(In alphabetical order)
Gordon Hilgers
James G. Piatt
Jason Galloway
John Grey
John Kropf
Margarita Serafimova
Michael C. Seeger
Michael Lee Johnson
Pat M. Kuras
Robert Beveridge
Sanjeev Sethi
May 20, 2017
One poem by Gordon Hilgers
Keep it short
You worked for the paper awhile, but your
sweeter, driftwood flourishes would never hit
either print or fruition. You would pen them,
book reviews, you all of twenty-six, but Bob
sat behind his smile to inform you that, no way,
not enough room. Word count is important,
he said, more important than content. Outside,
you sometimes watched the bevies of them,
pigeons, how the birds wheeled. Some danger,
possibly a red-tailed hawk, had alerted them,
their scavenger ways interrupted, an editorial,
yes, there on the walkway, now bloody feathers
to be lifted, ghosts, wind their final breath, not
one word about it. Stiller afternoons, you see,
when you can go no farther, you sit right here--
crazed creatures, beasts, sky bluer, no clouds,
only wings, the maw of moments memorized.
GORDON HILGERS lives in Dallas, Texas, in an area The Los Angeles Times calls "the Ellis Island of Texas" because no less than 30 languages are spoken in the neighborhood. The Chiron Review, Edgar Allan Poet Journal, Texas Observer, Sequestrum, Deathlist 5, as well as several anthologies, including Fresh Cuts 2: The Skinning Volume and The Art To Be Human, also have published his poetry and stories.
One poem by James G. Piatt
A Mother
Her hands reach out to
Soothe the weighty
Sorrows on a small
Quivering brow; her smile
Fills a sad heart with hope,
Her love covers times of
Gloom with optimism, and
her continence covers the
Sad hours with a joyful
Glow when the day
Appears dreary, and lost.
JAMES, a retired professor and octogenarian, is a pushcart
and best of web nominee, and his poems were selected for inclusion in The 100
Best Poems of 2016, 2015 & 2014 Anthologies. He has published 3 collections
of poetry, “The Silent Pond” (2012), “Ancient Rhythms,” (2014),
and “LIGHT,” (2016), and over 960 poems, in over 135 magazines,
anthologies and books. His fourth collection of poetry will be released this
year. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, and
his doctorate from BYU.
One poem by Jason Galloway
Sitting at a Table at Sunset
The last effort of light outside the glass—
empty glass, blank pages
in the darkening room
in the company of empty chairs
& this dark gold candlestick tarnish
this thumbprint & these ovals of beeswax gold
teardrop pendants, the tip of this pen
not yet lit
JASON GALLOWAY is a poetry student in the MFA Program for
Writers at Warren Wilson College, and he lives in the foothills of the
Appalachian mountains in Greenville, South Carolina. He has published work in
Right Hand Pointing, The Enlightentment Projects, and has participated twice
in Tupelo Press' 30/30 Project.
One poem by John Grey
Slow Passage of Time
sweet fluted winds
blown by
the near-dark forest
steadfast live oak
presses its case
to glades of deep shadow
presses its case
to glades of deep shadow
leaves flutter
simulate
the whisper of vows
simulate
the whisper of vows
sleepy down day
and no watch
worth looking at
and no watch
worth looking at
JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently
published in New Plains Review, Stillwater Review and Big Muddy Review with
work upcoming in Louisiana Review, Columbia College Literary Review and Spoon
River Poetry Review.
Two poems by John Kropf
Not myself
I’ve been put in this position before
waking up in the middle of the night
to utter phrases
not my own (and with no one to hear them).
Plastic grocery bag
Is the tumbleweed of the urban landscape
and sometimes
an undulating jellyfish in a sea of trees.
JOHN KROPF is a Washington area attorney and writer who has
written a travel-adventure book, Unknown Sands: Journeys Around the
World's Most Isolated Country, and a legal reference book, Guide to
U.S. Government Practices on Global Sharing of Personal Information. He has
also contributed to Verse-Virtual, Burningword LIterary Journal and a regular
reader at the Iota Poetry series. John was awarded a Certificate in Laughter
from the DC Improv Club and keeps a blog on books and poems on an unscheduled
basis at http://compulsivelyaimless.blogspot.com
One poem by Margarita Serafimova
If it were possible for me to be there, I would
be fingers
and nails of impetuous dark, and I would lightly
cleave to you,
and leaning over you, I would let you drink my
throat.
Fury and sand, quick, count down your desert.
