Skip to main content


Showing posts from April, 2020

Light Follows Me, a poem by Norbert Krapf

Light Follows Me Light follows me everywhere inside this house and outside, comes in through windows, bounces off white walls, lies down on pine floors. When I drink water I swallow light, which passes through me into water. It turns me into a shadow that lies down. It wakes me in the morning as I open my eyes to the east and feel it on my face. I open the door and step into it on a wooden balcony facing mountains that surround me and hear prayers streaming from my mouth for those I love who are my light. May I one day transform into light that shines on others from above and also within when they read my poems. Norbert Krapf , former Indiana Poet Laureate, is the author of thirteen collections, the most recent being "Indiana Hill Country Poems" from Dos Madres Press, which will also bring out "Southwest by Midwest," which includes this poem.

My Favorite Pen Pal of the Deepest Strokes, a poem by Distinctly Unique

My Favorite Pen Pal of the Deepest Strokes                              by Distinctly Unique He stuck    his pen in   me                 deep   I bout fell over on his hard ceramic floor He left his impressionable mark  y'all  I  never felt anything like      that         before   Now     mama told me this would happen one day    Mama told me no matter what he  say    don't     get      entranced     cuz  he from a school you  could only imagine exists    And even with Mama's words swirling through my head   I couldn't help  but clench   my   fists    hold     mybreath & enjoy his ride of bubble lettered X's and O's   We wrote all night long   I'm surprised his bed still has springs in it the way we bounced off each other radiating  heatsweatdrippingeverywhere  his     pen    still    deep  inside me   myfists  barely holding on  tothesheets  that no longer fit     Mymind  so    relaxed   and gone into his train of thou

Harbinger, a poem by Susanna Childress

Harbinger      by Susanna Childress The child came slick and fast and split her skin in the water where she bobbed and breathed him down, in the tub of true water, the woman saying, That’s it, That’s it . A man caught this baby’s body with his palms, held up the thing they call Son and inside her heart the boar with its tusks speared a star and nobody on this planet spoke its sorrow, its gobs of light pooling in her mouth. Susanna Childress has published two collections of poetry and is now at work on a book of creative nonfiction titled "Extremely Yours." Her work can be found or is forthcoming from The Rumpus , Fourteen Hills , Crazyhorse , Iron Horse Literary Press , Rhino , Relief, and Oakland Review . She grew up in southern Indiana.

Spring, a poem by Hiromi Yoshida

                                                 Spring                                                          by Hiromi Yoshida Mud-speckled snow; clouded icicles glint a jagged fringe along SUV bumpers—                                  snow angels are whirred unwinged smudges on spongy ground;                                                             gutters gurgle, sputter last night’s rainwater; remnant Campbell’s Chunky Soup warms, coagulates, a flaking tomato rind in Teflon-scratched saucepans blunt plastic spatulas scrape away—the dregs of winter soaked, washaway in rosy Dawn liquid detergent—to coalesce again in askew Ground Hog shadow. Spring, the dilettante strumpet, gathers her chorus of invisible doves in her snowy, mud-flecked skirts. Resurrect the gold daffodil starburst—                                      peonies dropping overblown heads; rabbits                                                  nestled in backyard grass, s