Thursday, August 27, 2015


No need to look it up online. I already know why light bruises so easily. You and even I, a man with spirochetes floating inside, pass through time no problem. Although don’t expect too much. It’s like the full body scan at the airport except I’m lying on my back and floating up (but oh how slowly), up toward the frayed light, and there’s no far anymore and no near,  there’s no me and no you, there’s only flash, bang, boom, and this feeling of floating where the dark can’t.

About Howie Good:
Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the forthcoming poetry collection Dark Specks in a Blue Sky from Another New Calligraphy.

Monday, August 24, 2015


here is a picture of a glacier
something we know not to be true

with a mountain coming out of it
greener at the top 

usually it’s the other way around
but here

if you look into the ice hard enough
all the fossils will seem to have human faces

I know
it’s alright

the sunshine gets out through a hole in my head
you can’t see it

but it’s there
and we know what you really want

a song in the engine
there, there it is

a dictator 
of infinite benevolence

About Nate Maxon:
Nate Maxson is a writer and performance artist. He is the author of several collections of poetry, most recently The Age Of Jive from Red Dashboard Press. He lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Thursday, July 16, 2015


Take down 
the stars and bars,

the Confederate
battle flag that flies,

over the Capitol 
in Charleston.

And take down
the Confederate 

veterans' monument, 
and the statue 
of the white supremacist, 

who was once 
governor and senator, 

that stand nearby.
Then take down all 

the remaining symbols,
every fiber
and every stone,

all of the vestiges 
of slavery,

every hair-thin remnant
of that terrible time

until not a rootlet remains
in any city or town.

But when they are all 
cleared away, taken down,  

carried off, and finally 
gone:  How to remove

the hatred that lingers 
in a grown man’s heart?

About Gil Hoy:
Gil Hoy is a Boston trial lawyer. He studied poetry at Boston University, while receiving a B.A. in Philosophy and Political Science, magna cum laude, and won a silver medal in the New England University Wrestling Championship at 177 lbs. Gil received an MA in Government from Georgetown University and a J.D. from the University of Virginia School of Law. He served as an elected Brookline, Massachusetts Selectman for four terms. Gil’s poems have been published recently in The New Verse News, Clark Street Review, The Penman Review, The Antarctica Journal, Third Wednesday, The Potomac, The Zodiac Review and To Hold A Moment Still, Harbinger Asylum’s 2014 Holidays Anthology.

Tuesday, July 14, 2015


there are hidden letters after x, y, z
not spoken about
except in the dusty history halls in library whispers
forgotten in the murk of the dark ages
when children would sing-song smiling
through twenty-six friends,
always in order, always tidy
the harmony rose up through the major scale
to resolve softly on the ultimate consonant
before those toddlers’ faces turned grimace
to continue the blackly dirge
past that darkened horizon lay horror
for in those hidden murky corners
rising out of the frozen languages
cloaked in runic and futhark accents
in arabian maqam
and full throated chants to the old gods
scratched into burned margins of scrolls
wretched with rat feces, gypsy oils, fetid ink
are the diminished dirt tones of lost symbols
chanted wild o’er a fire
tattooed tongues through scarred lips
best left to the phrygian dusk
heretical language
strange figures
canted, and then recanted

About Jake Tringali:
Born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers. Since July 2014, publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, The Commonline Journal, Apeiron Review, Catch & Release, Boston Poetry Magazine, and others.

Wednesday, June 10, 2015


Nothing can make you see
our rightful place along the
edges of fields and roads
when we embrace without
price the slouching earth
or feed without pain the
silent grazers.

Nor force you to accept a
power beyond control or
the reach of seasons,
leaves green or red
or none at all, the living
elixir endlessly coursing
through us.

Nor help you finally to value
a different reserve of oil, one
double burning in both your
fragile air and your
fine lungs as you try to
torch us like every other
thing you hate.

