Two Poems by Maureen Kingston

The Redline(r)

 

My lyric's

trolley tracks

transect,

smile,

needle

in subversive

cross-stitch,

hop the

segregated

sampler’s

electric fence,

to link,

to outthink

the gated

‘hoods

of poetry.

 

 

 

The Un-Found Poems

 

Duotrope’s® 0.00% : zero calorie journals living on air : with no

acceptances : do they really exist? : I mean : beyond the head

of a status pin : beyond family and friends? : why of course they

do : you say : but how can we know for sure? : the Pushcart®

tells us so : (winners not nominees)

 

 

 

Maureen Kingston’s poems are forthcoming in Gargoyle, Melancholy Hyperbole, and So to Speak.

 

A Poem by James Mirarchi

ZOOM

 

Move cursor over nose, mole, waistline,

stray grey hair, camel toe

CLICK

Make bigger

until they become familiar allies

Soothing strands

to weave with

into collective patch

Fall in love with pixels

Magnification joins us

Bigger is OBVIOUSLY better

Pull back

into romantic distance

A medium shot

Feel the bonds loosen

 

Get closer again

Print out x-rays

Infrared exposes us in inky shadows

Husks filled with floating dinosaur DNA

A few have pristine diamonds inside

 

Only frame rare x-rays

Hang them in abode

Bravely heed them about once a year

 

 

 

James Mirarchi grew up in Queens, New York. In addition to his poetry collections, Venison and Dervish, he has written and directed short films, which have played at festivals. His poems have appeared in Crack the Spine Literary Magazine, Poydras Review, gobbet, Boyslut, Bluepepper, Orion headless, The Mind[less] Muse, Dead Snakes, egg, The Recusant, Subliminal Interiors Magazine, Bad Robot Poetry, and Clockwise Cat.

A Poem by Bill Jansen

Front Page

At the Bon Jour Cafe
a front page athlete
splashes into the Oregonian.
Plaster dust on my bagel
from a cupid shaped hole
in the ceiling.

The cafe is on 3rd Avenue.
A empty paper bag
floats across traffic like a single mom.

I ask the waitress for a new bagel.
Or a Lifeguard's whistle.

Then a bronze wet hand
rises out of page one
and steals the salt.

Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  Recent work as appeared or will soon appear in Gap Toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.

Three Poems by John Pursch

Bardo

 

Drifting in pungent augury, 

clairvoyant waders eschew 

wombs of crescent greed, 

smooching till daylight gasps. 

 

High winds gust in coed gridlock,

hovering off to text peer scenery.

 

Urgency rescinds a flickering 

film of grainy features, 

mixing dawn with 

universal thighs. 

 

Who the Moon Is

It was so easy to finally die. The kettle had reached a quiet boil, the empty mug sat ready to be filled, the dimly lit kitchen peacefully receptive. The motive of Socrates had made itself abundantly clear only days before, in the flash of insight reserved for local hound dogs, foreign dignitaries, and the lithesome nubility of our seemingly arbitrary yet eminently rational preferences. Indeed, when the time came, the cup overflowed and steamed silently; the next in line woke easily and at peace, trudged off to the bathroom, lit the spare chamber in futile search for the unremembered, and returned in gratitude to splendid darkness. In the end the tea was hot, the overflow saturated a waiting towel, and something unobtrusive and omnipresent hummed on as the ink ran out, night fading ever so gently into the setting of the moon.

