POETRY
THE ENDLESS VALLEY FAR AND WIDE
Ethan Sabutis
​
(Ekphrastic Poem for "American Progress" by John Gast)
With holy guidance on our side, An endless
valley far and wide
This vast new world is ours for keeps, As the
native people quickly sleep
​
Rivers, Mountains, Plains and Dunes, All will
be ours very soon
With holy guidance on our side, An endless
valley far and wide
THE MOURNING DOVE STILL SINGS!
Riley Mayes
Red light seals the sun
lifting from the water like
a dog raising its head.
It burns away the ash
that drifts over the marsh at night sends clouds
wisping towards
the top of the
sky,
or nowhere,
​
I guess.
NO MORE
William Joel
This circle grows smaller,
losing spokes with every turn
yet turn it does, again, again,
until, one day,
stop.
MOTHER'S CLOTHES
William Joel
The land was lush and full of expectation
Till we came and practiced excavation,
Peeling back the clothes that mother sewed
Through blood-stained fingertips.
And we have yet to see eternal flame.
LOVE
Cynthia Patton
Some days my toddler
shrugs off my touch,
days when we scream,
days when we cry,
days when even the weight
of fairy princess panties
must be cast off
as a snake sheds its skin.
THE ARCHITECT
Sahna Das
i am sure you have wondered, as we all have, if we are
part of a simulation or a game or some grand design
if someone has fashioned us in their likeness or dislikeness and forced us to live in this shell in this frame in this cracked little snow globe in order to—
(in order to what ? to experiment ? to play with ? to explore ? to control ? or to)
see what would happen.
EIGHTEEN
Robin Michel
An expensive car
in the driveway
of a many-roomed
mansion protected by gates. A boy waving a gun.
He watches his mother's eyes.
A MURMUR IN THE DARK
Shae McKoen
Press a stethoscope against my chest
and you will hear a concoction of cacophonous sounds,
the creaking and clashing of heart valves trying to open and close,
and backwashed blood leaking through the cracks.
ITI MANU - MOST
UNFORTUNATE
Low flying , frantic flapping .
Chaos calms quickly
within a moment - mid swoop . Whirlwinds of dusty feathers
Melding with cracked bones .
Donna Faulkner nee Miller
BURN SCAR
Jessika Morrison
I pull in a breath of old tobacco
ground with earthy pine,
a tinge of citrus and hold it.
The river glittering below mumbles
life secrets to me. Sweat slides
down my brow as I exhale.
Blackened stumps tell stories of
childhoods erased and damaged lungs.