Poetry

A Chat with Feature Lauren Schmidt

I lie a lot. My poems often start with observation—literally writing down what I see and hear—but that’s not always enough. I find that writing poetry allows me to wonder and ask questions, and that’s what I was doing in these two poems [inspired by The Dining Room], a place that was rife with material. I have become much less afraid to invent things for the sake of poetry, but it always starts with some. »

Poems by Lauren Schmidt

Her Name is Sarah

When Randy drifted in for dinner with her baby
tangled in the rosary scars of her arms,
pressed against the dust of her breast,
everyone wanted to see. They softened
their eyes, their smiles, the way people do
when they look on a baby sleeping,
a baby who has not cried in two days,
a baby whose eyes ooze a thick glue,
whose lips are latched in a palsied. »

Last Night,

I watched my fear of life
tie one end of a long piece

of twine around its neck
and the other end to a roof beam

before it sat down
and went to sleep forever

(poetry by Nahshon Cook). »

Great Lakes Cyclone

It is coming on the backs of stampeding bison
tearing across Doppler radar
a red flesh wound carved
through the Midwest. »

The Energy Engine of Buddy Wakefield: Arguably the Most Successful Spoken Word Poet on the Road

I did the math and realized if I get $50 to $100 bucks a night plus sell chapbooks, on average I’m going to make a hundred dollars a night which is a ten hour a day, ten dollar an hour job with no taxes taken out. I won’t have rent because I will be living in my car, so I’ll be making just as much as I already am, with my college degree. And living out my little dream, my little delusion of rock star grandeur, um…as a poet. So I just did it. I booked it two months. »

Coal Miner

Poetry by Khary Jackson

For the lady that burnt photos of her ex, to use the ash for coal

This is what it means to be sexy.

Only in certain hands can heartbreak be so pragmatic.
I have a bookshelf of failures that beg for a. »

The Vicenarian or My Twenties So Far

Poetry by Laura E. Davis
My therapist says, “Tell me about your twenties.” At twenty I’m born
again. Bush vote. My heart turns purple and my insides become composted
totems of faces I’d forgotten. Grandfather starts dialysis. Get homesick
in St. Lucia while eating fresh mangoes. Buy my first vibrator. Men fly
planes into buildings while women inject collagen into. »

The Negative

Poetry by S. Wilson Collins

Since junior high I watched
the gym rats toss iron

in the room with mirrors
for walls -
where weights whirr

. »

Frat

Poetry by Juris Edgars

We collapsed like gods: turned over on our sides, heaving up
the belief we had in ourselves. We woke one morning
and became aware that we only believed that we believed,
and then just laid there. . »

Luncheon

Poetry by Shannon Eddy

The best meatloaf sandwiches
Are cut in threes,

Sectioned off pie charts
To be eaten,

Under stone trees
Pre-staged. »

Beached

Poetry by Stacie Leatherman

The current had arrested me,
strong arms around the waist. It’s slow panic
to be the quiet, steady, struggling thing
in the water, eyes slits like the sunset behind,
like a bear whose floes have all melted except. »

I count to 11

Poetry by Peycho Kanev

the impossibility of life is in
its beauty:
the beauty is crazy as flower in
the cemetery-

new. »