Blog Post / Fall 2016 / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

Bailiwick–Jonathan Andersen

Wheelhouse was never part of my father’s lexicon though I do remember him using the synonym bailiwick; I think he liked the click at the end, the slight touch of baritone drama in Cracking down on guys like that (referring to a local wife beater) would definitely be part of my bailiwick. He said it … Continue reading

Blog Post / Fall 2016 / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

The Violence of Memory–Daniel Fitzpatrick

on Nunscape, by Leonora Carrington Feathered devildactyl mothers its big blue egg. Give me a big blue omelet, breakfast full of food coloring, the kind kids like that mortifies the mother tongue. A pteratopped column plants one painted corner while the sea scene flirts with fluttering off on the gale-grey jubilant swell, like a washed … Continue reading

Blog Post / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

For Lydia on Bastille Day–Daniel Fitzpatrick

She never knew the Metro in July, the cold composted air coursing down the cars, the animal stench blent coarsely with perfume, the beautiful eyes like light on light in faces fixed with time’s tattoos. She looked in luxury; her skin shone Sicilian sun still at a century’s length, undulled at death by days’ decline … Continue reading

Blog Post / Fall 2016 / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

Rush of Water, Pull of Time–William Snyder

Fishing in Spring, the Pont De Clichy (Asnières) Vincent Van Gogh Spring, 1887 We’ve not come to fish, though we may buy some—perch, bullhead—caught among the reeds and lilies where the water is still, the grasses near the bank. Fishermen here fish for themselves, but most would be glad to sell. From their wide, green … Continue reading

Fall 2016 / Issues / Poetry / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

He was everything to me, for a brief, blazing time in my life–Nicholas Twemlow

in memory of my cousin, Finn O’Neill We can begin the process of brushing Hong Kong from our shirt folds As it flakes into our wonderful Futureless past. Some kind Remark you made on my elegance Really stuck with me & I’d like to think Everything changed, but nothing Ever really does. That’s so tired … Continue reading