poems by John Grey
Handover End of the work day, sun setting, park my car by the stream, walk along the banks, stop to watch minnows gather in the stillness.
Serial killers for Christmas
by Daniel de Culla Let You give blood sausage World Peace Serial Killers And if it’s from Burgos, from the Ribera, nice¡ Your eyes that were baptized without a doubt
Lights and Shadows (Lumini şi umbre)
by Otilia Cazimir translated by Ștefan Bolea You have deceitful, black and evil eyes Dead water wells which hide Black eyeballs flickering in the back Enticing me toward the depths like your eyes.
Dream (Vis)
by Mihai Eminescu translated by Ștefan Bolea What a strange dream I’ve had, but dreams Are fabrications of the sleep: The night’s mind makes them up, And they’re told by the black mouths of the night.
poem by Nolo Segundo
The Walking Wounded I see us everywhere anymore, at the supermarket or the mall,
poem by James G. Piatt
Being Being is. Being is in-itself. Being is what it is. | Jean-Paul Sartre Inhaling the last breath of the day’s dwindling hours, an aging man’s
poem by Mykyta Ryzhykh
*** You were not born yet, so sleep. You will be lulled by the winds of wandering on the rocks of the future.
The Present
by Kevin Johnson Murillo I watch the room by candlelight. The sounds are gone. Only echoes of shadows are left on the blinds to keep out the light from inside the room. Occasional footsteps outside the room in the hall connecting it to other rooms. I hope not to encounter any of those beasts tonight.
Piecemeal
by Simon Covey I captured a memory in an empty mezcal bottle. I watched it crawl around the bottle tapping the glass with its mantis like claws. Hell was a state of mind, and I was in mine. My friend had came to Des Moines for the weekend… we were going to have a guy’s […]
poem by Z. I. Sadeq
Gaza How to survive death that does not kill?— That cut down everything I am before I became. The soul of my souls, lost, in darkness.