Jonathan Greenhause, Spring•Summer 2017

There Aren’t Any Ducks in the Duck Pond,
Jonathan Greenhause

but that’s OK   because there’s no God either,
so the lack of ducks

in a pond named after them
shouldn’t be cause for concern,   this absent divinity

allowing us to believe in other things,   like science
or perhaps ourselves;

& if we try hard enough,
we can put the ducks   back into the duck pond,

put the water back into water,   remove Continue reading “Jonathan Greenhause, Spring•Summer 2017”

Joe Baumann, Spring•Summer 2017

Miners
Joe Baumann

They set you down in an old dentist’s chair, yellow stuffing clumping around the strips of duct tape that catch on the holes in your jeans. Then they apply blue jelly, cold and clammy, to your temples, massaging it against your skin with two fingers each.  Your hair has already been buzzed short so the gloppy mess won’t muss into anything. It is, apparently, impossible to wash out. While they fiddle with their instruments—just out of your periphery, but you can hear something whirring that fills your mouth with a metallic taste, saliva bunching behind your wisdom Continue reading “Joe Baumann, Spring•Summer 2017”

Erin L. Delaney, Spring•Summer 2017

Coming Back to Bukowski
Erin L. Delaney

Dispirited, I flip through piles of books
looking for something new,
something to bring on some fire.
Instead I stare down Bukowski.

We’ve been introduced before.
I open Dog from Hell’s pages,
readjust the glue,
recover the nonstick binding.

He provokes me,
pours me a glass
of words,
and this drink ignites
my pen to paper—
a drunken admission
a bare-handed back alley boxing match Continue reading “Erin L. Delaney, Spring•Summer 2017”

Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017

Sunrise Psalm
Craig W. Steele

“Dawn was breaking over the horizon,
shell pink and faintly gold…”
—J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Dawn’s light chases Ephialtes’
shadows back into their secret
caves, dispersing them about my
yard, beyond the fence and down the
road in all directions. Glowing
pink in every puddle where the
gold-eyed Eos bathes her face, it
burnishes the dewy leaves and
grass until they’re glinting like fine
crystal, brightening my way today.

Continue reading “Craig W. Steel, Spring•Summer 2017”

Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017

Sound Shadows
Marjon van Bruggen

Do you hear
the sound below the sound
of our footsteps?
The wiry black whine
of bluebottles sleeping
or the tiny sudden shock
as thorns emerge on the rose

subtle things,
I tiptoe in its shadows and listen—

the goldfish discussing
the coming contest
the delicate slurp
of drinking fireflies
and the dancing dust
in the center of sunflowers,
against the glint of granite. Continue reading “Marjon van Bruggen, Spring•Summer 2017”

Raymond Cummings, Spring•Summer, 2017

The Animating Spark
Raymond Cummings

When you turned away the sky fell apart for
just a moment before collecting itself. Doves
quit the refuge of Banaba boughs. Monarchs
descended into a yellow haze of irises and
lilacs. Fireflies slashed out like distant stars.


Jazz & Classical
Raymond Cummings

Here my recorder bore the brunt of the wind.
Night fell debased in chyrons. I’m much more
invested in a casual blues idiom, in melody,
Continue reading “Raymond Cummings, Spring•Summer, 2017”

Marilyn Pocius Shelton, Spring•Summer 2017

Anthracite
A Trilogy
Marilyn Pocius Shelton

1.

I hoist my hems for the devilish descent
Down where no bone reaches save my pen

I chisel by inches with the image of a pick
Picture of an axe, auger seen in no one’s eyes
But mine

Grandpa, when you lay down in a chink
Of coal, did you see your mother’s eyes
Rimmed with tears as she waved good bye
Rooted in her Lithuanian soil?

2.

Settling Accounts

After you pay for your carbide Continue reading “Marilyn Pocius Shelton, Spring•Summer 2017”

Harold Jenkins, Spring•Summer 2017

Double Dig
Harold Jenkins

Break the surface with the pitchfork
shave off the sod with the spade
Five feet wide, fifteen feet long

Dig out the first row
one foot down, one foot long
put it in the wheelbarrow

Add compost to the trench
loosen the soil with the fork
try not to think about you

Dig out the second row
toss it Continue reading “Harold Jenkins, Spring•Summer 2017”

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