Experimental & Form Poetry with Anthony Watkins
Running water N poems
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Running water N poems
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Fang Dayu was born in 1998 in China and now studies at Shanghai University of International Business and Economics. He creates Chinese and English experimental poems mixing many elements. His poems have appeared in 中国《华文文学》,《延河》, 《散文诗世界》,
《小说与诗》, 美国《新大陆》and more.
Being at the
bottom of a
make good art.
I can’t blame you
For not knowing
How I want to.
Samuel Berrettini is an undergraduate liberal arts student at St. John’s College, and his work has appeared previously in that college’s arts publication, Energeia.
Around in My Head
dream in kaleidoscopic bits,
so hot, unfurls into something I know
what you want, man-child, wolf
almost burning--rip me up, make me know
clutched in its beak, I
love for fractions of seconds, wrap me in sick sweat, wolf
soft flesh beside me,
baby bird above me, wolf
touch the white skeleton man, push it up, I know
this creature, put it in my head, through my head,
take this burning I.
Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Plainsongs, The Long Islander, and The Nashwaak Review. Her newest poetry collections include A Perfect Day for Semaphore (Finishing Line Press), and Where We Went Wrong (Clare Songbirds Publishing).
Before, her “Single Fish”
Dined with a merchant. Just a logbook of fines
But curious our comfort in a fire-lit story.
Behind the lush mountain and down the water
They loop the smoother cormorants.
Don’t tell me you don’t see yourself as a kite
Soaring well until it tenses.
Collars are collars, starched or brass or not.
We delight in lanterns and ripples,
How raw. And by the tug of it
You’re pretty / sure
I’ve had enough cloud for much night.
Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo works at the Department of Humanities of the University of the Philippines Los Baños.
Orpheus wakes pensive cigarettes
burning holes in his bedsheets.
Might as well be dead whispers
his landlord when he sees Orpheus
leave for work each morning but then
again who’d feed his dog? Orpheus
has a black dog named Nestor never barks
too much. When the train rolls by Orpheus’s
apartment rattles his old (Calls them useless)
fucking fingers trace Her
useless fingers all askew
old guitars can't like poppystalks bend to
tune them to anything the sun Always checks
anymore his shoulder for her.
JP Mayer is a senior at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. He is on track to receive a BA in Classics and Literary Arts next year, and he intends to pursue an MFA after graduation.
End to Beginning
Where is the lane?
where her arm cut water
jet streams of bubbles
pump the salt in her veins
propel through a turn
flip time with each kick
Where is the lane?
maze of school fish
circle her body
heart crumbles away
toward the Deep
Where is the lane?
a kick off the sand, muck
rays of filtered light
shimmer of sun through
olive water and gasping
towards a shore
a wind-worn door
Joanna Friedman works as a psychologist in the San Francisco area, and lives with her husband, twins, and pug. Follow her at @j_grabarek. Read her other publications and work at https://joannafriedman.wordpress.com.
Porcupine sedge along the shore reminds me
of cucumber or sea urchin, its delicate spikes like
nettles or needles are actually soft and supple,
dipping a little when the warm, wet breeze consumes them.
Perception sharpened the closer I get to the pond; does this great blue
overhear my breathing, some subtle change in the behavior of the birds?
Nonchalantly as a stiff wind, I round the bend to see him, eye on me,
driving upwards in a slow-motion kind of pumping all angles and rachets.
Pinkweed at the shoreline, and June grass, and the stillness
ought to serve as a reminder to slow our own hurried gait, and
notch another experience in our belts, this one the still and
docile surface of the pond, a reflection of the air this quiet morning.
John L. Stanizzi is author of eight books. His poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner, American Life in Poetry, The New York Quarterly, Blue Mountain Review, Paterson Literary Review, The Cortland Review, Rattle, Tar River Poetry, and many others.
I hold my hands open.
Whatever I can catch, I'll keep.
JB Mulligan has had more than 1000 poems and stories published over the past 40 years and has had two chapbooks published: The Stations of the Cross, and THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS, as well as two e-books.
Better than Starbucks began wholly as a creation in my mind. Now the wonderful collaboration of dedicated editors is creating a magazine that I could have only dreamed about when I was starting out as a one person organization.
Having said that, there are no direct connections between U Penn, Al Filreis, KWH (Kelly Writers House,) ModPo (Modern & Contemporary American Poetry,) or any of the actual affiliated programs to ModPo and this magazine, other than I have been a part of ModPo for several years now. There is, however, a strong spiritual and intellectual connection between BTS and ModPo.
If I had not gotten involved in the larger community of ModPo, I don’t think I would have restarted a literary publication. I am certain I would not have added a Formal & Rhyming Page, and probably not a Translations page. I have a pretty narrow preference for poetry, but the course and the people at ModPo have expanded my view of poetry to the point that I decided if I could find good people to help me do it, we would make BTS as broad of a source of styles and genres as possible.
Thus, it seems fitting that we dedicate a page to my fellow students at ModPo, and/or anyone who wants to share experimental poems. The thing about experiments is, they often fail, but as the point is to learn, not to create perfection, even failed experiments in the lab or on this page, will offer something for us, if we will find it. and when the experiment doesn't fail . . . well, you will see! - Anthony Watkins
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