Monday, December 16, 2013

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.
 

Saturday, December 14, 2013

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.

Monday, December 2, 2013

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.