the sun is sparkling, the rain rumbling, and we badly need some poetry...

Friday, 11 January 2013

Mike Finley - 2 Poems

Knock on Wood

So a tree becomes a stump
and the microbes burrow in
until it is all lacework
a filigree of matter.

The world that seems solid
is full of holes,
holes between pores
and holes between cells,
holes between the molecules,
atoms and particles.

There are oceans of space within and between.
You could say we live in space.

I'm not really here,
I'm just saying I am.

The Rapture 

Walking with Rachel,
We detect a fragrance
So sweet and so intense

Like honey, lilac and swirled violets
We look at one another
With a look of deepest longing

Until we step into a clearing
And see the turquoise
plastic Port O Potty.

BIOGRAPHY:  Mike Finley is the author of the world's largest chapbook, YUKON GOLD.

Devlin De La Chapa - 1 Poem

Trailer park girl

the butterfly around your hollowed navel
spreads its wings and soars through my eyes

silver-plated love blows 30 degrees below dry-ice

my head is ripe for your destruction because
the chisel pounds because you say so, So

when I sleep the monster lays beside me with you

with you I hear painted ladies walking obscure streets,
I sense defeat as I crumble beneath your feet

your “Shh,” calms me in the dark of night

like the stir of winter fog eroding from your after sex cigarette
just as beer bottles break at the bottom of your trash can, silent

BIOGRAPHY: De La Chapa has been published here and there and is scheduled to appear elsewhere. She is a two-time Pushcart prize nominee, and a two-time recipient of an Editor's Choice.  Devlin edits @ BoySlut.

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Anthony Ward - 1 Poem


The tension of thought
Makes me so uptight
I find myself seizing
In need of lubrication
To loosen up
And get myself in gear
Typing frantically to maintain the speed
Of my mind
As it races from me

And I chase after it to recapture it
Exalted with adrenalin
My head lighting up
As if a pinnacle of an exclamation
Until I’m completely exhausted
Inebriated with creativity
That in the end leaves me bearing a hangover
My stomach pent with knots
My spine curved to a question mark.

Biography: Anthony Ward tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including The Faircloth Review, Drunk Monkeys, Dead Snakes, Turbulence, Underground, Jellyfish Whispers, The Autumn Sound, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

April Salzano - 1 Poem

Late August Fog

Morning no longer comes lightly,
but hours after I wake.
Humidity has lifted, histamines replaced
by the threat of frost, pathetic
fallacies to come. Back
to school bus rides, lunchbox battles,
struggles against time for routine.
A melody of various birds
call and respond through woods.
Spring fawns are losing their spots
and stand more certain on gangly legs,
braving boundaries alone, peripheral.
Sack webs of tree caterpillars
suspend from endmost branches of Maples.
September will be here before I have
time to finish the goals I meant to fulfill,
the pages I set to write. Memory
of chlorophyll will color the leaves
before dropping them to the ground
to contemplate the teeth of the rake.
We are all just waiting for the time
to begin saving daylight.

Biography: April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania and is working on her first (several) poetry collections and an autobiographical work on raising a child with Autism. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspiration, The Rainbow Rose and other online and print journals and is forthcoming in Poetry Quarterly and Bluestem.

Marchell Dyon - 1 Poem

Girl With Doves

At peace, your spirit ran off to play.
Now doves, like a favorite doll you cradle.

Biding farewell, chasing after feathers,
All are angels.

The death of a child is never forgotten in the veins.
It festers like an open sore that never heals.

So not to follow, a child’s soul leaves not a footprint.
A spirit now free from this concrete purgatory,

Your beautiful face no longer in tears, you fly towards Heaven
On purchased wings, beyond the eternity of the sun.

In reflective light on your grave, you were here
Giggling beside me, only for a moment then was gone.

Biography: Marchell Dyon is from Chicago IL. She has attended various poetry workshops. While she is currently working on her first and second chapbooks her work has already appeared in other publications including Toasted Cheese Literary Journal, Torrid Lit Journal and Full of Crow magazine.