A Funeral in Spring by John Grey

It is not Spring. It’s winter.   Everyone in attendance is chilled and shaking.   Not even dark suits and dresses can warm them. Yes, buds are opening, wild flowers peeping through the emerging grasses. But that’s just nature. Its seasons cycle. Ours come and go. Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com About the Poet:... Continue Reading →

Thin Disguise by Michael Igoe

I descend chutes, by way of sluices, to enter rapid currents. You hear me speak only when fees are granted. With glowing words I sing your praises. I will someday betray your memory from a fast car window. I'm more than desperate to quit the cradle. Your vitality comes from youth misspent same as your... Continue Reading →

The Point of Poetry by DS Maolalai

what's the point of poetry? once, a prideful egg, I told someone "it's to show that every surface is a mirror" but that wasn't even right. just a pat answer, made up to impress, like throwing away a bag of coloured painting. some way to while the evenings, drinking wine, smoking and listening through the... Continue Reading →

Animate by Tyler Wettig

As all men are, we are weak: the feral perfumes of our loins unabated by  our greater muse, intuition, with our  faces for all seasons like so many   pockets of change. We are of the ways of the old masters: carvers, molders, melders of slab and stroke--the curiosity  seekers of our covenant's yin .... Continue Reading →

Waiting in San Francisco by Carla Sarett

Oh, I never recall the bumpy flights, or the rude passengers. Only the waiting in freezing airport lounges, those endless waits. Everyone dying to get home. The soiled napkins, the cold pizza, the road warriors flaunting their billable hours  and stabbing their enemy laptops, defeated by thunder and lightning and things unknown. Women shouting into... Continue Reading →

Bath Time by Lynn White

The bath used to hang on the wall in the scullery. Not our scullery. His scullery. We borrowed it from Mr Neil who rented us the rooms at the front of his house. One down, one up. My mother would knock on his door and he would lift it down for her. But she had... Continue Reading →

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