Poetry
We Really Can’t Talk about it in any authentic kind of way. There’s at least one Way, let’s leave it at that. Plain and simple. Let’s say, The sun’s setting. I don’t like to brag or anything, but that’s pretty Spectacular this sunset. What I mean to say is, we’re looking Straight at it, a tropical island shimmers on…
Poetry Shalom, Salaam by Jabari Jones Shalom may the bullets go on strike and study war no more Salaam may the bombs fall in love with the body and refuse to blow Shalom may the agents of Mossad step into the light of day and pray to live again Salaam may the agents of Hamas…
I All the photographs are lies, she looks Normal in them, like other people, Not mad, not spilling lava, Her eyes are compelling as doe’s eyes, And she did not know this, and the worst of it is She looks alive. Putting the photos away, I keep thinking How small and afraid she was in…
A Special Section of Israeli and Palestinian Poets featuring: Rivka Miriam, Mureed Barghouthy, Shaul Knaz, Fadwa Tuqan, Yehuda Amichai, Anton Shammas, Karen Alkalay-Gut, and Mahmoud Darwish Rivka Miriam Translated by Daniel Weissbort and Orna Raz, and by Linda Zisquit, from the Hebrew So by the altar …. So, by the altar, Isaac wished to remain,…
by Huu Thinh Translated from the Vietnamese by George Evans and Nguyen Qui Duc In Phan Thiet He owns nothing, not even a blade of grass Though the hills are wide, not even a small plot of earth, Yet my brother belongs to the land and sky of Phan Thiet. It was here he first…
WCW BLUES Sexual lust may weaken me but I’ve always come back to my senses Sweet Free Emotion no one is corny here Sister, Brother It permeates! It melds and it coats and immerses It entwines and conceives It is gestating It is birthing! It’s composing It’s decomposing It has become One with the language!…
The House of the Setting Sun “Become a rag again and the poorest may wave you” —Pier Paolo Pasolini: To the Red Flag I put my mouth to your misery, New Orleans, inundated and soaking with death. Here lies: war lies piled so high, this floating prison of a cemetery cries out of rage at…
Hands She was an apparition. One of the infinite sorrows, dropped out of eternity and onto a bench in Washington Square Park. Where she sat, gray of hair. Her delicate, wisp of a body enwrapped in a black lace shawl. She buried her face in deeply wrinkled, heavily veined hands. I bowed my head as…
I sit on a rogue boulder high in alpine fields reading Gary Snyder. My mind in the Rocky Mountains, I watch blue glaciers blanketed with toxaphene running away from the heat. I reflect on the silvery river, mirror of change, below. Turn north, eye to the swollen river-sea mouth where…
The water. Only the flashed water. The water in the river. Nothing but the flowing water, not even (shore) or (overhanging branches), just the water in & of the river. The water moves from Hiroshima but stays, grayblue, browngreen, the infinite divisi- bilities of yellows & cherry reds all suffused with shadow, the…
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Latest Issue
2026: Vol. 25, No. 2
Latest Issue
2026: Vol. 25, No. 2
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