What if the blood-thirsty thorns,
driving deep dripping crevices into the crown,
the rusted iron stakes pulverizing arteries
with a one-two-three pounding,
and the dull steel sword plunging
into the bony-caged heart
were too late
to the dark? Continue reading “Jules Gates: The Light”
The man who invented negative numbers
always felt he lacked everything.
As a child, he had no pet guppies,
while his best friend had ten.
His dog could walk minus one leg,
while everybody else’s walked on four. He played Continue reading “Eva Skrande: The Man Who Invented Negative Numbers”
Those elephant feet
Disgrace your mold.
Honey, try toting through some
Sevens, or sixes, and never your eights.
Your calves elucidate
Hercules thighs. I
Suggest you sweat out
Waterfalls, to sausage-like them. Continue reading “Jane Odartey: Panting in Feminine Hues”
Small bird who bathed
in the blue basin, you
left a slender feather
you didn’t need to fly
as you dipped striped
head, fluttered wings Continue reading “Nels Hanson: Sacrifice”
We do not know for sure the big and small.
We only comprehend the in-between.
Of earth and sky, we think we know it all,
But theorize from what we touch and see.
The galaxies almost too far from sight
Are said to be expanding out through space.
The theories rest upon colors of light
And formulas devised to guess the pace. Continue reading “Bonnie Kennedy: The Big and Small”
One day, she looked around and realized
That she hadn’t redecorated in years.
Her divorce was still the centerpiece
Gathering dust on her entryway table. Continue reading “Bonnie Kennedy: Housecleaning”
I always imagine him turning at the door,
looking for all the world
like the star of his own gangsta video,
aiming his gold-plated Glock
straight at my heart. Continue reading “Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue: Teacher Daymare # 254”
Elegant and elderly, the woman stood in church,
uttered bilious words about the organist’s
loud music, then stomped off during the Postlude.
We stared at her, then turned to one another,
our mouths half-open, jolted and amazed
to hear such profane language from a woman
we had thought polite, soft-spoken, kind.
Continue reading “Lynn Hoggard: “I Think I Know””
Bee Cave to Honey Grove, Big Lake to Little River,
Sweetwater to Sour Lake, Kingsville to Queen City,
Newgulf to Old Ocean – lots of towns with ties.
You can breakfast in Early, lunch at Noonday,
and hustle west to Sundown for dinner.
Continue reading “Chip Dameron: “Crisscrossing Texas, or 19 Ways of Looking at a Road Map””
You, the divine cow
who we milk somehow
beyond the red slaughter
inside the blue laughter
You, mutable as the seasons,
mutable as the reasons
we give for our incontenence
on all the sliding continents
Continue reading “Chuck Taylor: “Dear Whoever You Are””
Two women in a boat on a summer’s day—patches of light,
blue and white, an umbrella across the knees, the waning
century, before the death machines—sitting upright
against the backdrop of water and ducks.
Eight years before Monet—she is a painter determined.
Her mother diminishes her work as ordinary,
hoping she will heed the calling of her sex.
Continue reading “Brady Peterson: “Summer’s Day””