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Three Haikus
by Inge Sorensen Artist: Sumit Pruthi ConcertEmerald lights dance on the wallsDarkness transcends spaceJazz music on stage Fall Stroll Purple Skies of RainMaple Trees Slowly AlignToday’s Fall Stroll A NaptimeThe Call of NaptimeAnd Yet Sleep Will Not ArriveEluding the Youth. Inge Sorensen Inge Sorensen is a poet and short story writer born and raised in…
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Attar of Petals
by Sharon Israel Artist: Jasper Francis Cropsey What was in his pockets?Among unknown receipts,the thing he left for me:the rose he tore for me,the fragrance, the attarof petals. Pears and peaches tumble downand spill across the table.The moon is dark. I will love him until feralcats cross the seas from Romeand overtake Wall Street,and walk…
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Your Body’s Tired, I Hear Myself
by Yakir Ben-Moshe Translator: Dan Alter Even when I’m alone my body acts like it’s conversing.I look at the face bent over its chest,at the hands falling to its thighs,& somehow I know it’s defeated.Your body is tired, I hear myselfswitching off the mirror, folding up its movements.But who can go to sleep amidst this…
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He Said He Tried
by Duane Anderson He Said He TriedListen he said.No one did.Everything continued just the same.He walked away,looking at those around.The world was there,he was there.He stoodlooking at the world,wondering,wandering,across the universe,Look at me,don’t ignore me.I am here,don’t walk away,speak to me.No one heard.Listen he said.No one did. Duane Anderson Duane Anderson currently lives in La…
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Simple Truths
by Duane Anderson Simple TruthsHow can I hatewhen I’m filled with love?How can I crywhen I’m full of joy? How can I not see beautywhen my eyes are open?How can I not love youwhen my heart is open? Simple truthsI sing to you. Duane Anderson Duane Anderson currently lives in La Vista, NE. He has…
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Three Poems
by Jason Visconti Artist: Steve Johnson Love PoemFor your flesh of so many caresses,the sky that hides in your eyes,how your lips keep the howl from your hushes,and your body completes all its crimes,we keep our perfect canvas from paintbrushes. No TalentSo squeamish with his paints he politely blots them out,a circus of music with…
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Cry Out
by John Grey Artist: Eric Kim My hands tear and bleedscaling the barb-wire fenceas mongrel dogssnap at my heels. Every dream is like this.I no longer wonderwhat does it mean.All I want is to wake upwith my feet intact. My subconscioushas its way with me,dropping me offin perilous situationswith no chance of escape. My flesh…
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A Gardener’s Note
by John Grey Artist: Leigh Skomal I fertilize my garden with coffee grounds and eggshells.I bury them gently, like dead birds. This enhances the soilwith nitrogen, calcium, iron, magnesium and chromium.I could concoct a fellow human with less. The loam atopis laid softly, deliberately. For this is not burial. It’s construction.Where else am I so…
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A Shot of Morphine
by John Grey With great paincomes even greater drugs,the false feeling of serenity,nerves comatose,chest like a tomb,heart stiff and unquestioning,head not knowingwhether it’s yesterday or tomorrow.It’s not healing,merely internal misdirection,a conjurer’s trick in a syringe –just ask your legsif you can find them.This is your timeof being nothing morethan a lead-weight,no feeling, no memory,a once…
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Urban Myth Has It that There’s A Driver Who’s Been Circling London Ceaselessly
by Jenny Middleton You are a coordinate on a map, a starting place and a destination endlessly circling betweentheir arms – the names of places you drove through on the way tyre-tracking into memory.Distance is a drumming spiral of numbered miles and love is admitting there are places youwill never reach – people you don’t…