Poetry

Poetry
Kevin Higgins
In memoriam Tin Man Ó’Tuathail esteemed literary critic & political commentator . You weren’t, like others, born of Babycham and contraceptive malfunction but emerged fully realised —someone else’s brilliant idea— during an editorial conference of a magazine that went on to be important; your hands clean as mild green Fairy...

Poetry
Lickspittle Scumsquirter
We, the Scum Gentry with our imaginary top hats and canes and our supercilious sneers as we swagger down imaginary cobble-stoned streets, spitting on the rich who line the sidewalks in dumb-struck awe. . Resplendent in our morning coats with tails a-flutter and knee-high boots good for stomping heads in the...

Poetry
Rory Dwayne
Dear Darkness, . The sun has fallen, were you a part of this? Darkness owns my soul I can’t part with this, Shadow of mind, night was the start of this. . Moonlight shines through the attic windows, Mist arises with lone leaves falling while the wind blows. Darkness advances...

Poetry
James Diaz
a summons from the crows across town the lonely lean into quiet walk two-step hollow into the fading light misfortune motel and everyone knows this is how it goes for them too you wake up one day not at all like how you thought you’d be huddled around a...

Poetry
Michael P. Lefanto
They’re gonna leave me laying in my body waste diapered in bed. Waiting for the loser of the, no it’s your turn I did it the last time argument, to come upstairs and change me. . No doubt I’ll end up begging them, to let me please...

Poetry
Matthew Borczon
My special needs son is laughed at and bullied in school because when he gets upset he either explodes into curses and anger or he cries displaying what his therapist calls his emotional real age the other kids find either response hilarious and a distraction from their school day so they push his buttons until the show begins...

Poetry
Mark McConville
I am stepping out of this chaotic room Struggling to breathe in fresh air My smoked out lungs like raging bulls Probably red and pulsating like hearts. . The town looks unfamiliar They’ve changed the billboards And the café I used to drink...

Poetry
William S. Tribell
That I may with all do discretion, make my own slight confession It was Tennessee in mid-July just because Johnny Cash said so Whiskey, Johnson City and the right direction to Cumberland Gap Not to stray, but by-the-way, let me be the first to...

Poetry
Leah Mueller
You won’t take summer from me again: my heart a rolled-up carpet, unwinding and exposed. . I have no choice but to bare the debris. Some escapes, pebbles underfoot. . Step on one, then another, keep my eyes on the wall. . Every June, the vigil and the bludgeon. July fruit, rotten in...