Tag: Poetry

A Man Asking for Alms Near My Home.

So full that sort of knowing—
the sudden finality of a truth
as crisp and resonate as Beethoven deaf
ear to the floor of your late thirties.
The cats sleep through the walls
listening for a snap or shuffle or fugue
while the old trees in the yard beg for alms
against the back windows—just redone this summer j

In Hand

Poetry by J. Joseph Kane

The sword fighting was,
like most traditions, ill-advised.
The blades were real,
one a samurai the other a Greek replica,
edges sharpened .

Rough Draft

Poetry by Teresa Chuc Dowell

The word, though spelled incorrectly, is mine. I cross it out in my own time and in its space, the brown earth, I will grow flowers, fruit trees, or lettuce. I am a rough draft, cursive drawn on paper with a pen and my left hand rubs over the ink.

Two Street, January First

poetry by Paul Siegell

football buffs / in Philadelphia’s aviaries vault the beer-can
casualties / of another round of fumbled punt returns.

parking authority tyrants / toy with every block possible
along Philadelphia’s / deliriousness of cobblestone.

such miserable hospital cafeteria coffee in Philadelphia’s

reasons not to swim at night

Poetry by Giuseppe Infante

in a cardboard box near the beach’s massive stones rests empty bottles of sugar cane soda or 30 cents for the weekly bottle collector with filth ridden dingy fingernails. ruined vacation in malibu

The Produce Aisle

Poetry by Laurel N.

Do not buy the lettuce
those frothy topped leaves
are festering with bugs.
Soft-bodied caterpillars follow
their jaws dragging their bulging
green weight. Imagine

A Skeptic at Night

Poetry by Lia Greenwell, for Tyler Clementi

When there is heaviness at the end of a day, I sometimes catch myself in
accidental prayer. “God–” my mouth will drop, like a pearl rosary bead falling
from my tongue

Dear OKCupid,

I am married to a man,
and while I am looking more
for a girl to kiss than
“just friends”,
I would appreciate it
if you found a way
to discourage
old Oklahoman dudes
from masturbating
to fantasies
of me traveling
to fuck them
like their wives won’t.

-poetry by Katie Moore SplinterGeneration