Category: Poetry
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Issue Thirteen Poetry
Orbs & the Mountain Every Single Day Balms Garry Gets a Gun Boathouse Facing North Well Rounded Always, a River Day Ebbs Leigh Sales is “Totally Fine” The Sea Then and Now Tandem venit amor, and others. At Old Epidaurus Rabbits Running Complication We are all Wildflowers Pressed Between Transparencies
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Every Single Day
By Les Wicks. It takes a certain bravery or blindness perhaps. I gave so much away but still the clutter. When I said there was this fear my lover listened. Growth grows on one. On an empty day with storm & vehemence I had plenty. But wanted so much more…
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Boathouse
By Jan Wiezorek I see now that mystery chops at water. I see now those fractal oars in the sky. I cannot see fear on my face, but I feel flint move like slow motion. I could skip along this path of stones and trip right into a rite of terror—slipping off the pier into…
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Then and Now
by Wendy J. Dunn JOAN OF ARC (Written at sixteen). Today I die Today I die I remember when I first heard them in the green meadows of my home, St Catherine beckoned me, Saint Michael and Saint Margaret told me, ‘Drive the English out, drive them out from France.’ They said…
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Fly or Swim
By Jane Frank. A three-quarter moon is already hanging over the old aerodrome and horse paddocks but my head is crammed with the sea— it’s sheen—mosaic edge against the island, though I suppose these lilac-green grasses are their own ocean and clouds of pink- chested birds are gathering in the concave…
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Complication
By Jane Frank.
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Garry Gets a Gun
By Les Wicks
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We are all wildflowers pressed between transparencies
By Jane Frank. Previously published in Wide River (Calanthe Press, 2020).
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Day Ebbs
by Wendy J. Dunn
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THE SEA
by Wendy J. Dunn The cold wind blows waves crash their might against rocks I am one with this place. The sea roars darkness falls as storm clouds shield the sun. I am one with this place. A seagull caws over my head My clothes slap against skin …
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Balms
by Les Wicks.
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LEIGH SALES IS ‘TOTALLY FINE’.
by Wendy J. Dunn Sex Birth Leigh Sales is “totally fine”. Sex Birth Come close to death Yoghurt hits the stage He said she was a bit over the top about this business of giving birth She’s no reason to complain So why not mansplain the point home By missing her with…
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Orbs & the Mountain
By Les Wicks
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Always, a River
By Jan Wiezorek. The eastern branch of the trail ends near the mouth of the creek, running a bow yoke to the river, and the best walks bring me here, facing south, as the sandhill crane flies above Walton bridge— fishing with father, a walk here with mother—dramatic in light, signets, beech, longing—space to…
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Well Rounded
By Jan Wiezorek The Grand Tetons, Thomas Hart Benton, 1955-60, Grand Rapids Art Museum Brother, who knows birds by sight and sound, has such a well-rounded mind that far aspens model themselves as near-spheres, bushes twist into circles, foothills become mounds, and Tetons shape themselves as curvilinear—when he took a covered wagon out west,…
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River
by Tina Tsironis Your pain is a river so clear and so deep my pain is a river so cool and so sleek do you think you could do it?tell me now yank out the sludge smooth me out pry out the bugs my wellness I’d flout wrench out the shit bleeds brighter than gout…
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Demeter’s Daughters
By Jena Woodhouse It was their mother whom they locked away, for her own good, they said, though she was neither ailing nor demented. Trusting them, she’d signed the documents reluctantly. Now they’d rid her of that nasty dog, they said. The dog turned out to be the faithful one, Demeter thought with rancour,…
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SHADES OF YELLOW
By Wendy J. Dunn Let me count the shades of Yellow: first, a bright morn in a golden dell cowslips’ bells knell welcoming cockcrow as fairies dance their salute to spring drinking dew From a sacred chalice. Betrayal, illness, life giving warmth Yellow can mean so many things But fairies also know yellow warns of…
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Hope
By Wendy J. Dunn From the party next door loud music erases any possibility of sleep I lay in bed and think of the young Our young facing a future when the planet burns (If not burning now) I think of our young in city streets absent from school told activism is…
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My Demeter
By Jena Woodhouse What can I do for my Demeter, now that she has no earthly needs? Mistakes are buried or erased; even glorious deeds fade – It seems there’s nothing more that I can do for her, except to be Focus of poem: This poem is from a longer sequence…