You ask me, then / space out as I explain / the long & short / of the vowel “I.”
by Adam McCullochWhere do I start? / This is very bad. / I don’t have time for this. I am not a professional protester!
by Phil BerryThere’s a silver balloon / Over a post by the road / Where all must pause.
We are trespassers, all of us tourists / seeking out this almost ghost town
by Juleus GhuntaThe night she tried to beat me, I slept on the veranda / of the shop in the square.
Bleak, that’s a given. No sun for / days. The spring doesn’t arrive / soon enough.
It’s warm. Always / warm with some war starting up, more / children to raise.
by Suzi Banks BaumTake a deeper breath, / the kind that quiets your belly / when you stand on the cliff’s edge of a new now.
Dangerous / to let the sharks of worry swim away / after dismissing them into the open ocean
Manless I dance; my shadow follows me. / I can shift its weight, whirl with indifference.
Before I toast you with Here’s / to the Buddhist who never judges, / I’ll tell a joke about a black marble / statue of Lenin everybody thinks / is you.
by Kelly KonyaWhen he speaks of mindfulness and writes it off— / prayer is better suited but for what?— / I can tell he believes it, fathoms it clearly.
We discovered the joy of Roy White’s poetry at our sister magazine, The Lascaux Review, where his piece “Improv” snatched the air from our lungs.