Edjo Frank: The River And The Passage Back Home pain arrives in waves washing the shores of my breast reminds me it is time to cross the holy river into the unknown so I count my breath medicine men arrive with bags of secret spirits bring me to the house where soft touching hands reign and care so I lay back and surrender they watch and nurse I wait and learn the timetable of river crossing in the power of the great orchestrator so they smile me home Read the poetry of Edjo Frank Read a profile of Edjo Frank All New Haiku From Poet Chen-ou Liufrom Selected Haiku brown spots on my graduation photo ... my hands too ❊ he said, she said lingering in the room... twilight deepens ❊ unlit votives in a country church the stale smell ❊ a crow's cry flies into darkness ... alone with myself Read the poetry of Chen-ou Liu Read a profile of Chen-ou Liu We Warmly Welcome Poet Gareth Spark To The Pages Of VerseWrightsThe night has gone to the dogs And the streets are all wet; they’re singing In our favourite bar, a song about bones And we’re feeling the way we felt when lightning Hit the trees that time, and we’re arm in arm And not caring who sees, And the entire world is dark and wet. Men and women watch Through the windows of the restaurant As we dance and fall against a phone-box In the light from an all-night bookmakers Where they bet on steeplechases and football games, And have beautiful lists of horse‘s names; I squint across your shoulder And see faces beneath the phantom shine Of humming fluorescent tubes: Red eyes caring forever, patience for the end, old jackets, and no love; And it strikes me then So we stop And stare hard into a night that has burned out Into steam from the restaurant roof and into curses from the street: There is no love, where there needs to be, There is no love. Only the memory of something that might have been love, of burning days When the whole world Was a long street, A garden and a room. Read the poetry of Gareth Spark Read a profile of Gareth Spark Roslyn Ross And The Turmoil Of
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Two Poems, Two Windows, Two Poets
L.L. Barkat Shares Two Short, Sensual LyricsOn Belleview Avenue Serpentine tree. Japanese, I suspect, as in split maple, as in it takes a hundred years to snake these arms to such breadth; anyway, it seems everything must have been leading to this juncture-- droughts, floods, springs coming too late and winters too early, everything conspired towards this: snow, like white butterflies, laid over old curves, dead leaves, intersections, now ready to soft wing the empty night. Replenish Remind me, would you, to buy more of the Peach Momotaro, with its images of waterfalls, lichen-toned terraces, waves of mountains imprinted with dots, little white flowers, and mist. When I drink it, and the steam enters me, I think of you and the water feels as if it’s pouring over the mountains. Read the poetry of L.L. Barkat Read a profile of L.L. Barkat Ali Znaidi Has A Wakeup Cawl For YouCrow Blues The crow lands on a bare bough of the tree of your obsolete childhood. The leaves rush to cover up this nakedness. On your way home it’s mandatory to smile back to the Janus-faced people. The crow is taking over the center and the edges of the bare bough. Who knows what secrets they conceal in their smiles. The crow spreads its wings against the tree, cawing at last. I think your ears yearn for jazz. And now, your dejection returns, a certain urge for panacea telling you: stop talking on your mobile phone & listen to the caws! Read the poetry of Ali Znaidi Read a profile of Ali Znaidi Poet Lucy Logsdon Entertains
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Richard Biddle Finds Much To Be Seen In A Drop Of WaterTransparency Rain that wept from the gutter last night has slowed to a glycerin drip. Now it comes, one clear tear at a time. A perfect lens capturing a whole world inside its micro-mirror, split second drop. And just for a moment, I too am within its pear-shaped prism. And just for a moment, I too am clearly seeing what isn't there. Read the poetry of Richard Biddle Read a profile of Richard Biddle Two New Shorter Poems From Poet
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