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.

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