New Poetry by Zebulon Huset

On the Cusp of Summer, Minnesota

            for my mother

During the couple weeks

when the neighborhood

bloomed a pale blue-hue

then burst full of purple

we’d round up armfuls

of the lilac buds. We’d

bust out every stadium

collector cup and every

dollar store and garage

or yard sale vase and on

every flat surface precariously

perched some water and

a rubber-band-bound bunch

of dying blossoms. As kids

we never suffered through

the disposal of their dried

husks with the slimy bit

of mold clinging to the stems.

We merely knew that our lilacs

brought spring into the house

just before school loosed us

for another raucous summer.

- © Zebulon Huset 2022

Zebulon Huset is a teacher, writer and photographer. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Meridian, Rattle, The Southern Review, Fence, and blueppeper among others. He publishes Notebooking Daily, and edits the literary journals Coastal Shelf and Sparked.

New Poetry by Nicholas Barnes

naomi is

a wind piano melodica

seesawing up and down

with jeff mangum's

breathless baritone.

        some hand-rolled

        sandalwood incense

        from mumbai.

a cult leader

with droves of followers

dressed in pink and sneakers.

        a trout that brushed up

        against your little piggies

        while you were swimming

        in a high mountain lake.

a taxidermy mount

with marble eyes

and wooden bones.

        a bottle cap pounded

        into a rolltop desk

        with silver nail and hammer.

a bag of soft chew licorice

from ingleburn australia,

new south wales.

        an old man

        who saved a young man

        from bungee jumping

        sans-bungee.

a leather booth

in an old roadside diner

with a splintered cobweb face.

        a postcard the mailman

        reads between houses

        on his repetitive route.

a mango pit

planted in the backyard

by someone hoping

that she'll visit again.

- © Nicholas Barnes 2022

Nicholas Barnes earned a Bachelor of Arts in English at Southern Oregon University. He is currently working as an editor in Portland, and enjoys music, museums, movie theaters, and rain. His least favorite season is summer. His favorite soda is RC Cola.

New Poetry by Jean Bohuslav

cause and effect

all woolly flanks turn in one direction

like slow motion tennis spectators

as a red ute draws dust idling

the long drive

then spooked by commanding trepidation

they hoof it down to the flats

pounding crackling debris

while grasshoppers click amongst

copper stalks

and cockatoos choreograph afternoon’s

echoing flights

affronted by kelpies controlling the run to

the yards and race

this orchestra is abruptly unplugged

the corriedales’ eyes resembling

large tombollers roll backwards

like mum’s when the old man gets stupid

nature’s tango

weaving natural laws of order through disorder

tapestries with connecting golden threads

spun effortlessly as falling leaves

- © Jean Bohuslav 2022

Jean Bohuslav’s love for mindfulness philosophy often creeps into her poems.  She resides in Torquay Victoria where she enjoys the company of other poets and reading online poetry.

 

New Poetry by Michael Keshigian

Persistent Daylight

 

He was caught in an endless day,

persistent sunshine, no darkness,

a day that curdled

green leaves falling,

rotting upon dried lawn

spotted with insects desiccated,

fragile carcasses littered

beneath the lessening shade of trees.

He walked between sagging sycamores,

crossing the street,

asphalt which singed his soles,

his face aglow,

burnt to a crimson hue,

on his way to the river

where others must be waiting.

Soon he will swim under the soundless sun,

water easing his burns,

submerged in the cascading current

in order to survive this day without end,

dressed in a white shirt and shorts,

a luminosity that mimicked the sun

as he approached the shoreline

where the crowd swam,

he whispering how the sun

became a threat,

that all will suffer then dry,

so we must sing

before our remnant ashes disperse,

that an earnest song

will bear us wings to embark

on our journey from earth,

for due to our negligence,

the rules have changed

and our bodies can only go so far. 

- © Michael Keshigian 2022

Michael Keshigian is the author of 14 poetry collections, his latest, What To Do With Intangibles, published by Cyberwit.net . His most recent poems have appeared in Muddy River Review, Smoky Quartz, San Pedro River Review, Tipton Poetry Journal. He has been published in numerous national and international journals and has appeared as feature writer in twenty publications with 7 Pushcart Prize and 2 Best Of The Net nominations. 

New Poetry by Caleb Delos-Santos

Saying Goodbye To My First Apartment

Farewell, my pocks-like triangle-sized sky.

Goodbye, my rib-like frost and navy walls.

So long, my soggy sunken carpet-sty.

Adieu, my poo-room pruned by shower falls. 

Peace out, my flick-bound reeling ceiling light.

Please, take it easy, numbing-drummed AC.

I’m off, glass-blind, who can’t conceal one night. 

I’ve got to go, my home, who good-groomed me.

I would say “later,” but Mod-time has died.

I’ll see you in my phone and mind’s time-drive

I hope we keep in touch, my grown-up pride.

Until next time, I’ll keep school-vibes alive.

Godspeed. Stay barely-not-condemned and true. 

I love you so much, M6. I’ll miss you.

- © Caleb Delos-Santos 2022

Caleb Delos-Santos is a Junior double majoring in Acting for the Stage and Screen and English at Azusa Pacific University. He has four published poems and one non-fiction with West Wind Magazine, Outrageous Fortune, and GoldScriptCo. He was also awarded the APU Esselstrom Prize for creative writing. Writing helps him to improve his mental health. He dreams of successful careers in writing and acting.

