Poetry

  • Poetry

    Light Year by Regina DiPerna

    April 13, 2020 /

    “Rat. Pearl. Onion. Honey. These colors came before the sun lifted above the ocean, bringing light alike to mortals and immortals.” – Homer, The Iliad

    Under rat-colored sky,
    a window swings open

    its sash, floods the other
    side of the world

    with cold light,
    the not yet of dawn;

    nets full of stars recede,
    become bare slats

    of blue between cedars,
    fewer magpies than before,

    fewer feathers loose
    in grey air.

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  • Corona Chronicle,  Poetry

    Two Limericks by Raquel Melody Guarino

    April 12, 2020 /

    Pot o’ Gold

    America’s in a recession
    With closures in every profession
    The nurses all cry
    As more people die
    With 12-hundred bucks in possession

    Oh Jesus

    The virus is getting quite bad
    But the president thinks it’s a fad
    As the numbers still lurch
    “I’ll see you in church!”

    Says Don, a positive lad

    *
    Raquel Melody Guarino is an aspiring expat who just left Italy due to the pandemic.
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  • Corona Chronicle,  Poetry

    “The Air” by Anthony Mirarcki

    April 10, 2020 /
    There are methods of
    coping, optimism in the

    face of uncertainty, hope.

    Change can be a
    good thing, a chance
    to reflect. But questions

    infect my outlook—

    How fast can life change?
    What will happen next?

    Where do I go from here?

    The answers to these
    interrogatives, like

    their cause, remain in the air.

    Maybe time can heal
    all wounds, or maybe time

    is up.

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  • Kirstin Mitchell_1
    Art and Photography,  Poetry,  Translation

    Four Poems by Andrea Jurjević Artwork by Kirstin Mitchell

    April 6, 2020 /


    She Floated Away
    After Hüsker Dü

     

    A mob of slam dancers hurls and shoves in the mosh pit of the park fountain—all this furor, thrust-riot, all this outage, the ridding

    of the white corset. Under the cankered poplar a man rests his stiff leg across his lover’s knees, leans into her narrow shoulder and scratches a rough scratch in the V of her thighs—

    the axis of her body, black as the tail of a swallow, forked as a dowsing rod.

    Yet her gaze is fixed on the fountain,

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  • Poetry

    Two Poems by Martin Rock

    April 6, 2020 /

    Lines Written After a Party in New York

    It isn’t sarcasm or sadness but the feeling
    of having been left to die in the middle
    of a rooftop filled with one’s attractive friends.
    They look at me and I try to look at them.
    My eyes remain fixed on the side of my head.
    My tongue is a fist submerged in ice.
    I try to make my way back to the surface
    to bleat but I cannot. My eyes are glassy
    & probing & panicky &

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  • Art and Photography,  Cross-Genre,  Poetry,  Translation

    Five Poems from “In the morning we are glass” by Andra Schwarz (translated from the German by Caroline Wilcox Reul) Artwork by Hannu Töyrylä

    March 20, 2020 /

    In the morning we are glass

    *

    Am morgen sind wir aus glas

     

    My hands reach into emptiness what is left under earth
    I walk to the black mill at its edge the spring
    nothing moves I still hear the grinding of wheels
    the spray of water and how they revolve decades
    in the millworks the building the dismantling the change
    finally the child from then no one knows what might have been
    every year another ring grows wolves prowl in the
    forest now that I’m gone everything is large &

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