Poem

'The Subject of Feeling' a new poem by Peter Rose

Peter Rose

Outside the church, unmemoried,
names of the dearest          
deserting me, I turn as they
load you in the hearse, set off
with a small police escort.

For a quarter of a century
we have been ramming you
in cars of various sorts,
long before the age
of ramps and hoists.

They took longer to ... More

'Monster (0.2 Reloaded)' a new poem by Samuel Wagan Watson

Samuel Wagan Watson
I can’t speak my grandmother’s tongue and I’ve never been on my grandfather’s land.  I’ve traveled here and I’ve traveled there, my culture is fabricated in government-funded laboratories ... More

'Barroco' a new poem by Will Eaves

Will Eaves

If I were to write down a list
of everything I miss I’d miss
the most important thing,
an irregular pearl. Not gifts –
books on corvids, Wild Lone,
‘Ballad of Gordon, Alpha Cock,
who clawed to death a fox
and Bedlington terrier’ – or this

... More

'Lake Writing' a new poem by Judith Rodriguez

Judith Rodriguez

If I ask myself why I write about lakes
(again and again the task of keeping on course)
I think how the lake veers and veers, always left –
I start that way, land bulked on my right
for my abler hand to be sure, eye and the witless
other hand still feeling, open to water,
half-trained, shaping and stopping intervals on rounded
strings sounding in the mind ti ... More

'A Thousand Characters' a new poem by Luke Beesley

Luke Beesley

after Koch/Cohen, Malley/Breton, Roussel!

This, too, is about a thousand characters. It’s much like the
last one. I wouldn’t even read beyond the following sentence.
The following sentence is a silky thing – purple in the late
day, drizzled in afternoon fog. Inside a microwave oven is
More

'The Possibility of Loss' a new poem by Jennifer Maiden

Jennifer Maiden

Obama has said that the person with whom he would most like to dine is Gandhi.

... More

'Pope Pinocchio's Angels' a new poem by Michael Farrell

Michael Farrell

    Angels are made from banksia. They are grown in Prague, are
Exported in all directions, and turn grey in air. They
Only fly in places where the ground is hard. If
You try to count them they turn into numbers. If
You try to call them they turn into names. They
Are not decorative at parties but illustrative, of Guernica, for example

... More

'Weight' a new poem by A. Frances Johnson

A. Frances Johnson

It is a kind of sleep we must learn,
seasonal as spiders, our bodies
weights no web can hold.

... More
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