New Poetry by Erina Booker

Awakening

Shafts of sound: insistent and clamorous

descending from alto to bass,

siren through the glass wall

and drop into the tiles beneath

it’s early morning, the sky

is indigo, not black, and feels

about 5 a.m. … we walk the few steps

to the balcony, and freeze before the two heralds

who woke us, sitting next to each other

claws over the glass panes

a pigeon pair of large black birds, currawongs

summoning us to their presence

I know there’s white on the undersides

of their tails, but can’t see it

neither can I see the egg-yolk yellow

of their eyes, just an onyx gleam

they shrill loudly in unison

immobile, parallel

both eye-ing us

doppelgängers by sight and size and sound

they have my full attention:

a perfect Tarot card

of divination

thrust before my face!

one currawong, a former visitor

responded to a whistled call, pecked at

the dog’s kibble, paraded his magnificence

of strut and strafe, his fearlessness

his desire for company

now he has brought his new mate to introduce:

he has reached through the barrier of biological

class to something greater, deeper, and privileged

he has grasped our commonality of living spirit

and in so doing has made us familial

now there is an icon in my mind –

a sacred painting of this pair of birds

jet black against a gold-flecked sky of

lapis lazuli, who sang loudly enough

to rouse us and tell us their news

thank you for that, you two,

I approve

I approve with all my heart!

 

- © Erina Booker 2022

Erina Booker is a Sydney-based poet. Her life revolves around poetry, from publishing books and contributing to journals, to recitals at public events and presentation of seminars. She contributes ekphrastic poems to various galleries. She has a Bachelor of Arts (Literature & Composition), & a Post-grad degree in Counselling. Words, & the pauses between, are her interests. Her work may be found on Amazon and Lulu Press.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

New Poetry by Elizabeth Shack

Wild Cherry

wood sleeps through winter

frozen nights of wondrous dreams

waking with spring rain

limber green-leafed limbs

drink deep of summer sunlight

building sweet sugars

rubies and garnets

feed cardinals and sparrows

bright things for bright wings

oblong yellow leaves

shimmer in cloudless blue skies

as the year withers

leaves litter the ground below

yellow ink on fertile page

- © Elizabeth Shack 2022

Elizabeth Shack lives in central Illinois with her spouse, cat, and an expanding collection of art supplies and fitness equipment. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in The MacGuffin, Writers Resist, Daily Science Fiction, and other magazines and anthologies.

New Poetry by Mohammad Ali Maleki

Estrangement

 

In a blocked atmosphere

away from people — at Donnybrook,

all the gates are closed on us.

Everybody is hopeless with broken hearts.

On a cold spiritless day

in a small gloomy room,

l sit on my bed

as my mind travels back to the past...

When l become aware of my surroundings again

l find nine years has passed uselessly in detention.

My body is feeble and tired.

When l try to focus,

to witness all of these tragedies,

it feels as if I’ve grown into a flower, mute from fear.

It seems that they have separated the world's pains.

What do they know about the things

that happened throughout these years?

They blamed us for all the bad things of the world!

I am tired of this bunch of stone-cold people

who rejoice at seeing us suffer.

My God, l am abandoned all alone here.

l have no parent or sibling to console me.

It makes no difference if I write about my agony —

no one has suffered as much as me in estrangement.

My heat is infested with sorrow.

l feel that I need to cry.

l feel that l need my mother’s hug.

I’d love to lay my head on her knees

as she touches my face tenderly.

l'd love to hug my mum again one day

and tell here about the tragedy of these years.

Mum, what should l do with my pains and sorrows?

But my mother has already passed away

from grief after hearing about them —

What reason have l got to go on now?

Who should I live for now?

The dearest person in the world to me

was my mother who passed away.

Mum, I wish l could die instead of you.

That way, l would not have to face

the sorrow of our estrangement.

- © Mohammad Ali Maleki 2022

Mohammad Ali Maleki is an Iranian poet who has been indefinitely detained as a refugee in Australian immigration detention for the last nine years. His poetry chapbook, Truth in the Cage, is available for purchase at Verity La’s online bookshop. All profits go directly to the author. 

New Poetry by Daya Bhat

Lichens

Little feet join the line

of those leaving

their sky and earth.

As roofs roll into debris

one after another

that we do nothing

is what they will remember.

The rocks we hide under

will be their homes.

They will still smile

the miniature rivers

will hold on to their hues.

We will see them everywhere

and they will remember

who put them on the rock.

They will line the sidewalks

of our health treks.

In their thallus

will be escape stories.

They will pair up

shoulder to shoulder.

There will be mosaics

boulder to boulder.

Remember they lived

they lived a war

those who made it.

They will live

with memories

who didn’t.

Lichens . . .

rootless children of war.

They will grow

on you and me.

- © Daya Bhat 2022

Daya Bhat has published two books of poetry. Her free verse, short poetry and short fiction appear in a number of journals. She lives in Bangalore, India with her family.

New Poetry by Doug Holder

Tragic Cardigan

Now it’s time

To let your paunch

Lay low

In your

Grandfather’s sweater.

Take off the tight

Italian leather shoes

Surrender to

The ratty

vagrant slippers.

You are febrile

In your frumpiness.

You try to muffle

The invective

In your head,

“ Old Man—shake a leg!”

And you would

If it wasn’t so

Painful.

Now put enough pens—

Perhaps a pipe or two

The overdue phone bill

Gnarled pencils in its

Deep , sagging pockets

Perhaps sip a well-timed

Scotch

And disappear

On a wave

With

Miles Davis.

Don’t worry

No one will

Notice…

- © Doug Holder 2022

Doug Holder teaches Creative Writing at Endicott College outside of Boston. His poetry and prose have appeared widely in the small press.