it lay
open to a sweep of wind across
a neighbor’s field, where the snow
drifted half way down to the paved
road, …