Category: Poems
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Announcing Our Nominations for The Pushcart Prize
Hello, Dear Chum, Thanks for stopping by! It’s good to see you. It’s been a busy year—but the year isn’t over yet! We’re roughly a month away from the release of Issue 4, a whopping triple-issue print anthology featuring the best of the year, the winner of our annual Dead Herring Prize, and a whole…
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“Lofgeornost” by Eric Fisher Stone
Beowulf’s last word means most eager for glory,though the gulf coast toad seeks anonymityand crickets juicy as mangos. Wartedlike some goblin dumpling, your soft stone sits in moss-slick ditches, your eyelidshelming black mirrors to marsh grasswhere Grendel might burble upfrom salted Texas jetties. Teach us your humility, jumping plum, rubbingbetween streams without seeking powerbeyond the…
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Best of the Net Nominations
It’s that time of year, friends! No, I don’t mean fall. I don’t mean Halloween. Certainly not Christmas! Best of the Net nominations! Unfortunately, Issue 1.3 came out a little later than expected and falls outside the window of consideration, but work featured in our first two issues were fair game! Without further ado, here…
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“November Garden” by Ronald Geigle
The poet in the November gardenseeks words that rhyme with spring. Lumps of marigold,browns of spent peony underfoot. On the poet’s tongue, rebirth.On the garden’s veil, a hint of tomorrow’s frost. The garden folds its arms inward.Wishes the poet to take his blooming hope elsewhere. Ronald Geigle is a writer and poet living in Arlington, Virginia. His work has been…
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“Why We Pray” by Will Falk
We should have known – whenpollution turned the sun purpleand even the honest horizonshazed over – that we were trappedbetween the two halves ofthe last summer solstice.“Half day, half night,part Earth, part sky”was an eerie rhymechanted by passing timeas it dragged us alongto neither cold darknor scorching light,but blank, hatefulindifferent gray.But those moments thatalways flee…
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“Generation Facilitator” by Cristine Emerson
Sterile, she rides the airheavy with ingredientsfor new generationsof cotton and serviceberry,stamens and pistilsunable to touchwithout caresses ofa third party,and drunk, finds warmpillows inside purple petals. CJ Emerson is an writer and artist who enjoys all the magic and weirdness the natural world and human experience has to offer.
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“Generational wealth” – Sarah B. Cahalan
Someone’s doing archaeology in the sand againdigging up old saltworks, a meeting house,taverns with motels on top.With little brushes, they reveal the bonesof stranded pilot whales:The stench must have hung for months,the things-that-feast-on-whales rejoicing,raccoons and gulls and clouds of flies,stockpiling fat for later. The swarms of people who’ve made claimto lands that wash awayare biomass…
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“Dear Bruce Springsteen,” by Lee Busby
Remember that time you came overand ate all of the corn and tomatoeswe had set out for dinnerbefore we could even offerit to you, and, smiling at me,one golden kernel stuck overan incisor, you said it wasn’t hardto be a rock star, but it makes youhungry all the time, and the little gardenyou keep on…
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“Ode on a Trilobite” – Paulette Guerin
Antennae curving like scythes,they once moved like excited pupswaiting for their owner to arrive.This Cambrian creaturepatrolled the darkest seas,growing up to six feet long.But this one fits in my hand.Mid-curl, forever in chase,its eyeless carbon ghost lives on.Oh, ancestor of today’s cockroach,once the height of the food chain,teach me about impermanence! Paulette Guerin lives in…
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Spotlight on “Ghost Town” by Paulette Guerin
Ghost Town Published in “Cave Region Review” “Another tie chipped into the river, hitting sky. The boys stripped their shirts, hooking them on iron spikes in the rotten wood of the train bridge. the scent of rain clung to the underside of every leaf; silkworms pillowed poison sumacs along the bank. The boy I liked…
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Announcing the Dead Herring Prize
Art—even lower-case-a art or writing—is not a surefire way to get rich. Sure, it would be nice, but for creative people, the process itself is the reward. We create art because it helps us to maintain some semblance of sanity—creating things heals us. We create because we must. But, hey, baby’s gotta eat! The editors…
the water and the gills 