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Showing posts from December, 2015

Shari's 33rd Annual New Year's Day Bash, a prose poem by Michael Brockley

Shari’s 33rd Annual New Year’s Day Bash by Michael Brockley Captain Wah Wah’s grandchildren, Sophie and Dylan, jitterbug across the hardwood floor of the dining room, switching partners between their parents and aunts. Chairs arrayed along the wall, the dinner table dismantled and tucked inside a workroom. On stage, Ben sews dead flowers in the Pancho and Lefty gospel. The bandit polished his guns for the underground queen to see. As dusk arrives, Dylan shivers into the skin of music, and starlight flickers at Sophie’s feet while she chants Cabbage stew for money; black-eyed peas for luck. She strews rose petals among the guests. Shortbread cookies cool in the kitchen. Orange-and-brandy cake. Apple-cranberry-walnut pie. One of the aunts spins Dylan head-to-toe around her waist as Shari sings “You Ain’t Goin' Nowhere.” Sophie twirls at the ends of Captain Wah Wah's fingers. Oh, oh, are we gonna fly/Down in my easy chair. Those of us who applaud snack on grapes left over f

The Blueberry Hill Pancake House, a poem by Wendy Vergoz

The Blueberry Hill Pancake House parking lot on the East side of town is where I picked up my laptop from the forensic specialist, plus the flashdrive of Lydea and her girlfriends, the pornographic clips my husband the pastor had downloaded onto my computer six days before he sent the letter to his congregation promising with confidence that there is nothing scandalous about our divorce. --by Wendy Vergoz Bio: Wendy Vergoz is an assistant professor of English at Marian University. Her poems have appeared in  The Christian Century and Anglican Theological Review , and her poem "Unfinished, A Found Poem," written after 9/11, was read on the first anniversary of the attacks at churches in five different states. Vergoz participated in “Arts Kaleidoscope: Art, Poems, and Videos,” an exhibition of visual art and ekphrastic poems at Gallery 308 in Muncie, Indiana.

Hibakusha, a poem by Jared Carter

Hibakusha by Jared Carter Please stay awhile; the evening light           still troubles me. Before it changes into night           I seem to see That street again. Something reveals           itself, and cuts Across the years, breaking the seal           on what I’ve shut Away – that moment when they all           burst into flame And blew on through the paper walls,           calling my name. Bio: Jared Carter's most recent book is Darkened Rooms of Summer: New and Selected Poems (University of Nebraska Press). He lives in Indianapolis.

God Bless Our Troops, a poem by Barry Harris

God Bless Our Troops by Barry Harris God bless our troops especially the snipers who, eye at the scope,  scan a man hanging in the cross hairs, perhaps the enemy, a man who can be dead a thousand yards away one second after God blesses the trigger. God bless our troops, especially the drone controllers sitting in cubicles underneath a Nevada desert, firing a missile a continent away at a band of terrorists or a wedding party. Small decisions make a terrible difference, true spooky action at a distance. Bio: Barry Harris is editor of the Tipton Poetry Journal and has published one poetry collection, Something At The Center . Barry lives in Brownsburg, Indiana and is retired from Eli Lilly and Company. A graduate of Ball State University with a major in English, Barry was founding editor of Tipton Poetry Journal, which has been published in print and online versions since 2004. In 2009, he helped found Brick Street Poetry, Inc., a non-pr

Filled With Ladders, the World, a poem by Wendy Vergoz with painting by Sofiya Inger

Filled With Ladders, the World by Wendy Vergoz My father’s hands hold metal legs, I on the ladder’s penultimate rung last-but-one-any-higher-too-high. My father’s hands hold metal legs, I scoop wet leaves from the rooftop gutter, first-house gutter, wet brown leaves, soft green moss. I pry the screen off, sharp,    slide my fingers underneath, my fingers which,     long ago held white string, Jacob’s ladder.      Strong-girl hands with slender fingers hold Cat’s Cradle, Jacob’s ladder she climbs from seeds, from the singing bell the ringing bell, the bicycle bell the sweet-girl voice counts the ball and jacks singing Jacob’s ladder, fingering string and jacks                    and feet lift from the ground            to jump the rope to count to sing to lift                        past faces, past light, the faces are the light voices present voices past rise past singing ringing fingers hands Solid as stone the ground, light as