Poetry Archive

We All Must Leave from Time to Time

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Jacob Griffin Hall was born in Atlanta, Georgia. He studied English and Psychology at the University of Georgia and currently lives in Bowling Green, Ohio, where he is pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing.

ANTHONY, CLASS OF ’92, ON A SUNDAY MORNING

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Ronald Lawrence Dzerigian resides in small farming community just outside Fresno, California, with his wife and two daughters. He received the C.G. Hanzlicek Fellowship while working on his MFA at California State University Fresno and has been a two-time recipient of the Academy of American Poets’ Ernesto Trejo Memorial Prize in 2014/15.

Brothers Walk the Old Farm in a Dream

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Ronald Lawrence Dzerigian resides in small farming community just outside Fresno, California, with his wife and two daughters. He received the C.G. Hanzlicek Fellowship while working on his MFA at California State University Fresno and has been a two-time recipient of the Academy of American Poets’ Ernesto Trejo Memorial Prize in 2014/15.

 

“Uruk”

uruk part 1 uruk part 2

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Theodore Zachary Cotler’s most recent books are Supplice and Ghost at the Loom. His awards include the Colorado Prize and the Ruth Lilly Fellowship. He’s a founding editor of The Winter Anthology at www.winteranthology.com. Cotler will direct Shipwreck on a Hillside, a feature-length drama about contemporary poets, later this year.

“duties of a woman”

dutiesofawoman

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Kara Kai Wang is a second year poetry candidate at University of Oregon.

“[it’s rocks you’re after and you rake]”

[it'srockyou'reafter]

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Tim McLafferty lives in NYC and works as a drummer. His poems have appeared in Barrow Street, Painted Bride Quarterly, Pearl, Portland Review and elsewhere. He is the poetry editor at Forge Journal. timmclafferty.com

“West 46th Between 9 and 10”

west46th

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Kenzie Allen is a Zell Postgraduate Fellow at the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at the University of Michigan, and is a descendant of the Oneida Tribe of Indians of Wisconsin. Her work has appeared in Sonora Review, The Iowa Review, Drunken Boat, Apogee, SOFTBLOW, The Puritan, and elsewhere, and she is the Managing Editor of the Anthropoid collective. She was born in West Texas.

“The Break-up of the Western States”

I.

A drop of rain reminds me

The world was once an ocean

A blue blanket folded around us

The crests of wool were waves

We were close, and warm

Panthalassa kept us afloat

Until the great ocean dried

We circled the whirlpool on rafts

Made from dinosaur bones

Washed up on the banks of the river

Fell asleep while the stars moved

To a different corner of the sky

 

II.

When you left my heart dried too

It sprouted twigs and a squirrel’s tail

I put it on a hat, and set out to explore

The American West in a canoe

You hired a guide for me

Half Shoshone, half redwood

You knew we would fall in love

You just wanted me happy

His skin was soft bark

His eye bled sideways tears

Of dew, the leaves caught them

In the middle of the night

While the animals were asleep

I called him Cinnamon

His sister was Almendra

She was half Spanish, half shooting star

 

III.

When it rained again it became a flood

We gathered together

Underwater in a net

Cinnamon pushed his roots into the mud

Almendra lifted her shining hair into the sky

Pull your heart apart and feed it to the fish

They spoke through bubbles in the stream

You will melt into the water and be no more

But the fish will grow legs and walk on land

Their arms will become branches

This land will go on

Your river will spread fingers

Multiply, divide

Run to the sea

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James Joseph Brown’s writing has appeared in Desert Companion, Santa Fe Literary Review, Hot Metal Bridge, Connotation Press, Red Rock Review, Canyon Voices, The Whistling Fire and other journals and anthologies.  He holds an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Nevada, Las Vegas.  Visit him at www.jamesjosephbrown.com.

“taraxacum officinale”

when you blow on the bulb,

the false dandelion is a wonder

—the white seeds, the teeth,

don’t budge from the flower

 

head. cat’s ear. hawkbits. or beards.

the wish you think you want runs

with milky sap through the stem

down your hand, past your wrist,

 

into your long shirtsleeve.

it’s a faulty premise, like mistletoe.

never have i once, beneath its green

mystery, the cinnamon, cloves,

 

and orange bursts skipping

through the air, the evergreen

holly and oxblood berries above

the boughed jamb, been kissed.

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Janea Wilson is a first-year MFA poetry student at CSU Long Beach. Her poetry & fiction has appeared in Mused Magazine, Myriad Magazine, American Mustard Magazine, & elsewhere. She is founder & editor-in-chief of lipstickparty mag, an online creative writing & general interest zine.

“Inflorescence”

-for Patrick Parnell, d. 2011

 

Speaking of hemispheres, in his they found

a hidden notch in the inoperable spot under hair,

 

skin, and scalp, the folds and fluid of grey matters,

in the deep, “a spurious malignant neoplasm.”

 

Ten months of furious burns to a locus above

the left ear, he became bold in baldness: half-man/half-dust.

 

Conversations are events beginning with a slow, joyous slurring

and smiling resolve, his calm clasping of the hand

 

with his glove-like paw, where notes and sonorities rake and shake

the frets, sustains and flourishings, exuberant renditions

 

of “Little Wing” to a fast-flown double-stop. To this moment.

Where he closes his eyes in a deliberate isolated quiet,

 

a face that fades, breath that stills the motions through

open Spring windows, where the ghost eyes of an afternoon bobcat

 

slink up and down the glade. I held your hand like a son

might clench a father’s and I note how you smile,

 

how now your wife just might let you go.

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Dylan Crawford is from northern California and studied Slavic Literature and Languages at UC Berkeley. He is a writer and educator currently living in Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia, with his wife and two children.

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