Jesus, in the glowing photograph, the kindness in your eyes is home comfort. The kind I've never known. Like you'd never flip the flames in your mind, burn my mother-loving hands. You are not in flight but water-walking to bring me fish and wine.
Jesus, in the glowing photograph, the kindness in your eyes is home comfort. The kind I've never known. Like you'd never flip the flames in your mind, burn my mother-loving hands. You are not in flight but water-walking to bring me fish and wine.
Poets in the Backfield by Strider Jones- a poem about feeling lost in this negative world.
"Bodies of Water" by Michael Passafiume- a poem about not being afraid to dive into love.
They dared me to ride under, past
their obstacle course —I did have something
to prove—I needed to win this race.
I held tight to my handles, gripped sharply
onto the balance I found there near
the street.
He layers ink over each caesura,
some distance from leaving
his scars to the weight of stones.
It wasn't their secrets I sought
but my own secrets squashed down
in the carpet between rows and rows
of tight loops, pushed hard
into the waxy terrain.
... the dragons came early
And burned her recipes.
She grew up divorced
From sex.
Eggs fell off the shelves
Inside her womb.
Her dream house crumbled
And barbed wire replaced
The picket fence.
the fly with torn wings
just walks on
New poetry from our Writer of the Month for June 2015, Howie Good.
"Tonight the stars shine good and strong and allow for an even faster death. As soon as the cops and soldiers open the cage to retrieve the body, the eye mounts like a strange balloon toward infinity."
Ghetto Barbie
fashion tailor by labor worker
her hoop earrings peso coins
cusses off the catcalls & cholos
by Ken’s six pack abs, by folding pink plastic
cusses off the catcalls & American cholos