featured poetry

Selected pieces from our latest and 38th issue:

Math-like with Formal Understanding

karena youtz

The old sea is lonely and accepting hostages

I took one down for a picnic, you

Needles wash onto the shore of a needleless sea

prickling our spine our clicking life

These jackets preserve   Pristine orange floating    stitched upon

sea birds' footprints    eagre washed  

Their feathers inflate     our infiltration

needles, homogeny

 

If our love is a grand summer sea

before the invention of garbage    the passersby/witnesses gaily speaking

"'Pop, the garbage man's here.'  'Tell him we don't want any.'"

a near drinkable clarity    white crests     roll     roll

Waves flourish in codicil      Pure lair ebullition      roll     roll

brown stained river overfull    we startle frequent swimmers

Beasts   among our toes     We like it blue

we like it blue unsteadily

 

Circumstance upon action perceived and inner perceptions accounted 

Children haunt crashing dreams

with needless smiles    another appears

We need a row boat     We need a mini-van

captain seat solidarity     pitching-down

I'll stay with it always      Our insignia's multi-colored

creatures blurred     and ownership

 

Coral waves beneath compound 

skeleton pageant overgrown

 

{So many years on Bouvet Island and still this fine place makes me smile.  The icebergs.]

 sandra simonds

So many years on Bouvet Island and still this fine place makes me smile.  The icebergs are cute in their blue shells.  This is where the dolphins dart.  My little acre of tar--yes, it is far away--but really what isn't?  On Bouvet (or is it at Bouvet) everything goes very smoothly.  I eat elk.  I find bear cubs amusing.  They balance eggs on their black noses.  Every hour the Northern Lights twinkle like white bells.  So many years on Bouvet, and what to say?  My dear friends, the place has little changed.  Sara sent me a mirror and Apollo sent me a fax machine.  The man in the teepee died so long ago!  I inherited the stained glass.  I ate it.  Last year's drought.  When one really looks at the waters around here--again.  A ghastly fear!  That the 'berg would melt and I would be forced/that the 'berg would stay a solid blue stone.  When one really looks at the waters around so many years on Bouvet my dear friends.  The blue elk Apollo.  Send me a mirror died so long ago.  I ate it.  Last year's drought is amusing.