Category: Poetry

George Nelson Preston/How I Met Pablo Neruda

“Venceremos” was a cry that I constantly heard. Cuba was a beehive of armed citizens, milicianos and regulars. I knew of the invasion talk back home and I wondered how in the world a country armed in this fashion could be subdued. Little did I know that the debacle of the disastrously failed CIA sponsored beach-head at Bahia de Cochinos and La Cienega de Zapata would be a total route with Fidel himself commanding from the turret of a former Cuban Army battle tank.

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John L. Stanizzi/Poetry

WALMART The knuckled trailer park rests in topsy repose on a plinth of ledge beside paltry little Windham Airport whose main function is flying people up so they can skydive down, and where every now and then at dusk a Cessna’s...

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Alan Britt/Poetry

PLANTING A SEED   (For many people)     In the back room with Van Morrison. In the back room. In the back of the back room with Duckett & Beaz, back somewhere below purple azaleas, on our backs & on the back of a B&O...

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William Wolak/Poetry

Unpredictable Pleasures You’re a shipwreck rusting into sand, but keep the wind’s sighing inside your tattered sails even when the world seems cold as a coffin’s white silk lining. Like the breathlessness of sparks, the...

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Peter Thabit Jones/Poetry

HERON: MONTEREY WHARF, CALIFORNIA Heron, hunchbacked, Drab chapel-grey, Bedraggled loner, Still as a statue On guard, staring Away and stood In a calmness Perfected since birth. What is a moment In unbothered composure? The...

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Catharine Lucas/Poetry

AFTERMATH Big Sur, California, May 2009 Phosphorescent green flickers against wet dark,             fire in another tongue Memorials of trees, stripped bare, black as mummies, stand witness Leaf-laden alders, parchment ghosts,...

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Alita Pirkopf/Poetry

  TEAHOUSE IN THE JAPANESE GARDEN The young man and the ancient Japanese flute make sounds like breath and wind, like rain and river, make sounds that soar—like birds— sounds that sing— toward evening’s silence, sounds we...

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Carl Auerbach/Poetry

  EXILE The word bird does not itself take flight from ……….off ……………..the ……………………page. nor do the letters robin insert their...

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Catherine Lucas/Poetry

AFTERMATH Big Sur, California, May 2009   Phosphorescent green flickers against wet dark, ………….fire in another tongue Memorials of trees, stripped bare, black as …………mummies,...

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