Friday, June 29, 2012

A Summer Clothesline

by Korliss Sewer

They tumble and fall as the washer walks
towards the center of the room,
and head outside to be dried and stiffened
by pollen flavored winds.  

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

The anchor word

 by Adukuri Jagannath Rao
A  word keeps me in a state of boundedness to a sentence . A mountain child  is born and turns a wavering  coconut tree , a tree that dallies with the sea wind .The child  who was born to the mountains points to a new bird  of a plane. Look there is a new  bird ! The planes are finally here and their language. But the word is still missing. Now a poet’s near one is transiting from a hospital silence to a radiated arm. The arm turns blue like the sky and will be nothing like it. I am not sleeping. Please go on with your woman talk while I hear inside my eyelids. I hear the fall of the cascades there.

Let me cut off my ears so I cannot hear her silence, says a poet of a near one who is transiting from a temporary to a permanent silence.

I keep waiting for my anchor word. The word fails when poetry gains. I am anchored to nothing. The mountains melt and  turn streams and river .River flows to the sea. The mountain child turns to sea.

Monday, June 25, 2012

Pounding, Pounding

by Changming Yuan

Hard above my head
Is a heavy rhythm
As deaths thumping steps
Ready to iron me onto the ground

Friday, June 22, 2012

The List

 by Ronald Paxton

Maggie Mitchell lay on her side staring fixedly at the bedside table clock. The world outside was silent, asleep in that dead hour that is neither truly night nor day.

4:58 A.M.

Maggie's left eye was burning and tearing. She couldn't risk rubbing her eye or blinking for fear of missing the change in time. She shifted her position in bed and trained her other eye on the clock.

4:59 A.M.

Maggie felt her pulse begin to quicken as she waited. The only sound came from the other side of the bed where her husband of forty five years snored softly.

5:00 A.M.

Adrenaline surged through Maggie's body as it did every morning at this time.

Monday, June 18, 2012


  by Jean Louise Monte

when the sun climbs the
Joshua trees
he paces around the
ice patches in the yard and
browses the yellow weeds
but soon stops to press 
his white chest against the 
gate and neigh at the
quiet house