Literary Arts

Category

Two Poems by Ann Bracken

Inner Compass Golden shovel from David Whyte’s poem “Sweet Darkness”“…anyone or anything that does not bring you alive it too small for you.” It could rain...

Detox by Keith Aaron Munroe

DetoxIn the morning her long hair drapes like black tears over her shoulders,her Hispanic bones bruised with alcohol and sorrowso that when she says...

Three Poems by Lex Page

Crossword Clue, 5 Down, and a Hint: “Love” Isn’t the Answer I said it first,Come over here, and help me out,<!-- pointing to the only line...

Three Poems by Jeanne Griggs

Middle Path, Kenyon College I didn’t know which ones werenasturtiums until after the warmSeptember afternoon I spottedtheir round leaves with orange and yellowflowers on the...

Three Poems by Chloe Yelena Miller

Which is to say, I miss you Today everyone looks familiarunder the yellow ocher, autumn light. This woman with the child.That older man resting on a...

Two Poems by Ann Quinn

Winter Dream Time ravishes the line, with glare of colorYou fashion a sky, scarring silenceMoon hoards the light Scars of strangeLines fashioned into a druma sky...

Three Poems by Yvette Neisser

THE ARC OF THE SUN for my mother Here is what you have revealed: At eighteen,you rode a Greyhound from New Jerseyall the way down to...

Two Poems by Alex Carrigan

After the Ambulance Why can’t we break the tensionlike how your motherbroke that Waterford your father gave heron their thirty-fifth anniversary,the day her body first...

Three Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

French Resistance, without any French The raccoons lived in the back shedlike a family of nocturnal lawn mowers.The backyard just the front yardthat no one...

Two Poems by Marianne Szlyk

Hobbs Square, 1955, Worcester, MAAfter a photograph of Cecile Aaronson by a Telegram and Gazette photographer The woman stands at the open windowon the day...

Must-read

Two Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

The Yellow Door By ramrod fleet, by coonskin cap,walking contraband visits the shops,in this one and out that one,purchases wrapped under arm or carriedin tiny...

That Winter Afternoon by Michael Gushue

In the third grade, I sat in the last row.Chalk dust whisper down the slate blackboard.The radiators hammered like anvilsthroughout the morning. In the...

Still Mourning on a Foggy Morning After Grandma’s Funeral

Clouds weep on theWindows adding their sorrow to my unchecked sadness. Sun tries to drysky’s tears, shine throughbut fog shrouds sky,effectively blockingany warmth from...
spot_img