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Three Poems – Kristene Kaye Brown

Thursday, November 9, 2017 11:26 — 1 Comment

[Somatic Night] All our landlocked blues belong to the ocean, our bodies and our storms. There are 600 miles of blood vessels within us all, an island of seaweed and vein in each leg and arm. It’s true. The sea hides whats most beautiful below. Our reflection is no match for that multi-dimensional void. A wave gives birth to many more waves, an endless cycle of breath lipping over ribs of coral. This is how the body empties itself. Each ripple a small beat pulled by the heartstrings of the moon. There is love to be found here. Just watch […]

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Four Poems – Heikki Huotari

Tuesday, November 7, 2017 14:59 — 0 Comments

INSIDE LIGHT I specify a gender then I’m on a treadmill then I’m asked to solve a language puzzle then I swing my right arm less dramatically as this will free up left-lobe brain space. My horizon rises and my face is not a blade. I separate permission from forgiveness, scatter, gather, scatter, gather. When we’re correlated, equidistant, neither of us is to blame.   ONE SIZE FITS ALL Who would have supposed there would be in this Xanadu an unexploited algorithm or an unused rule of thumb? When your domain is multiply connected, bounded by some ovals that you’re […]

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Orange Cascades – Graham Isaac

Sunday, July 16, 2017 13:42 — 0 Comments

“In such an iconoclastic city, even the fine dining is Punk Rock.” Diner rankings for the uninitiated, Splash dashed across their clickable meanings. An incisive piece of Journalism on why we’ve yet to overtake Paris when it comes to omelettes. When I went on the “date” with the chef from Michigan who was happy that Seattle was Finally Coming Up, I for a moment pictured myself in 24 hour sport coats, cutting small portions into tiny ones, with a variety of serrated blades, laughing conversations about lesser airports of the world, all thick framed glasses and the server’s white button […]

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Five Poems – Richard Kenney

Thursday, June 29, 2017 12:18 — 0 Comments

Epistemology, Dude  He says beaucoup when he means a lot. I guess that means he’s polyglot. He talks a lot. His streak is blue. But I’m not sure it means beaucoup.   Poetaster in Paris Risible, he who at Le Cafe Haute-Coif gaffes: gazing absently at a graceful jeune fille feels the unnoticed soda-straw nick his nostril, steals a glance sideways, scanning for witnesses, nurses his drink, and subsides once more into nuance.   To Think While Doing a Hard Thing Is not always best. Still, he can’t help reflecting how once the grim wince came, climbing a rope hand […]

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Two Poems – Graham Isaac

Thursday, June 29, 2017 12:11 — 0 Comments

Redirecting Limited Mental Space to Romanticizing the Current Situation We are teaching each other to make fists sowhen the time for punching comes,we don’t hurt ourselves.A poster ripped from a telephone pole orcovered with contradicting stickers. Reading up on railroads, both underground and for hopping. A lifetime of sweaty basements and darkened bars did surprisingly little to prepare us for guerilla warfare at the coffeeshop. Those phone calls to our representatives aren’t as glamorous, but we crush finger exercises and pop knuckles and shout solidarity with Princess Leia. A surprising number of people show up to the thing. Maybe it […]

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Two Poems – Jacob Bennett

Monday, June 26, 2017 12:06 — 0 Comments

7th Grade If you start dressing like this for anything other than Halloween, we’re  gonna have to talk, she said, as she used a foreign brush on my aqua-blue eyelids. I stood up and faced my step-sister’s mirror – the one that had seen me so many times before in her thongs and robes while she was at cheerleading practice. I adjusted the hair tie on my left pig tail and smoothed out the socks stuffed in the polka-dot blouse I had so carefully chosen at Wal-Mart. Hoping to bring home bigger candy bars, my brother and I went to […]

What am I?

Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies

Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;

Scientists can't find me.

Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—

Remind me:

The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…

Tick, Tock: Divine me.

-- Richard Kenney

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