I wrote it all down
We hid –
quiet, so quiet,
except that colicky baby,
always so fussy.
Shh ... not a sound,
my hand his tiny
my own breath held
like a valued vase.
if the soldiers heard through the floorboards
we would all be gone.
23 July, 1943
Today Josef went blue. I keep washing my hands.
Thankful we have no mirrors.
I need to think about a new day with fresh air.
I love flowers,
but will never pick one again.
Amy Corbin has been published in Filling Station, The Cynic, Ascent Aspirations, Shine, Every Day Poets, Every Day Fiction, Haruah: A Breath of Heaven,
Ignavia Press, Flask and Pen,The Battered Suitcase, Flashes in the Dark, Short Story Library, Smokebox, Wanderings, Writers’
Stories, The New Flesh, Concise Delight, Calliope Nerve, and Boston Literary Magazine.
We might retract, but never clip, our claws.
Resentment grins, and might obey the laws,
Yet prays and digs for fatal flaws.
Its trap door drops into a dungeon—straw,
Stone, chains, and bones. You purr, sweet cat, a
Of love, yet you can seize a mouse with paw
And fang. I pray for peace—and wear a sword.
—after two earthquakes, 2010
So, nature jerks her tablecloth from underneath
The plates again. In Haiti, Chile: death,
Parched throats and empty stomachs, fever, dust,
Pray, yes--for cash, construction skill. Then offer
Perhaps God sees and hears. Perhaps It's blind and
Fair deal? Can arguing the call persuade the ref?
David D. Horowitz founded and manages Rose Alley Press,
which primarily publishes books featuring Pacific Northwest rhymed metrical poetry. His most recent poetry collections, all
from Rose Alley Press, are Stars Beyond the Battlesmoke; Wildfire, Candleflame; Resin from the Rain;
and Streetlamp, Treetop, Star. Many of his poems have been published in fine literary journals and websites, such
as The Lyric, Candelabrum, The New Formalist, and Shot Glass Journal. His essays often
appear in the online journal Exterminating Angel. In 2005, David won the PoetsWest Achievement Award. David
lives in Seattle. His website is www.rosealleypress.com.
called you my butter cookie
i know them way back, packed
in the supermarket, stacks after stacks
labeled blue, each blue can
our big city's favourite, wrapped in red
spring's warmest gift.
it must have been your baby blues, or me
overwhelmed in a scent
so flattering, in a way
so sweet, it caters my court,
crunchy touches, sugar on top, taste
on my tongue, the best flavor
unlocked - the best thing i know from you country
all these golden pieces of loveliness
sink in memories.
Cherry Rao, a 20 something, graduated from the University
of Hong Kong, with majors in Fine Arts and English Studies. She has been working in art galleries and areas of arts education,
cannot stop loving art, will never stop writing poetry. She writes therefore she is.
Clifford Brooks III
Rain & Cigarettes
Sunflowers snake upward,
around the brittle remains
of an azalea. Birds break shells
and throw life.
Lounge chairs for star gazing.
match sticks like grandfather’s.
No wind chimes.
Not a single piece of folk art.
Before the young men
of Dixie go in. Pause. Acrid smoke.
Pregnant clouds ease towards
Cut grass runs downhill.
It’s humid, sun still out,
the devil’s beating his wife.
Charles Clifford Brooks III has been published in The Dead Mule, Eclectica, Gloom Cupboard, Cerebration, Callused Hands, Alba, Prick of the Spindle, Conversations,
and The Cartier Street Review. His poetry has been featured on the Joe Milford
Poetry Show. Charles Clifford’s first book of poetry, Whirling Metaphysics, will be published by Leaf Garden Press.