Monday 6 August 2012

Michael H. Brownstein

The Water Lillie Contemplating Suicide 
The flower rickshawed through her,
a water blossom yellow and strong
like a plank of wood, smooth and narrow,
a one by two, only true as if true
could ever be exact or honest
or even a deity worth dying for.
The stem of her body fluid and full,
her root work deep and philosophical
as if the voice of pain could ever be a flower,
the thick trunk of a tree, a nearby stream
bubbling over river rock, the carcasses
of the dead fish who swim there.
Michael H. Brownstein has been widely published throughout the small and literary presses. His work has appeared in The Café Review, American Letters and Commentary, Skidrow Penthouse, Xavier Review, Hotel Amerika, Free Lunch, Meridian Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, The Pacific Review, and others. In addition, he has nine poetry chapbooks including The Shooting Gallery (Samidat Press, 1987), Poems from the Body Bag (Ommation Press, 1988), A Period of Trees (Snark Press, 2004), What Stone Is (Fractal Edge Press, 2005), and I Was a Teacher Once (Ten Page Press, 2011). He is the editor of First Poems from Viet Nam (2011).

Thursday 2 August 2012

Christy Hall

Later, You Returned to the Sea

To the coast, what other setting but by the shore.
We crept along the promenade holding hands,
staying close in the cold.
You were reluctant to step onto the sand
in canvass shoes, so I piggy-backed you
towards the surf, and the bank of wet stones.
A sprig of seaweed, typical litter, a twig.
I set you down there, safe
and threw a rock or two seawards; you laughed.
Hooking yourself to me and using my feet
as stilts to keep out the damp.
I leant in. You turned back.
The wind now whipping hard at our necks
and I can taste the salt of the chips we had.

Christy Hall is the tenant and manager of a pub in Beverley, East Yorkshire. He is a graduate of the Creative Writing Master’s course at Hull University. He has had poems published throughout the U.K as well as in America. He hopes one day to publish his own collection.

Wednesday 1 August 2012

Ivo Drury

Atavist's Statement #23

You asked for a paragraph or two about my paintings,
but what’s the point?
You like them or not.
You understand them or not.
Your opinion is equal to, greater than, less than mine.
Nobody really cares – they come for the cheese and the chardonnay,
but chiefly the chardonnay

Ivo Drury workshops words in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Recent work has appeared in Liliput Review, Conium Review, Curio Poetry and Elimae.

Tuesday 31 July 2012

Arun Budhathoki

Dark Ages

The flushed sky reserves miniature eyes
Enwrapped in bluish blanket
For the darkening city,
I’ll pluck all and paste it on my forehead.

The blind city wonders at my brightness
Fireflies and moths suck radiant tits
Visiting every home to pass the awesome light,
I’m losing my foresight.

I’ve been growing a child in my belly
The world is round and so is my navel
Circling adults who walk without sights,
The child of mine is rage.

The flushed sky protects winking eyes
Dotted tactfully over the mind’s ignorance
Silencing the soured iron-clad tongue,
I live open-mouthed.

I’ve engulfed scores of stars and burst into millions of filaments
Stitching you with my belly,
Eat me now. 

Arun Budhathoki, alias Daniel Song, is a Nepalese poet / writer / founding editor of The Applicant, a Kathmandu-based literary journal.

Monday 30 July 2012

Rory Fleming

Gen Y

It's about having everything at your fingertips and still being bored
Going to work and realizing you have nothing to do
You tell me something that I can look up
Using google
On my phone
When else were gods this lost

Rory Fleming is a future law student at UNC-Chapel Hill.  He also composes poetry and prose, some of which can be found at Thousand Shades of Gray, Camel Saloon, and other places.

Sunday 29 July 2012

Mike Berger

Coos Bay Oregon

The smell of the ocean tickles your nose.
The view across the gray ocean-endless.
The little town is quaint with trees growing
everywhere. The logs in the paper mill pond
are a jumble, jammed in at odd angles.

The drive all along the shoreline is green and
somber. Stands of pine obscure your view.
There in a protected cove is a small island
laden with sea lions.

They bark and there raspy, rancorous voices
assult your ears. They were a loquacious lot.
They bask in the sun and frolick. Across the
cove is an old lighthouse standing defiantly
against that sea breezes.

Outside the cove the breakers crash against
the rocky shore. The eternal battle between
rock and wave has existed for eons of time.

Mike Berger is an MFA, PhD. He writes poetry and short stories full time
He has been writing poetry for less than four years. His work appear in seventy-one journals. He has published two books of short stories and eight poetry chapbooks .The winner of several poetry contests, he has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He is a member of The Academy of  American Poets.

Saturday 28 July 2012

Mark Nenadov

The Road To Maine

The hot 401 drive spirals down
under screaming, spinning rubber
the angry, vengeful Toronto stretch kicks you to the ground
you spring back gasping for air in Oshawa
then cool Kingston air caresses you hair
like cattails waving to the road's rhythm
sit back and sigh softly till Montreal
while sweetie softly sleeps.

You’ll remember some of what you see
like in Quebec near Vermont you feel the hot air 
of road-rage raging resolutely
or the quiet defiant resolution
of a man using horse drawn buggy 
to pick up his groceries
(I don't think the Amish trot Quebec
and I don't suppose Amish men go shirtless and without beard)

Eventually on to New Hampshire behind a truck
bravely lugging logs and languishing beneath the load
then you feel like you are being folded
swiftly tucked away like a stained napkin
into the expansive breast pocket
of majestic cloud-shrouded mountains.
Mark Nenadov lives in Essex, Ontario, Canada with his lovely wife, a cute young daughter, and their cat. He's fairly new to the world of literary journals, but has been writing poetry for a long time. He has a forthcoming poem which will appear in WestWard Quarterly.