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a masculine marmaladeour feline bathesbetween his toesmore assiduouslythan anyone we knowclaws flexingto and frolike translucent crescent moonscored by conquered bloodthe rasping strokeof his scouring tonguea ferocity pristineas raindrops or water hoseamong the wieldedyielding thornsof this bucephalus-headed rose. My name is Aletha Irby and I have been writing poetry for overContinue Reading

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I got wine drunk in the Holiday Inn Notre Damewith a view of the Eiffel Towerput on Brahms Symphony #1 in C Minor and was back in my British History classroomon an August night in 1982on the second floor of Alumni Recitation Hall working out ways to includeEnglish Beat andContinue Reading

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Stay close to any sounds thatmake you glad to be alive. Hafiz through the morningstill silenced by darknessyour sudden eruptionallegroarpeggioappoggiaturajoyful enoughto resurrect icarusto enjoin him nidicolousto soar forth once againairborne on wingéd rhapsodyoh songbirdyou remind usthat we can never flytoo close to the sunand i too risefledged by your warblingwhichContinue Reading

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It is an old story of disfunction.While I see the beauty of a crowthat has an ugly voicebut a wonderful wing spreadundulating shadows in the sky,controlling the sun’s lightfalling to earth,its feathers holding the air,you see only a bird. Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been published in Poetry Quarterly,Continue Reading

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Hello, Helen.Helen Harlot, Helen Home-Wrecker, Helen Whore. Most beautiful woman in the world, hatched from a swan’s egg, product of yet another rape perpetrated by your divine slut of a father, the “omnipotent” thunderer. His many bedfellows tell a different story.In all the myths, you are glittering, resplendent. And always,Continue Reading

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He was a son gone somewhat wrongin his talking to ghosts and speakingof dreams.Since he is alone in his monologue,we should join him on stage–wrap our spindly arms around his Princely shouldersand whisper it will be all right.Even if we see death coming,we can teach him to dodge. Lynette G.Continue Reading

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I.On a hill in the northwest corner of the ancient Athenian Agora, the Temple of Hephaestus is pocked with bullet holes. The little craters of exact proportion stand in stark contrast to the more natural degradations of time on the Dorian columns, those marks of erosion on marble like theContinue Reading

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Before he loved the starsHe loved the paint, the brush, the canvasHe loved the ear he sacrificedHe probably loved a womanWe cannot go back in timeand see what drove himBut if love is a key to everything,Why did he love the night? Lynette G. Esposito, MA Rutgers, has been publishedContinue Reading

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“The child fathers the man?” ’Tis true!But note: the child is never through— whence springs so much of tragedyand comedy like you and me. James B. Nicola is a returning contributor. The latest three of his eight full-length poetry collections are Fires of Heaven: Poems of Faith and Sense, TurnsContinue Reading

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I. Alice Everlasting Sure, the Dodo had its raceand I got my thimble backbut pattern recognitionhas been daunting ever since,the air marked by so much passing,blurry with regret. It’s hard to trusta shape, a beginning or an end,when all is crossing borders trailing ghostsof other minds and the remnants ofContinue Reading