Category: Poetry

Clematis Sky

slow boil of the autumn sun

long-winded waves of switchgrass distilling the dawn

how quietly the day unfolds yellow day lilies

new neighbor: the scent of her pink plumerias

age of autumn my snowdrops not ready to bloom

your sweet-scented smile   clematis sky

long after your soft petals have fallen pinwheel galaxy

Silk~ is a Japanese short-form poet who is obsessed with one-lined haiku poems. Since embarking on this creative writing journey in July 2020, monoku poems have gained considerable popularity on social media: #monoku. Silk~’s most recent publication credits include Frogpond, Versification, Briefly Write Magazine, Mycelium Magazine, Paddler Press and Modern Haiku. You can find Silk~ on Twitter: @Silk73507704.

Guava Thieves

If it is up there, you ought to grab it
like you did without worry as a child—
steal guavas from any tree in our piddling purview,
even from the guarded gardens, strictly forbidden. 

At ease in your elastic enjoyment, detached
from backlash, even while in the frame of the crime
with friends of same feathers, thick as thieves,
like a pandemonium of parrots who just flitted away.

I have them still, my friends of plunder & pillage,
yet I find them today in their pockets & protocols
of propriety & parenthood, reluctant to rob remembrances—
too busy to share the tricky tales of our thefts, together. 

***

Debasis Tripathy was born in Odisha, India. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Decomp, UCity Review, Rogue Agent, Leon Lit, Vayavya, Mantle Poetry, and several other journals online and in print. He lives in Bangalore, where he works in information technology.

Hungry For Teeth

My teeth are forgotten bones
waiting quietly in my gums,
becoming comfortable behind lips
that tighten into a smile.


In tandem, my lips and teeth say,
It’s okay and
Oh, it’s no trouble and
No, no — really — I don’t mind.


With every phrase, I hunger for teeth
that line a quick, articulate tongue—
teeth and tongue that create
a path for me to walk.


I am hungry for teeth
that rip and tear,
teeth that meet the skin,
leave a mark,


teeth that will not loosen,
that I will not hide.

Haley Petcher lives in Huntsville, AL with her husband, Doberman, and cat and teaches high school English. She earned her BA from Auburn University and her MA from the University of Louisville, and she sends thanks to her professors for allowing her to repeatedly crash their office hours. She has writing in Pithead Chapel, Inkwell Journal, and Coffin Bell Journal, among others, and you can find her on Twitter: @HaleyPetcher, and at https://petcherpages.wixsite.com/portfolio.

Ismail

Oisín Breen is a poet, part-time academic in narratological complexity, and financial journalist. Dublin born Breen’s widely reviewed debut collection, Flowers, all sorts in blossom, figs, berries, and fruits, forgotten was released in March 2020 by Edinburgh’s Hybrid Press.

Primarily a proponent of long-form style-orientated poetry infused with the philosophical, Breen has been published in a number of journals, including the Blue Nib, Books Ireland, the Seattle Star, Modern Literature, La Piccioletta Barca, the Bosphorus Review of Books, the Kleksograph, In Parentheses, Kairos, and Dreich magazine.

Bull Thistles

STEVEN O. YOUNG JR. lives on the rim of Detroit, where he received an MA from Oakland University. He spends some days painting the floor of a soundstage layer after layer, occasionally by request. His works have appeared and/or are forthcoming at Freeze Frame Fiction, 101 Words, The Drabble, and West Trade Review.

Commute

CAMILLE NEWSOM

Another dark morning I feel less than ready

to teach adolescents about how their dying world works—

no sex or sea levels, with evolution I should expect

seven AM arguments with moms and dads.

There’re the smoke stacks again, orange in the sunrise

and the cantina sign, what power to always emit

the brightest neon. Clutch in, 2nd gear, whoops—

a stale yellow.

I wish I could write like I’m from the Midwest,

find metaphors for broken porch swings in August,

aromas of meatloaf and manure,

or to see the water tower in the distance,

to hear the windchimes and watch old women

in periwinkle nightgowns, walking dogs at dusk.

I should have called grandma back.

She could be dead any day now.

I guess that’s true for us all.

Amber leaves are still on the ground.

Nothing changed since fall passed

away one month ago. The moon faints

from exhaustion, the children wait for the

bell, and I’ve left today’s purpose

on my bedroom nightstand.

CAMILLE NEWSOM is a middle school science teacher in Colorado Springs, CO. She finds inspiration for her creative work in the joys and challenges of teaching adolescents about the odd mechanics of the world.

letters

KATARZYNA STEFANICKA

once they were touched 

hand-crafted

squeezed in the margins

rubbed into the folds

in the middle

spaced with silence

dressed-up at tails-end

withstanding

pressures of life on paper

KATARZYNA STEFANICKA is a psychologist with an interest in psychoanalysis and writing. Most recently she published with Rue Scribe. She lives, works and writes in London.