by Christopher Joseph
Mute orange dominates
The sky leaves become
Teardrops: Fall.
Christopher Joseph is currently interested in better understanding identity and knowledge. Art and poetry have been fanciful, indulgent, even hysterical; in other words, an almost impossible pursuit. He continues to explore intersections of words and images, partially derived from a fondness for color and aesthetics.
Filed under Poetry
by Susana H. Case
That day you accidentally locked us out
of our rental car on some road leaving
the Yucatan—Freud would have said it was
Filed under Poetry
by MK Punky
At his funeral
they say he came full circle
his life a grand improvisation
swirling past bel canto opera
to Korean hip-hop
making unscheduled stops at unmarked stations
slumming with the dregs and meeting presidents
Forrest Gumping his way to freedom
Filed under Poetry
by Loukia Borrell
When my brother was getting cancer treatment, he’d drive to his townhouse after the appointments, get sick and spend the rest of the night on his sofa, curled up and shivering. It was always the same. Get injected, drive home, get sick, curl up and shiver. On these nights, I would go to Andy’s place, just to be nearby and get him whatever he needed. He always asked for blankets, so I would pile several over him, but nothing was enough to stop his shaking.
Filed under Nonfiction
by MaryAnne Hafen
My mountains bleed into my sky
on paper, and it looks wrong,
but it’s like real life;
virgo at summer’s end.
The world is too strange
to paint as it really is, too filled
with poorly pruned trees.
Filed under Poetry
Hawaii Pacific Review 