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January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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My mother one afternoon in a cowboy hat, sitting on a Texan bench of hay. Me in the same configuration of time, space, & cowboy hat. The memory in my brain like a boulder in a haystack,...
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January 4, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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0
The gew-gaws of false amber and false turquoise attract them. “Like to like nature”: these agglutinous yellows!—Ezra Pound, from “Women Before A...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
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When she was born, they said, You are small. Remember this. Feel these safety pins anchoring our strings in your palms. She said, So far, I’m just watching. When she began to walk, they...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
admininfin8 |
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When The Primordial Mother comes knocking on your door trying to convert you to her religion and you look through the peep hole but pretend you’re not home, millions of stars burn out....
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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May the child be at peace. May the child’s peace radiate to all in her grasp. May the child’s peace radiate to all whose grasp she is within. May the pedophile be at peace, and...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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I eulogize you Sometimes Without meaning to. When I’m driving, With only the dark And the city non-stars And the ghosts on the radio To keep me warm. I swear I don’t mean...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry, Uncategorized |
admininfin8 |
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Just now the swans are sitting on the frozen lake as if nesting. Earlier they had flown in like a fleet of jets in military formation turning when they reached the cove then opening their...
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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after An Artist [Begins Her Life’s Work] at 72. Molly Peacock, subtitle for A Paper Garden The happenstance of a few fallen petals, geranium red – heeded by the keen eye of Mrs....
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January 3, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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Yellow, white, dirt and hyacinths poking through snow: I am not quite a year old. Two prepubescent boys bang into walls, tables, each other, anything smaller. Big sister tips her highchair....
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January 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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0
You should have left the blood on, let the red ferment my Chanel like a beaujolais: new, light-bodied, and acidic. Imagine their faces! A small stem like you cupping to catch his brains as...
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January 2, 2015 |
in Poetry |
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0
Throngs crowd around Warhol’s Campbell Soup canvas. Images of Elvis, Marilyn, a young Brando, and Jackie Kennedy smiling in her pill box hat moments before the assassination. We see her...
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September 7, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
On the first day, when he told me never to touch that tree, I could not remember which of the myriad things around us he had named trees but did understand that I was expected to please and...
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September 7, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
(for Lori Field) for this creature like me Searching with my brown puzzled neck Closed my slender Asian eyes Brought me to darken light Taken away from this to be continued...
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July 5, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
All the waving arms belonged to women distraught with low-income dreams and men with ashy knees bent before the only God known to worry himself with the prayers of a little blueberry-curled...
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July 1, 2014 |
in Poetry |
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0
You can, you realize, not say what you think, and sometimes, not say what you have thought all along in that operative fashion into which words have been put. Though, such language seems...
[new_royalslider id="17"]
Ana Flores is a sculptor and ecologist. Her work is informed by how pla
2 Poems
Let Me Straddle Your Mind
The Crusader
Yeah bring our electric shaver back, I bought it we shaved each others back
it was important to me
Kwame Dawes
1
Yes, we were country, lived in shotgun
shacks, where the road loses its way
to dirt and live 
[new_royalslider id="11"]
Courtesy of the artist and Mizuma Art Gallery
"Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to lea
Junot' Diaz
and Edison, NJ
The first time we try to deliver the Gold Crown the lights are on in the house but no on
Elegy & Poem
"We are all the other."
…and find inside a picture,
of myself as a child, sitting
on a small chair, wearing overalls
an
Raphael Perez
To Alex, on turning two
Some say the Ring of Brogar
is the Circle of the Moon.
There is n
March on Washington
An Interview with Cheryl Evans
In a strange twist of what seemed
like reverse vandalism, the Graffiti
Mecca was painted over. 
Forest Gander
A Translation
Quassan Castro, poem
Grandson to Grandmother
Wynwood Walls, of Miami has been called "a Museum of the Streets."
Low like the mean dream
of Newark the sky must
have seemed to its builders.
Rickety now, unhingin
At last, the extremes
of his present methods
seemed to offer
the happiest avenues.
The strengthe
5th Limb
Poems
Poem, Knot
Poem, Look This Way
Xue Du, Poem
A woman in a black kimono dyed black hair
disappeared behind a black curtai
Poem:
Behind the War On Women
Maria Mizzotti-Gillan
Short Story
Pilar Fraile Amador
poem
Lady Haiti
David Trinidad
Landzy Theodore
Angelo Nikolopoulos