About Rick Mitchell:
Rick Mitchell a lifelong resident of New York State; except for the four years he lived in Reno and attended the University of Nevada. Over the years, he has been fortunate enough to find a receptive audience among many editors of magazines across the country.  His poems have recently appeared in the Louisville Review, The Pittsburg Quarterly, Skylark and the Cimarron Review.  Chiron Review Press published Speaking of Seed and Night, his first book of poetry, and Aldrich Press published Before Every Other Fall in 2014.

Monday, March 16, 2015


Woods and fields gather autumn leaves
as flocks flying southward  stop to roost.

Spare, golden sunlight fills the air.
I walk through this field alone, unafraid,

preoccupied with thoughts of tomorrow.
The wind rustles the bare branches

of a solitary sycamore and I come upon
a ramshackle barn with an old weather vane

that points the long way home.

About Anderson O'Brien:
Anderson O'Brien lives in Columbia, SC with her husband. She has published poetry in several publications including The Kentucky Review, Iodine Poetry Journal, and Blue Fifth Review.

Friday, January 9, 2015


The falling rain
sounds like a
huge crackling campfire
and the dog is
under the bed pretending
to be the cat.

Everyone on TV
is dancing a weird tango
(especially the politicians)
and the radio refuses
to be coherent.

A Brahms sonata
is waffling up from
the garbage disposal
and the thunder is
plummeting through the
Oregon wilderness,
screeching like Big Foot
with a shovel jammed
up his anus.

About Doug Draime:
Doug Draime’s most recent book is More Than The Alley, released in 2012 by Interior Noise. Also available are four chapbooks: Dusk With Carol (Kendra Steiner Editions), In Back Of Madam Wong’s (Epic Rites/Tree Killer Press), Los Angeles Terminal: Poems 1971-1980 (Covert Press), and an online chap: Speed Of Light (Right Hand Pointing). Doug was Awarded small PEN grants in 1987, 1991, and 1992. In more recent years, he has been nominated for several Pushcart Prizes. 

Tuesday, December 30, 2014


A family full of men,

animals of all kinds,

life with boots trapped
in water. 

A wife and daughter
left to tend to a
father’s broken


A child, exuding
autumn yellow—

October, a time for
weddings with apples

and a careful arrangement
of bones, dusted as if
they belong to someone
much older;

I, the daughter—


There will only ever be one. 

About Kristin LaFollette:
Kristin LaFollette received her BA and MA in English and creative writing from Indiana University. Her poems have been featured in or are forthcoming from Crack the Spine Magazine, Dead Flowers: A Poetry Rag, 2River View, FIVE2ONE Magazine, and LEVELER Poetry Mag, among others.  She lives with her husband in northwestern Ohio.

Wednesday, December 17, 2014


These small summer dawns
The light is just enough

And the moon, half-posing, pales
Overhead, hesitant, obsessing

Absence, and every spoiled cloud not yet
Detail waits in blue abeyance

For the stars’ demise
For the broad sun to glower,

Matter—retake this world.

About GTimothy Gordon:
Gordon's Open House (fictions) will be published in November 2014, while Ground of This Blue Earth and Under Aries were published in 2012 and 2014, respectively.  An expanded edition of the original Mellen P edition of Everything Speaking Chinese is currently pending book publication. He divides personal and professional lives among Asia, Europe, and the Mountain/Desert Southwest. 

Monday, November 24, 2014


I could see myself falling in love with a beat poet 

I do not cook us breakfast
or lunch

we order every option we hadn't heard of
and ask if there are any 
not listed on the menu
any nostalgia they've been wanting to fry
slice, boil

we wake up to indie music
sliding through the walls
the precursors to cool
kissing their way in our ears

he pierces his ears at Claire's
and I pretend he did it himself
in a back room
or bathroom

he whispers too often

and writes about my teeth
on a chain around his waist

The Tune of a Turning Point

My mind is a loom with a hacksaw in it,
and your highwired wrists don't know how to balance.
I think you write with your ankles,
and I think no one runs away to the circus anymore,
so let's adopt the only remaining freak show;
let's let them stare at our knit fingers.

About McPherson Newell:
McPherson Newell is a high school student attempting to sustain an obsession with poetry despite all amounts of homework that try to consume her time. Her work is forthcoming in the Eunoia Review.