Poetry

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg

Three Poems by Molly Johnsen

By Molly Johnsen | Published: March 21, 2018
Trees after Snow by rauckhaus on Flickr

“Limits,” “Having a Seizure in Front of My Father,” and “Alone Together.”

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How do we get home from here?

By Mark McBeth | Published: May 9, 2017
Hindenburg

what you can’t foresee can’t hurt you but for now poked in the eye / of the storm, we hover.

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Leipziger

By Karel Ensing | Published: November 2, 2016
Snowy Leipzig Street

On a good summer day,
You can still see young girls,
Strolling barefoot,
On the streets of Leipzig.

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A Clothesline in Winter

By John Sibley Williams | Published: August 29, 2014
Frozen clothesline

What is it we wear
when there is nothing left
but rigid names for impossible
unsullied things?

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If This Y Could Speak

By Cody Todd | Published: June 25, 2014
Siamese twins

Do I miss my half,
my copy, who twinned me & twined
down my spine? Yay & nay. Sometimes.

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Some Days I Sound Like a Nihilistic John Lennon (Song)

By Anthony Sutton | Published: May 13, 2014
John Lennon street art

Imagine there’s no heaven, and hell
is explained to us by the Quran
as the thing muddying our faces.

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Everything I say is a lie

By Kris Bigalk | Published: March 25, 2014
Apple Tree black and white

All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years

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Two Poems by Patrick Kindig

By Patrick Kindig | Published: March 4, 2014
Snowflakes

Slowly
a pile of red skin grows on the table,
like snow or eyelashes unattached
to a wish.

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De Terre

By Sam Taylor | Published: February 10, 2014
Diamond matches

The birds (of paradise) are chittering
which seems insufficient
for a poem, because it does not match
the intensity—or is it pain?—

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U.I.O.G.D.

By James McManus | Published: January 29, 2014
Holy Card

This week I learned that every other year the Holy Ghost plants a baby seed in a married mom’s tummy. Nine months later a slit opens up underneath across the bottom and the baby slides out.

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My Avarice is

By Sarah Wetzel | Published: November 20, 2013
Sarah Wetzel

for your cadaverous jaw and thin lips, for your meticulous fingers lighting cigarette after cigarette, for your body bone sleek and for speed

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On Being Late in Advance

By A. Molotkov | Published: October 24, 2013
backwards clock

Every question I ask
is answered in another life.

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Two Poems by Matthew Landrum

By Matthew Landrum | Published: October 8, 2013
Mango Tree

What does it mean to be a voice
when what I say will be said
again or rather is being said
even now by another?

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Snippets of Advice From an Old Southern Man

By Thomas F. Henley | Published: September 25, 2013
Old Southern Man

Bein’ shallow is good
if you’re talkin’ about water,
and bad if you’re talkin’ about people.

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Dream of Spring

By Anne Britting Oleson | Published: September 18, 2013
Ice on Glass

Close your eyes against
brilliant nothingness
that slices like
a dull knife.

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