THE ORIGIN OF THE LIE (By Joseph Cavera) I am the Great Liar For years, my words have spread Through every ear Surrounding every thought They have taken their place Among everyday speech No one the wiser They have taken root Growing out through every Branch, stem, and leaf Through all great oaks Rosy ambers and black pines […]
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Daily Paper on the Lawn An hour before dawn the paper is out on the lawn white in the moonlight a trumpet dozing after a long night in a jazz bar tired from playing but willing to play a last set for me not knowing I read only sports and the obits two riffs in the paper anyone can believe Author Bio: Donal Mahoney lives […]
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BLACK MADONNA Altoetting, Germany Robert Trabold Dark chapel pierced by candle light. Silver – gold glittering! Stately candles on the alter add solemnity. Many yellow roses blend with gold – silver. In the middle, small dark statue – woman with a child dressed in black – gold holding a golden rose. Silence reigns in the chapel. Many people […]
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Crossing the Red Line (triptychon III) 1. On the Map On the map: The red line of the lignite opencast mine, an absurdly long compound noun for an absurd, behind the times mega project. What can be found, here and now, this side and that side of the red line? I experience it by bike. 2. That […]
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From the Alcove As I peep through my window From the alcove, A theater starts its never ending show From dawn to dusk Of street goers, Pedestrians heading towards their work, Some striding some slithering unwillingly, Now a street urchin, bare feet strolls Scavenging for a trinket or food, Women of all ages walking In the sweltering heat of summer […]
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FALL TONES (By Joseph Cavera) A young lad awakes to cold on Sunday Stirring slowly, quakes to life his way His covers like lovers unravel above Another of is brothers leaving a shove He sees the light peak through his door It glistens through the glass o’er The window that sits by Reflecting and resonating with Images of […]
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In the turn from wide to narrow streets seams in the street shudder my tires, loosed leaves flutter through the fog. Police on patrol secure the corner the five-columned church commands. Blocked by brush-wide blurs of contrails, the sun settles behind the storm. There’s a death in my house, a dearth of charity, a chastened child unwrapping his […]
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The liquor bottle in the grass the blue recycling bucket likes you but not the trouble you come with. Danny P. Barbare resides in the Southern U.S. in the Upstate of the Carolinas. He has been writing poetry on and off for 33 years. He has several books available on amazon.com: Being a Janitor and Gathered Poems.
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Small Packages – By Gil Hoy I’d like to drink up the Universe from a can of Diet Coke, bought from my ancestors’ most virtuous moments. With no deposit required–can’t be returned without your consent, a secret label on the side that reads: “only the purest, natural ingredients.” Has a pull tab that opens like a forever Christmas morning […]
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I hardly Knew You We remember a lost President, assassinated, promises unfulfilled, who dazzled the nation with youthful vigor almost unAmerican glamour, and many reminisce of what could have been, forgetting the best and brightest sent abroad in the Peace Corps, instead of working at home to cure national ills, forgetting how close he came to incinerating the world, […]
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