July & August 2019
Vol IV No IV
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
Sentimental Poetry
אֲהוּבָה
“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,” — Song of Songs
Staring down the road
that is our future
is surely daunting, terrifying.
I can only hold you tighter.
But I am your beloved:
I can feel your love
and it sustains me.
And you are mine —
I will my strength into you,
through our grasp, as we walk
together down this terrible road.
This journey that no one wants to take.
Sam Norman’s works have appeared in Verse-Virtual, Amethyst, Down in the Dirt, Red Eft Review, and Praxis. He lives in Coventry, Connecticut, with his wife Teri, their children Rebecca and Daniel, two dogs, and a bunch of chickens.
“. . . a little flesh, a little breath . . .”
he kept a
bust of Marcus Aurelius
and
liked to dream
yellow Buddhas by the surge
but
after they
diagnosed the thing
when nights came
he’d hold her to himself
close and tight
like a suicide knife
awake most of the night,
counting her breaths.
J.C. Mari resides in Florida. His first poetry collection is The sun sets like faces fade rise before you pass out, published by Lost Alphabet Books.
Washing the Skulls Of My Enemies
I am washing the skulls of my enemies after the feast
Where we used them to raise up our toasts and then drink down our wine.
They are dish-washer safe but my gratification’s increased
When I wash them by hand to reflect how they came to be mine,
And then carefully dry and arrange them in order myself
To remember each victory up on the mantle-piece shelf —
Although you, like the rest, will be taken aback, I suppose,
When observing the gleam of my stemware in neat little rows.
Not much is known about Marcus Bales, except that he lives and works in Cleveland, Ohio, and his work has not appeared in The New Yorker or Poetry Magazine. His newest book, 51 Poems, from Lawrence Block Productions, is available on Amazon.
The Futility of Darkness
The sun slips
steadily
through
the empyrean
the way a thief,
with gingered
precision,
inserts
one leg through
a window, then
the whole of him
Clouds lift
Grays make way
for white rays
shining bright
Temperaments rise
Ideas in the queue
materialize
The glass is
half full
of milk not spilt
D.C. Buschmann’s work has been in or will appear in So it Goes Literary Journal, Flying Island, Poppy Road Review, San Pedro River Review, Tuck Magazine, The Writers Newsletter, Nerve Cowboy, and elsewhere. Her first chapbook is forthcoming in the fall.
Slip of a Sonnet
About
to lose
your muse
you pout
and shout
profuse
adieus
without
an ear
for note
or phrase
and here
promote
malaise.
First published in Trinacria.
Claudia Gary is the author of Humor Me, Bikini Buyer’s Remorse, and poems in journals internationally. She teaches at The Writer’s Center (writer.org), FAES (FAES.org), and elsewhere. Follow her on Twitter @claudiagary. pw.org/content/claudia_gary.
alone
alone in my garret
I stare at the screen
typing my musings
to conquer the challenge
of its blank immensity
slowly the ideas connect
start to make sense
out of associated words
creating a logical premise
and an interesting one
I hope
from vaguely connected thoughts
to convey a new idea
into this blasé world
milt montague is a native new yorker, survived The Great Depression, the public school system, World War 2, college, marriage, several businesses, and helped raise three lovely daughters. And discovered writing at 88. Now at 94 has almost 200 published poems.