Cyclic Cellophane

Rags evolve, debaters fold, and swallows indemnify trepidation’s thermogenic martyrdom, colluding with equestrian jugglers in cathartic seasonal exploits. Feudal channels shunt hammerhead contraptions down mucilaginous pie lawns, schlepping doubtful carrion for orthopedists in jaundiced jai alai surge. Babies tee up origami pines, shirking polyester brawls, secreted at rawhide terminals. Goofballs emote in tensile oscillations of hallowed cilia beneath anachronistic drumstick cliques of doting operatic somnambulance, reading awkward stencils from boardroom stirrups. Orthodoxy camps in oar-lined mortuaries, winding anterior pleasure in towel clerk simpering, morphed to secluded shin depth. Shelled hooves break interred mumbling fossils, wispy bottles saturating warmly sallow pants, plucked through airless phyla. Forensic sheepskin nestles in elevated truck twangs, sealing sumptuous hues of cyclic cellophane in hiatus glue. Thawed offenders presage interior locust wheels, rubbed to lullaby infringement, leaning every watched whirl to pendular domicile subtraction pith. Moistened archers spark in tightly lectured stony hose retrieval putty, shearing tough loci for slackened cherubic walnuts. Overlooking the septic pallor of everyday greed, scalding itself repeatedly in showers of terminal flesh, polluted desire flops headlong from bridal canal to birthright’s flatulent incipience, swaddled in terrifying broth, gaping at the passing eye’s libidinous wink. Cougars shame peach trees with herd relief, park subsonic testimony in aisles of slanted fusion, and fizz within cephalic sanctuaries. Enhancements scroll by silently, flaunting obsequious extremities in cross-legged poodle sanctions, imbuing sloughed-off gubernatorial chandeliers with frottage. Plumes age till croutons pass customary goggles, inspecting levitation syndicates for soupy spanners, leaving nautical phonemes in charnel disarray. Barely flavored awareness clouds the steepest incendiary treadmills, shoving countless shuffling feeders into gargled waistline landfill, back to trusty blackened sinkhole determinism’s ruddy yelp, slashing down hillside demon rants of tulip flaunt and roaring iron bluster, testified in brooding thrusts of threadbare ideation. Extraction vows elucidate heedlessly sportive ellipses, doting on clover potables, segued into fine sand. A flair for comical inanity erodes to dusky penance, truthful discord, rancor unseen since dashed penumbrae embraced the lunar motifs of centuries spent in turgid shackles of unicellular ululation. Grazing coattail skew from cauterized duodenal emblems of nationwide distraction, there chimes a tomb of headwaiter virulence, flattened to the cry of flung fedoras and wartime somnambulance, grimacing to say “Cheese.”

 

 

 

 

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. Nominated for Best of the Net in 2012, his work has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

A Poem by John Pursch

Pistachio Operands

 

Punch cards saunter to the neutered tune 

of tenacious anthill soap dish trauma, 

streaming scorned pejoratives 

beneath feisty cube steak siege. 

 

Darkrooms reload, threatening 

entombed Choctaw cruft with traitor fluid, 

itching seepage for artless biplane scuffles. 

 

Swing shift depilatories staple hammocks 

to masticating shanty dwellers before 

chiral onset instigates crepuscular lung landfill. 

Heat almost shames a nearby connubial silo 

to sled down awning feathers, putting up with 

bogus stint mutation chews in steady offal’s 

scintilla of asymptotic nods.

 

Boarding the sweaty seminarians, 

a distant birch tree barks at striplings, 

trending to bubbling serrations 

of equestrian cork. 

 

Bumblebees beget ethereal favoritism, 

deputizing the Queeg of Phalanx in situ, 

flooding keyed thespians 

with cue ball cuneiform.

 

 

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has appeared in many literary journals and was recently nominated for the Sundress Best of the Net 2012 Anthology. His first book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

A Poem by Les Merton

convergence

 

headstones

crosses                    epitaphs

dates                          names

broken urns

praying hands

abandonment

rushes - ferns - brambles – gorse – leaves – nettles

lichen - butterflies – winged angels - snails - weeds

passed over

 generations

 

rest in peace

 

in-a-grave-above-a

soak-away-of-bones

 

 

 

Inspired by Jackson Pollock’s Convergence

 

 

 

Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

A Poem by Les Merton

O.K.

if you can accept   the treble space

as

            a line break

and the lowercase i 

                        as someone emphasising

                                                this is me

[u cud b red ee 4 unconventional txt]

                                                and understand

UPPERCASE LETTERS in a sentence that

            SCREAM TO THE POINT OF DISTRACTION

And be quoted as thinking ART is a ----

---- diverse range of human activities

            !!!! stop right now !!!!

concentrate I’ll be asking

            ????????????

for $$$$$ * ££££ prizes

O.K.

 

 

Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

A Poem by Bill Jansen

Damnit, Roy

Would welding sparks hit the city
like tourists from the sun,
if not for Roy?

The city
a thought-pattern
of get-real blondes
dream drones
piss
in handbags
concealed
spin
abortions
balanced news
food carts
bike psychopaths
savvy suicides
radar glossy
Susan the weather girl:

Pole-dance tonight-
cloudy this morning.
Mammoth tusked Indians
quiet
as cigarette smoke
in dusty lobbies
playing backgammon
on a Turkish rug.

Lottery tickets
like cufflinks
on a stray dachshund
with 3 pieces
of photo ID.

Overpass noise
the thrill
rolling joints
on a diaper changing station
at your Mary's Dance & Dine
Broadway and Ankeny
girls girls girls
Visa Visa Visa
like soft wood rotating
on a lathe of Chuck Berry.

On the marquee:

A Pioneer of the Industry
We miss you Roy.

Yes, we miss you Roy
and no absolution
dispensed
by rainbows on skateboards
with fractured wrists
can replace you,
though the mayor is a Samurai
with bee stung lips.



Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  Recent works has appeared in Gap-Toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.

A Poem by John Pursch

Humpback Flash Gun

How far from heart-shaped taxis 

in uptown district squalor breath 

do grappling hugs smile in tonal 

happenstance construction, 

gone to flavored eczema 

in shingled reliance? 

 

Frozen to benefit hearings, 

cannonade umbrella chance pelts 

illusory myopic ethical pralines 

with dosage aspect infusion, 

ejecting blunt tracheas from 

mirrored forensic eyelet screws. 

 

Off to starlit monochrome ingredient birth, 

weaving engendered jelly roll plies, 

cantering poppies grow fairly well 

beneath the surfeit’s cooly enacted 

roaming fetters. 

 

Newbie janitorial stasis sinks 

ageless instruction pod brew, 

devolved to skinned chalk stirrups 

and prescient tonsils 

for graveyard dice cups. 

 

Used tarpaulins capture 

squid reagent lice in training burdens, 

smelting axial toxins for tundra hunters 

on ballpark delicacy parole, 

speaking terminal basis bowling tips 

to ashen hemp arrestor gents. 

 

She found a lasting long-legged laziness 

in futuristic waveform eyes 

and melted into loneliness with 

humpback flash gun syncopation alarms, 

replaced by temporal street closet doubt. 

 

 

 

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry and fiction has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

A Poem by Darren C. Demaree

Adoration #4

for Cynthia at Beechwold Diner

If you sing, change
octaves with kids
dancing, booth-bound

& with bacon
in their hands, you
are glistening,

a separate
woman, joining
our frame, our shine.



Darren C. Demaree is living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.  He is the author of "As We Refer to Our Bodies (September 29, 2013) and Not For Art Nor Prayer (2014), both are forthcoming from 8th House Publishing.  He is the recipient of two Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination.

 

A Poem by Sarah Thursday

Ramble

I do not have it
it did not come today
      

all my thoughts

are disconnected

how loud my cat is purring

I didn't sleep well

I had a crappy day

I miss all my friends

for a hundred different reasons

how unclear my future is

how teaching can be exhausting

I have too much love inside
but I won't give it away easy

there are too many tightropes

of going too far

of not going far enough

how I know what I need to do
but can't for the life of me
be the one who does it

I'm always questioning

my honesty

when I should fight
when I should let it all go

I can't stop biting my nails

I can't find a home
in someone else's heart

we are all compartmentalized

like a bento box

all on the same plate

but always on separate sides

I pulled all my anchors
or cut them or dragged them
either way I'm drifting

even though I own my house

and I have a steady job

I'm so damn independent
I want some more dependence

or a place to rest my head

and hear a heartbeat

that knows what I know

that will anchor me

and I can be home

 

 

 

 

Sarah Thursday was mostly raised in Long Beach, California.  She teaches 4th and 5th grade, is obsessed with music, and has only recently dove into poetry again. She has forthcoming or has been published in Stylus Magazine, The Long Beach Union (CSULB), The Atticus Review, Eunoia Review, East Jasmine Review, Yonic South, poeticdiversity, and a project called Please Judge: Short Stories Based on the Songs of Roky Erickson. She has also made five chapbooks over the years. Recently, she has become the editor of Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets, almost by accident, but completely on purpose.

Two Poems by Les Merton

small press poetry library

(acrostic)

 

Rusty staples, yellowing pages,

Inspired words live on

Poetry from passed-over names

 

 

 

A Positive Word Sadly Neglected In Poetry

 

Yes

 

Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.

 

Three Poems by Les Merton

END

 

We are right up against it

There is nothing we can do

 

War has been declared

The war to end all wars

is being over quoted

by the media and informed individuals

 

A conglomerate of planetary missiles

is set to be launched towards us

if the people of Earth

don’t agree to evacuate

their beloved planet

 

Where can 7000,300000 people

of various nationalities, colours and races go

 

Yes a few - an elite few - will probably

be sent to various planetary outposts

some could even live on space stations

 

But, the majority

would have to stay put and just wait

 

There will be defences

The Powers That Be

have all missiles primed and ready

 

The end time

as been forecasted by many

over the centuries

 

Now it is a reality

 

Rather than wait for the destruction

The Powers That Be

have issued pills

 

the container they come in

is neatly labelled with the instruction

take three pills one of each colour

at hourly intervals

in the prescribed order

 

Take the Red Pill first

this ensures a feeling of well being

 

Next take the Blue Pill

it’s sole purpose is to create a desire

for another pill

 

Which will be

the only pill left which is the Black Pill

 

