Blog Post / Fall 2016 / Poetry 2016 / Volume 47

Stop Thinking about It and Eat Some More Damn Churros: An Ode to the Imagist–Anton Jones

If you look at poems of those initially written in cuneiform, you will only find poems of the extremely important. If you’re not divine or a king (hell, might as well be both), then you probably didn’t receive an honorable mention. And I don’t think it was because the concept of the individual wasn’t yet … 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

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

Our Dog Turns Thirteen–Jacob M. Appel

Should we cater a bar mitzvah? We settle for peanut butter pupcakes, pumpkin-bacon crisps. Little need for a fog machine. It’s no birthdate, after all, no anniversary of arrival— just an arbitrary day on the calendar, chosen to assuage our ten-year-old, now eighteen and away at school. Eighteen! That’s forty-six thousand dog days, nested inside … Continue reading

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

Treatise–Cindy King

Weariness, I feel you coming on big legs, mascara running, boar’s breath fogging windows as you lean on my door. Sleeplessness, I see you pulse behind my eyes, electricity split between body and mind. Restlessness, I smell your sharpshooter bent among bluebells. (What more should I say?) It’s not all boo-hoo in the borough. The … Continue reading

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

The Wreck of the Leviathan–Jeff Bernstein

From sunrise to sunset wet-suited bobbins float offshore. Tsunami Zone warnings adorn the dips and rises of the park roads that lead to the long reach of sand. How do those surfers choose? They might say they are looking for promises of a religious experience. Don’t we all believe at some point, impossible to remain … Continue reading