by Nicholas Johnson On the beach they approach me, the stone angels, mouths a dark choir of ooo’s, mouthing words with their blank Byzantine faces so they sound like waves sucked back to the spellbound sea. Circling, they bow their heads low, halos of stone dipping. Their legend stings with reproach and disintegration, Grecian faces
by Tamiko Dooley You were sharing a room With the other girls First job, first flight Out of Narita. 6 hats perched on the tables for tomorrow, 6 skirts hanging and 6 Pairs of heels by the bolted door, Next to the mini-fridge. First night away from home. Your stomach rumbled and You remembered my
by Martin Willitts Jr A dream fish flounders in my arms, light glints off its scales like Brahams’ Lullaby. I throw it back into the memory lake, but its weight still lying solidly in my arms is my son at birth. Trees dangle their fall leaves as bait on fishing lines, a mere loon’s cry
by Richard Oyama Invisible Man meets Portnoy, the blurb raves. My property would be a multi-book deal, exclusive cable rights, Translation into 26 languages, Bridget Jones hosting the launch, Airport racks chock-a-block. On Shinkansen and D train, every passenger A-swim in my masterpiece— Brilliant mash-up of Shakespeare & Pryor. I close on A Bel-Air mansion
by Richard Levine and Michael T. Young These poems were written in response to each other, following the jazz impr0vizational style called Trading Fours. Like jazz musicians improvising, keenly tuned to the possible variations in melody and the rhythm of the melody, these poems play off each other’s words, sonics, syntax, images and/or themes. There
by Maria Masington The regal name, so important sounding, that I ordered without reading the ingredients. It’s basically chicken salad. No pomp, no circumstance, just meat, apricots, mayonnaise, served cold. I felt the same letdown on what I was told would be the happiest day of my life. Love, but no joy, just an overwhelming sense of impending responsibility to keep
by Matt Dennison I said from the tub as she knelt by the side stirring the water and she said, When I was a girl, before my breasts had grown, I thought one breast produced chocolate milk, the other white, until I found my mother dead, flat dead on the kitchen floor when I was
by Gerald Wagoner Be precise, elegant, describe forces and vectors.Learn the arcane alchemy of memory as catalystto imagination. The physics of the kinetic requireyou announce that windows are ablaze at sunset. Learn the arcane alchemy of memory as catalystto mountain vistas. The sky teaches the listenerto proclaim the windows at sunset ablaze, molten.The brazen glass
by Gerald Yelle None of the sailors ate spinachand not many mutinied.The captain was a liarbut he was no match for Queegand forget Ahab,even if all he did was hold mehostage a minute with hiswhacked-out sidekick, a guywith a funnel on his head.Steam shot out and scared meso I hid under a bushand a squirrel
by Matthew J. Spireng Free Caregiver Support Group: 11:30 a.m. Community Center, 3 Veterans Drive, New Paltz. Join Miss Penny for a fun-filled storytime for the very young. Appropriate for ages 1-3.– Announcement in Daily Freeman, Kingston, NY Remember now, children, when Mommycollapses on the couch—face down or face up,it doesn’t matter which—you need to