Category: Poetry

Study By John Grey

Study By John Grey

Fourth coffee, seventh book,
apartment looking down on train-track,
knowledge’s cruelty frozen into wrinkles,
his friends tried to convince him
that ignorance is inviolate
but with a lot of cramming
he may yet know these things.

Clock strikes midnight.
Legend has it that,
math and literature
dissolve into dust motes
at such an hour –
but no, he’s the one who fades,
or is it Pip, dissolute, broke,
or planar right angles in spheres.

He whispers in Romeo’s ear –
“Stay with me.”

H begs Hipparchus
not to bail out on him
but it’s sleep that walks
his streets of London,
that incorporates complex numbers.

His head falls down
on a makeshift desk.
In the morning,
he awakens with a stiff neck,
tired, and feeling a fact or two shy
of total ignorance.
So he makes coffee.
Opens another book.
Luckily, today
there’s no math, no lit,
just a character test.
Pass this

and who says he won’t pass these others.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

 

Remember Your Birth By Fabrice Poussin

Remember Your Birth By Fabrice Poussin

Staring at the Milky Way in a dream of ecstasy
he thought only of the sweet nectar
of days long gone.

Mixing the oils once again on the firmament
she teased while the paint dripped
tiny drops into planets.

Orion floated her hair of stars and flames
burning the irises of a young heart
sparks shattered the silence.

Slender as a ray of infinite light he craned his neck
to reach the pregnant celestial bodies
for a single taste.

Blinded in desire, dissipating all senses into dust
swinging her magic wand like a mace
she saw him beg.

Softly her essence caressed those pitiful lips
he trembled in his shriveling shell
and sweetly he died.


Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 350 other publications.

Wistful By Phoebe Anthas

Wistful By Phoebe Anthas

Here, one of seven and a half billion,

hung nebulous and tiny in a sea of wild mysteries,

scattered broad through the purple ink

of ancient vastness, like bird seed flung wild,

I stand, and learn, as if it was something new,

how to walk free in my own skin.

How to balance on the tight rope of such uncertainty

as a gyrating rock round a fire ball

made mostly of hydrogen.

 

And I behold my apple size world,

With its yellow splash of happiness

gleaming through the frozen white rain.

 

How small can I get–   and yet, how large–

 

There is that within me,

not of bones and dirt,

that calls to the flaming vastness,

yearning for the stars

as one does for that which is most familiar

yet which they have lost.

I spread these hands wide,

hoping against reason and science

to hold it all close once more.

 

And the stars shall come, I suppose,

when I least expect them.

Come as a dream,

softy, then all at once.

My little hourglass broken,

sharp shards glinting rainbows.

And they and I shall fly together,

When the cage door is opened

and the dove of my heart escapes.

01 • 14 • 2018


Phoebe Anthas is a 22 years old, a dreamer, artist, poet, and a student of human nature in the classroom of the world.

Little Rose By Matthew Longerbeam

Little Rose By Matthew Longerbeam

it took my breath away

when I saw you today

little rose

such a welcome surprise

it brought tears to my eyes

to see just how lovely

you’ve grown

 

such sweet memories

rushed back into me

little rose

that through watery eyes

I just watched you walk by

wishing I had said hello

 

too many years have passed by

and now there’s no use in crying

this I know

I didn’t want things this way

but life swept you away

and I had to learn to let go

 

now I live for a chance

when I might ask you to dance

little rose

this is no perfect world

but you’re my little girl

and I want you always to know

 

they took you from my garden

and I missed watching you grow

I don’t know what they’ve told you

but in your heart I hope you’ll know

if a cold breeze should shake your leaves

or a storm is raging wild

you can come to me

and like an old oak tree

I will shelter you my child


Matthew Longerbeam is a native of Maryland. He was a victim of violent crime in the 1990s and has spent most of his adult life in recovery. Matthew is currently working on a degree in Human Services at HCC and lives in Williamsport, Md with his wife Tabby and his cat Hobo.

 

One More By John Grey

One More By John Grey

Eight months pregnant,
Anna thumbs through glossy photographs
of drought in the Horn of Africa,
one more evening
while her husband works the night-shift,
in a play-cop uniform,
patrolling the grounds of a factory.

The baby kicks.
She feels queasy
at the sight of children with
swollen bellies, emaciated limbs.

