Monthly Archives: April 2014

Monica Raymond

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SESTINA WITH RANDOM PEACE WORDS The bird Noah sent second was the dove, who watched the dwindling of the waterfall to puddle. Doves and ravens don’t agree, not even on the definition of love, let alone whether the wind’s an … Continue reading

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Diane Stepro

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Hades Said God of affluence and treasures, swirling in my cloud of muscled tanned glittering venom, receiver of sacrifices most desired, I, why would I choose her? So many offered, unresisting, willing to accept the stone, the ring, the walk … Continue reading

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Sistah Joy

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This Freedom Thing  (…for Harriet) There are some that will know you Only through the woeful echoes of ancestors Unripened dreams turned work song Pain-birthed melodies from slaves Whose souls uttered unlettered words Of courage and resolve It is for them … Continue reading

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Francesca Rand

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Blood Moon Mandarin sun sets into a crimson sky like a love letter slipping into an envelope. Endless blue black tracing across a burnt orange horizon. Tetrad sister Robust and radiant in her ascension into the clear April sky. Foretelling … Continue reading

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Dennis Price

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A poem should be like a kiss    A kiss can be a spark From which forest fires explode Or a fuse is lit. Generations of calamity Or celebration May flow from one. So can a poem Fire up every gland. … Continue reading

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Doritt Carroll

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edits you’ve already written the poem but now you have to fix it the words are there but they’re awkward as first dance the clompy shoes the skinny legs the skirt borrowed from the recalcitrant older sister you’ve already written … Continue reading

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Sophy Burnham

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The Basement Stair There was a day when I, a little child, Was dancing in the sunbeam’s shaft that filed Or streamed across the chambered hallways of my mind (I was all joy, no worlds were left to find) And, … Continue reading

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Graham Pilato

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Ostrich Sympathies in Archaeology (v. 3 of So Cold in My Room…) Researching innocence means rubble gets found. This is another ancient language. I can’t— loud things, the past with a crunch. Who hides from the coming war pattern slides … Continue reading

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Judy Kronenfeld

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From Those Who Have Nothing More Will Be Taken Bless them whose beds are cardboard Who break a popsicle in pieces in scorching weather Who share a pair of shoes more holes than leather Who elbow past each other for … Continue reading

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Sam Hamod

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Moon’s Stories it’s in the moon we become lost, never knowing where it will shine, and that moon travels so far, on caravans into Isfahan, or silky days in Beijing, shining light on the sleeping olives in Palestine, and hiding … Continue reading

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