It is very doubtful that before anyone takes the Black Pill

 they will bother read the small print

which simply reads

 END

 

 

 

morning observation

 

abandoned coat hangers

            create sculpture

                                    balanced

on an art

            graffiti riverbank bench

                        a leaping salmon

catches the light

            and the moment

BRICKS IN THE WALL

 

                                    meditation

yoga                         love                         ahimsa             harmony

              bricks      in the wall

                                                  for world peace

            nonviolence             freedom             truth

spirituality                         pacifism             diplomacy

            understanding            co-operation

Les Merton is Cornish and proud of it. He lives in an historic heart of the tin mining area and he has become a prolific writer with 20 books to his credit, (many of which are available from Amazon and other online retailers.) Les has been published in magazines around the world and he is the founder editor of Poetry Cornwall which started in 2002.  In recent times his first play, The Last Cornishman, was performed and he appeared on ITV's That Sunday Night Show.

 

 

A Poem by Mike Cluff

Alabaster
berries
cause
devilfish
extreme
fomenting,
guarded
hopes
in
July
keeping
lobsters
moving
nearer
olives,
producing
queasy
reactions
scuttling
towards
underevloved
victims
wanting
xeon
yardmarkers
zeniths.

Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

Announcing Kind of a Hurricane Press's First Annual Poetry Contest!

SUBMISSIONS FOR THE 2013 KIND OF A HURRICANE PRESS EDITOR'S CHOICE POETRY AWARD ARE NOW OPEN!

First Place Winner gets $200 (US)  Payable via PayPal

for more details check out the Kind of a Hurricane Press Editor's Choice Poetry Award Site:

http://editorschoiceaward.blogspot.com/

A Poem by Perry L. Powell

Our Collections

 

We started our collections with the

impasse and set our endowment in

sour satin.  We mounted the byte chariot into

moonlight and let the dead worm fatten.

 

We praised the lump in the bend of the

neck and tied a corset round the coral

jury.  We let the panorama fall strangely

silent and the square vent its fury.

 

When the syllable magnetized the encoded

caravan, not a gap refracted its darkening

value.  But the pedestal equipped in taller

increments as all the panpipes went askew.

 

While the tropical family stood nonplussed in

rain, not a dining frog withdrew a quiet

slap.  As the overflow and metric

garment dropped to a rambunctious lap. 

 

 

 

Perry L. Powell is a systems analyst who lives and writes in College Park, Georgia. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in A Handful of Stones, A Hundred Gourds, Decades Review, Haiku Presence, Indigo Rising, Lucid Rhythms, miller’s pond, Mobius The Journal of Social Change, Poetry Pacific, Prune Juice, Quantum Poetry Magazine, Ribbons, small stones, The Camel Saloon, The Credo, The Foliate Oak, The Heron's Nest, The Innisfree Poetry Journal, The Lyric, and Turtle Island Quarterly.

 

A Poem by Marianne Szlyk

Catalogue Poem (Anthropologie, May 2012)

Convivial Midi
Between Lines Maxi
Mythography Mini
Sunny Repose (black)

Paradox Dress
(gray and white polyester, $210)

Leaps and Bounds Cardigan, Dark Grey

Sanguine Slingback Heels
Orange
A single bud adorns Sacha London’s
sky-high peep-toe shoes
with great aplomb.

Blue
Abundance
Necklace

Beaded
Day
lily
Clip

Ch
eck
out

 

 

 

Marianne Szlyk is an associate professor at Montgomery College Rockville and an associate editor of the Potomac Review.  Several poems of hers have appeared in Jellyfish Whispers.  Other poems of hers have appeared in Of Sun and Sand and Blue Hour Anthology Volume Two.

Two Poems by John Pursch

Lopped Itches

Aftosa fuses onto postal tongues

in grazed luddite metronomes, 

proffering worm ornery down 

urgent alley mosquito hires, 

cruft hinging oafs to sticky 

crow quips, furled incisively.

 

“Cram estimable fester sheiks 

what felt editorial shape knacks, 

swarthy love astute unfounded milt aware,” 

Penelope grain hoof et tweeze tine bagel 

imitation sawdust comportment squabble.

 

“Yeast, hit’s whiling bullish 

spouts of raisin droop, 

licking floors of oars 

in sunken sequins, 

thwacking bauble tour phlegm!” 

Bunky chastely rasps, knotty 

Venn timing migraine dams 

when enemy hens connive 

toucan a vernal situation 

pomade for three, frowsy 

inter alia waddling, 

emitting lopped itches.

