by Rachel White
Bark shed, the redgum
stands near a stone—
makeshift grave.
Radio drones: hostages
in Gaza; we voted down
The Voice. Blade of knife
in avocado seed, its shape
exacts a hole in the flesh. Continue reading
by Rachel White
Bark shed, the redgum
stands near a stone—
makeshift grave.
Radio drones: hostages
in Gaza; we voted down
The Voice. Blade of knife
in avocado seed, its shape
exacts a hole in the flesh. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Eric Paul Shaffer
_____ If a moment under the sun happened only once,
that would be one, but as I lay in the sunlight reading,
a shadow flicked over the page beneath my eyes.
I looked into the light, and through the clouds soared
_____the ‘iwa, the glorious crook-winged glider of sea
and shore, veering waveward after a long, luxurious turn Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Connor Donovan
We don’t speak of it anymore: the hilltop
bonfires holding natural light, bottlenecking
the cans & burning them green. The cathedral
clock tower above us like a jaundiced eye.
Being passed an apple packed with burnt nubs
—sucking where everyone had already sucked. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Emma Lee
(Kyiv, December 2023)
A fir tree stands in a pot outside an apartment block,
that has one wall crumpled into rubble.
Branches have been decorated with sparkly cobwebs, Continue reading
Filed under Poetry
by Arthur Ginsberg
To enter the world of the deep
is a return to the birthing pool–
a palette of colors evanescent
as cuttlefish, as you descend,
letting nitrogen seep into
your bloodstream, the crunch
of coral in the beaks of parrotfish
like a stone-grinder in your ears. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry