Notty Bumbo, Winter 2017

Reflection
Notty Bumbo

Every loneliness is the first loneliness.
Every pain the deepest pain.
Watching the cypress trees grow twisted
By the wind’s uncaring hand,
We are hard-pressed to rejoice.
Every day another sunrise,
Every night another despair.
Raise the lantern against the world;
What stares back is the face we long for
All the early hours of our lives.


Notty Bumbo is a writer, artist, and poet living in Fort Bragg, California. His many publishing credits include the Amphigoric Sauce Factory, Words Without Walls, Poesis, Telling Our Stories Press, and Calabash Cadence Taisgeadan.  His novella, Tyrian Dreams, is available through Kindle via Amazon Publishing. He has recently been responsible for Questor’s Odyssey, a daily commentary on life as we seldom appreciate it, from the perspective of a Trans-Universal visitor with three green hairs.

Sharlene Gilman, Winter 2017

Bus Ride (Little Americas: Wyoming, Oklahoma, Texas, Arizona, California)
Sharlene Gilman

TV, Guns, and Pawn is a square bunker building in Rawlins
boasting big black letters: “Your mom was Pro-Life—
Thank her.” Rolls one sign and another:
Wyoming west uncurls
east and back as the midnight
big dog Greyhound stretches and runs:

Past Beans, Feed, and Butchery,
the Viva Mart, the Kum-&-Go
Convenience store, the Lady-Saver
Coin-Op Laundry. Dawn lights the silo
painted like a Coors can in the stubble flying
past the nodding grizzled man whose wallet chain
holds single dollars close while Continue reading “Sharlene Gilman, Winter 2017”

Bob Beagrie, Winter 2017

Two Poems by Bob Beagrie

At Odds
Bob Beagrie

When there’s no hope of a phone signal
and I know, if there was, you wouldn’t pick up,
these are the things I can use to call you:
the mat of moss sighing damp over a tumble of rocks
among an oak’s exposed roots beneath dripping branches,
the wind, carrying threads of fret into a white sky, Continue reading “Bob Beagrie, Winter 2017”

Raymond Luczak, Winter 2017

Two Poems by Raymond Luczak

On Docks Off Eagle Harbor
Raymond Luczak

In the east, the moon rises
a contained ball of flame.

Winds surf the anxious waves
and around the lonely docks.

Unfamiliar stars tip their toes
in the vast lake of night.

Stale clouds coat the lighthouse
blinking its tired pulse.

The moon arches even higher
on the ladder with each minute.

The north leaks a faint light,
an unsettling of ghosts long past.

Isle Royale is a shadow,
trees unshaven in the swath.

Sprinkles of water thunder Continue reading “Raymond Luczak, Winter 2017”

Ace Boggess, Winter 2017

Storm Clouds Over Fairmont
Ace Boggess

I’m in town to read poems about my troubles
“does it bother you
to talk about it?” someone asks
“no” I say “if I can’t feel
at home in my history
I’m a man with two faces staring at the sun”
not this sun
which hides
behind slow-
rolling cumulonimbus
while I stand outside
the hotel’s double doors to smoke— Continue reading “Ace Boggess, Winter 2017”

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