Thursday, March 28, 2024

Poetry

NOSTALGIA OF A WORKNIGHT She’s weary as an unused toy—unwrapped, not touched. She’s not hidden but by herself in back of a toybox, under the snapped off arm of her last doll. She thinks a shelf might be nice. She’d like to hear the soft click as her nightlight went dark and slipped into a sleep...
Heirloom When your mother raises her hand; earthy brown, skin cracked open— sun parched field— iron hot temper and hits you the pain melts your flesh, bones, marrow. When your mother raises her hand to strike you the pain bites (your pet rabid dog). She throws the foliage of her swallowed dreams— barren land that was hers and her mother’s and her mother’s mother who couldn’t...

Poems by Jeff Schiff

Ode to Muezzins Muezzins used to climb the minaret to make the call to prayer… (after Stefan Kaegi) Oh to be on call five times daily and feat days ready to roll cocksure in your three-balled alabaster minaret outpost honeyed and hyssoped throat nose to the windscreen positioned just so between your faith and a vintage Shure 55SW anodyne mic an array...
universe ants working underground not understanding world beyond earth   computer magic inside god box angels wildly dancing google and amazon music   on hold commuter gridlock sea of stationary cars anxious egos idling
On the Crossroads O’ father, hold my fingers in your firm grip and help me cross the road.   Suspicion I’ve burnt myself half, fortuitously. And deliberately, left the rest unburned.   Bike Accident Helmet transforms into a skull. The road runs as usual.   Insomnia Night burns into an ashtray. I fly to you with the wings of ashes.
Apiary My friend Sharon raises bees. In her veil she cranks the handle of the silver bee smoker calming the hives. Bearding, swarming in the intimate harmony in which nectar becomes honey or beeswax candles for any altar. Scouts return with tales of pollen. The gilet jaunes swirl around the point Zero buzzing with anger at the money the rich will spend to...
Paradise lonely feet on a subway train at half past midnight she misses paradise where every day she would collect a pocket full of shells why not give her home away for another trip to the coastline without a name our lady train rider flashes back to the nights where she would stumble drunkenly with another girl who split...
On Reflection a silent tree frog clings to broken shelves of stone rippled by the breeze water colors blend and blur illusions of perfection   Beads clusters of black pearls press into the palms of clouds— a broken necklace that slips between my fingers rains upon this garden path
A Dream of Youth When we meet, we’ll fly together caressing each other with our enthralling beak, We’ll sing the half-elapsed song Twitter, twitter, twitter... We’ll territorialize the sky, Colonise her spheres, Our wheezing would form thunder. We’ll bathe in the rainbow, Suck the evening twilight, Soar down to nestle in the unfamiliar nest of opportunity. We’ll mouth each other’s adventure, Will laugh...

Poems by Kalyani Bindu

A Fever of Living Some nights step lightly, like lily-shadows in blue water- apparitions in transit, between dreams. She awakens in a translucent purgatory- a tread from an incipient dream to a feverish slumber, to a body - a map of nocturnal metamorphosis, lacerated fish belly sewn with orange seams, eyes like butterflies in rivulets of pee, unmade and...

Poems by Holly Day

Along the River We point out the different birds to one another. Like teenage boys showing off their knowledge of astronomy. Find goldfinches and cedar waxwings in the trees along the river, tiny redpolls and grosbeaks chasing gnats down below. In the water, cormorants lurk, wings spread like vultures night-herons stalk lumbering carp in slow...
Home It was party time. I went to a party at a known place. It was party time. I went to the party as their chief guest. It was party time. I went to a party at a house I used to live, for some time.   Ode to a Graveyard City of angels tombed in silence. A solemn stillness is held in the air. A hollow...