Are these the originals, she wonders,
the authentic by which all little ones are judged.
Working class, apartment of their own –
will she give birth to something plump and cute but fake?

The tears of a tiny girl
almost weep through the paper.
A postscript says she died at eight months.
Can anything from her womb make the slightest sense?

But she’ll have the blessed child.
Just like her husband will work his job
though bored and unfulfilled by it.

Tonight, she’s heavy and useless
and about to give birth.
So must the world feel always.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Examined Life Journal, Studio One and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

Klatsch By Brandon Marlon

Klatsch By Brandon Marlon

Forgive my gaucherie, but I must confess

to stifling more than a few yawns in salons

thronged with leg-crossing intellectuals

who flatulently posture as they hold forth,

flaunting how learned their minds are,

how considered their opinions,

decadent loungers eager to minish and derogate

inferior rivals, cretins by comparison,

savages only lately from the jungle.

 

In my defense, mind you, I always perk up

whenever platters of pâté make the rounds

while cerebral types in cravats and vests

drone on about grants and fellowships, of

bureaucratic impedimenta and petty grievances

festering into molten hatreds

manifested as strongly-worded letters

the contents of which would stun your nana.

 

The olives or kabobs are often to die for,

yet hardly worth the suffocating hot air

fogging up mirrors and windows and dazing

even the most obsequious sycophants

adulating ad nauseum their didactic idols,

pedants only too anxious to expound.

 

Well, thank God for exits clearly marked

and all those adjacent porches and patios

where more than once I’ve sought respite,

nursing liquor under moon and stars

lofty but not haughty, humble in their way,

precious though unimpelled to parade as much,

exemplars modeling the lost art of the refined,

that fine distinction between shine and flash.


Brandon Marlon is a writer from Ottawa, Canada. He received his B.A. in Drama & English from the University of Toronto and his M.A. in English from the University of Victoria. His poetry was awarded the Harry Hoyt Lacey Prize in Poetry (Fall 2015), and his writing has been published in 250+ publications in 28 countries. www.brandonmarlon.com.

Ho Bisogno di te By Valentina Cano

Ho Bisogno di te By Valentina Cano

The night it happened crystallized inside me.

A calcified corpse of a minute

that thuds inside me when I move,

that pulses with my heart,

so that I think I can move it, change it.

But you are silent.

The night, a stone of memory, I cannot birth.


Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. Her works have appeared in numerous publications and her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Web. Her debut novel, The Rose Master, was published in 2014 and was called a “strong and satisfying effort” by Publishers Weekly.

 

Haiku By Angela Byrne

Haiku By Angela Byrne

We are all broken

Pieces becoming artwork

A kaleidoscope


Angela Byrne is currently in her last year at HCC, majoring in Early Childhood Education. She is honored to be a part of the Phi Theta Kappa Honor Society and along with her degree, she will graduate with a Certified Childcare Professional Certificate. Angela has always found writing to be the most enjoyable form of expression. As her career goal, she hopes to cultivate this same love of reading and writing in her students from a young age. “Readers are leaders and leaders are readers.” (Howard G. Hendricks)

Fair Weather By Luke Samra

Fair Weather By Luke Samra

Her eyes, stars. Both are beautiful yet distant from me.

I remember her through embers

Like sunburnt leaves.

Her lips resemble an October horizon

As rich as her thick hair that

reflected the moon.

She left at the first frost.


Luke Samra is from Kalamazoo, MI.  His work appears in: The Tipton Poetry Journal, FishFood Magazine, Local Gems Press (Bards Against Hunger), The Charleston Anvil and Flying Island.  Luke is a tennis instructor and musician.

Renovations By Valentina Cano

Renovations By Valentina Cano

He smelled like a furniture store,

like the surge and ebb

of bodies around upholstery.

His face, rough like the cheapest carpet,

rubbed her eyes into debris.

Into metamorphosing sand.

It was a Sunday moment,

bubbling in her stomach.

when he smiled.

It was the fibrous coat she would have pared off.


Valentina Cano is a student of classical singing who spends whatever free time she has either reading or writing. Her works have appeared in numerous publications and her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Web. Her debut novel, The Rose Master, was published in 2014 and was called a “strong and satisfying effort” by Publishers Weekly.