MARGARITA SERAFIMOVA has contributed to Outsider Poetry,
Heavy Athletics, Anti-Heroin Chic, the Peacock Journal, Noble/ Gas Quarterly,
In Between Hangovers, Window Quarterly/ Patient Sounds. Pieces of hers are
forthcoming in The Voices Project, Obra/ Artifact, MockingHeart
Review, London Grip New Poetry, The Birds We Piled Loosely. She has
two books of poetry in the Bulgarian.
Two poems by Michael C. Seeger
I Wait
It’s heavier here now
Since you left.
Like a miracle; Wow!
See: Bereft.
I have in my hand words
From a book;
An empty sky holds birds
As I look.
Slowly the past recedes,
Timelessly
Emptied, as the mind reads
Watchfully.
Hardened understanding
Changes us
In our views; Birds landing
Make a fuss.
It’s dark where sunlight fell;
You are late.
Silent as a cancer cell,
I wait.
Transience
I found in a book some leaves
I had picked up from a road
one rainy day last fall. I could
not bear to let their beauty lie
there on the cold, wet ground,
waiting to disintegrate under
the wheels of oblivious drivers.
I tried to save them from their
transience,
as we all
have tried
in similar ways to save ourselves
from time. It is nearly Spring,
but these leaves, like memories,
say to me, again, how fleeting
everything is.
And that no one
can stop, not for a moment, the
constant flow and inexorable
passage of life.
MICHAEL C. SEEGER is a poet and educator residing in the
Coachella Valley near Palm Springs, California. Prior to his life as a middle
school English instructor, he worked as a technical writer for a baseball card
company and served as a Marine infantry officer during Desert Storm. He
considers poetry a passion and writing generally a way of life. Michael’s poems
have only recently been published, though he’s written many and stands ready to
embrace the opportunity of being so honored.
One poem by Michael Lee Johnson
Sing it Frank, Physical Therapy
Sing it Frank
I'm busy at physical therapy
struggling with back spasms
looking out this window, these clouds
this rain, slice this thunder,
listening to your songs over again
on the Muzak for this 6th week in a row,
peddling this mechanical bike,
might as well be a mechanical bull
with a heat pad on my spinal cord.
I'm deep inside your larynx 10 minutes
3 times a week tickling it back and forth,
jousting and reviewing those playgrounds
of all your illicit affairs. With a few shots of
vodka
peddling these wheels with intensified pressure
I can appreciate Lana Turner, Judy Garland,
Lauren Bacall, even Marilyn Monroe.
"This is my kind of town Chicago is,
my kind of town Chicago is."
MICHAEL LEE JOHNSON lived ten years in Canada during the
Vietnam era: now known as the Illinois poet, from Itasca, IL. Today
he is a poet, freelance writer, photographer who experiments with poetography
(blending poetry with photography), and small business owner in Itasca, Illinois,
who has been published in more than 875 small press magazines in 27 countries.
He edits 10 poetry sites. Michael is the author of The Lost
American: "From Exile to Freedom", several chapbooks of poetry,
including "From Which Place the Morning Rises" and "Challenge of
Night and Day", and "Chicago Poems". He also has over 74
poetry videos on YouTube.
One poem by Pat M. Kuras
Glory and Honor
When she gets
the high score
on pinball and
video games,
she sets her name
as G-O-D,
not because she
thinks she's God
but because
it says in the Bible
all glory and honor
belong to God.
PAT M. KURAS has published poems in CRAB CREEK REVIEW,
LAVENDER REVIEW and NERVE COWBOY. She has two poetry chapbooks: HOPE: NEWFOUND CLARITY (2015)
and INSOMNIAC BLISS (2017), both from IWA Publishing.
One poem by Robert Beveridge
Blossom
You've opened to me, flower.
I suck your sweetness, store
it in the pouch of my cheek
to bring back memories
at inappropriate times.
One poem by Sanjeev Sethi
Lucky Stars
Augured by awnings of birth
preparation for benedictions
starts at parturition.
Cradlesongs in clover
are favors of filiations.
In an unsigned mise
there is lifelong
guarantee of guardrails.
Pickets are within purview.
Ownership is an ally.
A few still nix it.
Garlanding lotus-eaters
is an insult to marigolds.
SANJEEV SETHI is the author of three well-received books of
poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015).
His poems are in venues around the world: The Tower
Journal, Peacock Journal, Boston Accent Lit, Red Fez, One Sentence Poems,
Cavalcade of Stars, The Greensilk Journal, The Bond Street Review,
PoetryMagazine.com, Ink Sweat & Tears, 3:AM Magazine, Morphrog
14, Poetry Pacific, Transnational Literature, Otoliths, and
elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.