 

 

 

 

Aching Aloud

Heed the titrated otter’s watery tribunal eyes before hive mentality erases the alligators from alluvial mentions of gumption and latitudinal anguish, pressed to varicose booties for playtime deities on nameless skeet coroner sheets of grassy carousels, driven to dribbling by hoarse beatitudes. 

 

Splotches crocheted by gaudy iguanas in seething behest establish additional plumber humps from falling trouser commissary heaters, swearing haughty cisterns of huffy efflorescent teapot feet, scorching tabled integument with surreptitiously placated camshaft bricks, eating audibly. 

 

Proxies intimidate cloaked events from aching aloud, shaving blurred cemeteries at drowning pole slides, kindling idiomatic synchrony for ossified seduction’s glacine semester bonk. 

 

Creaming stoned toenails with femoral lipstick gaggles, punchy slugs elaborate on dappled lancer steeplechase gloom, exposing polio olio in prawn retinue beach laments, soothing musty overboard tire irons before inducted tactile tallies can limp to brunch. 

 

Moody blarings repeal salary haddock in pendant billows below orchestral gymnastic sleet, healing causal shamrocks on eiderdown elastic pleasure suits, munched and rosy. 

 

 

 

 

 

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry and fiction has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

A Poem by Mike Cluff

Border Crossings

Cakewalking across the Ohio
dividing safe from death
every winter storm gets worse
fragments of nature's anger
grinding and pushing down the
hope that bubbles up
in any immigrant's soul
justice for none of color
kelp would never survive this far north
lynchings do
many, too many times over.

Nips, neverstopping, of arctic cold
overwhelm those who are weak
putting them under bloody ice floes
quickly, without qualms
remorse is a quality some people
seldom display to those who are not
their own
unless utility is rationalized via
viscious impluses burbling up
without compassion with
xylophones producing cacaphonies
yammering  "repression, drawing and quartering, tar and feathering" upward to the
zenith of haughty, horrible hate
always growing, mutating
beatitudes of the master's, master race's religions.

Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

Two Poems by Christina Murphy

Summer Reflections

 

A particular boardwalk painted blue

challenges the sky for supremacy

 

afternoon suns heat the sands

and carry the sounds of children

 

splashing in the water

as small waves break

 

over a tan shore mottled

with bits of sea shells.

 

Time here hangs devoid

of impact or purpose

 

sunbathers are statues

in a gallery of sea life

 

there is no need to remember

and much desire to escape

 

the life that is marked by

mundane tasks and full necessities

 

the sun will keep all secrets

and only whisper to the stars

 

that nothing escapes the ordinary

orbits of space and time

 

not the heart, not the mind,

not even the sun, the sea, or the planets

 

held steady in the embrace of the universe

and the tempestuous calls of the infinite

 

 

 

 

floating rooms

 

floating rooms of clouds

work of the snows; 

light slowly muted  

a flock of spirits

adrift

in a blizzard of darkness 

indistinguishable from prophecy

 

 

 

 

Christina Murphy’s poems have appeared in a range of journals and anthologies, including, most recently, Cease, Cows, Chicago Literati, and Dr. Hurley's Snake-Oil Cure.

 

 

A Poem by Mike Cluff

Alpha Order

Jokes caused panic
killing the nectarines and
lilies lying between
Millicent and Nestor
neutered by his lack
of advancement,
progress towards their
quotient of castigation.

Radishes growth in lieu of the ratcheted
stench of atrophy
true and being tried
unendingly betwixt Omar and Pauline,
vases are then visited by vultures
waiting and wanting their liquid
xenophobic
yearly revitalized by decaying
zebras, broken, unstrung zithers and
asters fetid in
backyards covered with clover and
dandelions.

Evangaline become both Millicent and Pauline's new names
future lives to be admonished
slyly under the edict used at
hallucinations and hootenannies
indeed by ill-timed gestures,
jesters and jokesters.

Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.

An Experimental Haiku String by Kelley White

Morris’s Magnetic

Literary StuffonMyCat

Haiku

            --for his beloved Feather

 

 

sleep smooth moment

 

she is chocolate

I lick her languid beauty

in love’s drunk rhythm

 

sordid worship

 

singing tongue music

I lathered her skin moaning

lie together love

 

 

Stradivarius

forest moon symphony

 

shadow spring vision

please whisper sweet cool nevers

luscious goddess fluff

 

 

 

Pediatrician Kelley White worked in inner-city Philadelphia and now works in rural New Hampshire. Her poems have appeared in journals including Exquisite Corpse, Rattle and JAMA.  Her most recent books are TOXIC ENVIRONMENT (Boston Poet Press) and TWO BIRDS IN FLAME (Beech River Books.) She received a 2008 PCA grant.