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S.C. Hahn
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 S.C. Hahn observes words and seasons, turning them into elegant prose poems. Like his previous poems in PL, Hahn's new work is both taut and beautiful, juxtaposing pithy observations with ornate symbolism. |
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Estill Pollock
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 "Ex Cathedra" is a meditation on Winchester Cathedral in Hampshire England. In this exceptional poem, Pollock manages both the "antique" and the modern flawlessly. (Photograph copyright David Packman.) |
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J.P. McConalogue
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 J.P. McConalogue has written a group of poems notable for their concision and diamond-cut exactitude. Adding to his collection of poems at PL, we hope this writer goes far, and garners the attention he deserves. Included is a poem on the work of Lyubov Sirota, featured in Projected Letters. |
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Alaina Schneider
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 Pronominal Adjective: an adjective that stands for or replaces an expected noun. In her poem, Alaina Schneider evokes a life in a sense seeking description, having replaced action with yearning. The rhythms of this poem truly stand out. |
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Lyubov Sirota & Estill Pollock
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Lyubov Sirota, a victim of the Chernobyl disaster, defined the tragedy in verse. Estill Pollock's "Resurrection Suite" sets Sirota's “Chernobyl” poems in sharp relief to the historical record of the events of April 1986. A remarkable adaptation. |
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William Coldicott
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 Picture Seville, prudent with orange-groves. The sun plays like a gnossienne beneath the trees; a tormented harlequin writhing on the fine soil. The disgruntled lemon puckers. The lemon-lipped hidalgos seethe. And Juan is stealing from his lover's bed. |
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Susan Blanshard
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 Susan Blanshard is so much more than a sentimentalist — her poems extend sentiment, and turn the syllables of emotion into charged atoms. The following poems are taken from her as yet unpublished collected poems titled Evidence of Obsession. The evidence of sentiment and obsession, not simply the portrayal, but the analysis. |
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Kris T Kahn
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Love knowing nothing of gender except when the act of intercourse presents itself (whether as a problematic or as a welcomed intrusion) I feel that I can speak of this beyond the realm of this or that... |
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Oswald LeWinter
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Siringitu, the Maasai named it,
the sepia expanse of grassland,
and marshes that stretches to a blur
where sky seeps into it. The vegetation
succumbs to fires unless eaten
or frozen by night winds that scythe
its stiff red grass. |
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Antoni Szadziewski
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In a white canoe
The river takes her home
Tired and alone
With her chin on her knees
She dreams about someone,
Looks quietly around.
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John Marshall
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I stand with the trees, as they wait for the rain.
I dance with their leaves, as they breathe the wind.
Upon the sea the storms are gathering,
as life within my womb like lightning |
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William Coldicott
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Avon means river. And the ley runs straight to Trinity. Where we meander brushing each other like combs and knots both. And there wasn't a mother to chide us or a devil to ride us down the slopes. |
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William R. Stoddart
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Joey was swimming in Sulphur Creek,
mother can tell because his eyes are yellow,
and he reeks of rotten eggs. Joey protests |
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J.P. McConalogue
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From the deep stretched azure
the sky's blue sapphire skin bleeds
its manic youth of day, rising
from the noon in Moses' crying reeds |
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Kenneth Rosen
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Lilies which open half-sullen pods in the night
As if lightning bugs, the torso's involuntary
Lucent flash, and then the equally deep, abrupt
If transient absence |
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Ashok Niyogi
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He cantered along,
The man on his dromedary,
Boxed in between cars,
He lurched precariously
On 101.
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Paul D. McGlynn
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He'd been dead an hour when she came,
Ambulance waiting, no hurry now.
Her oldest boy. She cradled him,
Lifeless, nothing like asleep. One bullet.
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J. P. McConalogue
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In the black ooze of the sky,
where golden spangling stars alight,
Jupiter, alone at its zenith
inhales the wispy galactic night
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Susan Blanshard
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I will say our secret...
a stone holding its own weight
we were lovers holding each other
warm in the unfolding |
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Frank Eannarino
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We miss you, Mr. Rodgers.
You told us straight.
You were not purple Mr. Rodgers,
not an extinct species
that sang about the sun |
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Regina Derieva
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I would walk in step with time
but I limp a little. As a result
I carry out my monologue from a corner,
(from a hole if you like). |
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Martin Burke
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Poetry, an action, fleeting and formal
emotion, action, nearness to self, nearness to others, to nature —
these are the equal partners of your verse
in which brotherhood is not denied but sustained |
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Aidan Andrew Dun
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Predestination stopped her on the road,
speeding in some overcommitment,
racing impetuous down green skylines,
pushing the envelope of the just-possible.
On an S bend with reversed camber,
on a suspicious twist of black ribbon, |
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Norman Weinstein
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in Harlem a storefront restaurant pouring into a street a mélange of sweet, spicy, intensely fiery pepper, bitter scent pulls me into first, last Chinese-Cuba café, waiter hands over bi-lingual menu, half Mandarin, half Spanish, can't read either, so randomly point, & in a few minutes appears a massive dish of noodles in black bean sauce... |
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Jack Walters
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Time, tidewater near, headlong has ripened you
to this glowing fullness, clumsy in dormant love.
Nothing can take you back to remembered couches
carved for bodies’ other sinuous life in the taking only. |
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Steven Hahn
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Suddenly in the early spring evening the forsythia bush is aflame with light, a monastery with hundreds of cells.
Throughout winter's darkness, these monks had gone to bed at the close of day, each having laid down his work or study, taken off his brown robe, and gone naked into his simple bed... |
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Julie Craig
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Reaching between black and white lines,br>
I grasp the remnant of a hymn;
subtle harmonies strung
between measures of life’s lapses.
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Rich Murphy
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The erected wit with its complete set
of screws and mock I-beams and moist
whimsy fluid in its jests, sit on bookshelves
tickling their fondlers: No one fakes |
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Corey Mesler
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The page is blank like a sclera.
The heart is black
like the house.
The house is open like a sore. |
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Antoni Szadziewski
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And so, in travel,
I made my mind treasonable in every way,
In treason to say I had eloped all those years
With sail and steam-launch from Europe's heavy season,
Having no love of Government, master or servant,
Or the winter fields in their bloodless demeanour;
And what blue dawn, to slip cable without possession
But a chart-map drawn of childhood wonder |
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AnnMarie Eldon
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it was was a translucid partition
between the consciousness here
below: forfeiting all things-light
she goes back over the world
of the world of the calendar
for that year tries to work out
when she must have come back |
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William Coldicott
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Look at the place –
quadrooplegic
farms, rented goons
crow from sallow palettes –
almost the anointed bl-
ush of mouth, his 4x4 blackness
verged verged on the pristinely unkempt
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Charles Maker
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FISH me out a premise, I'll forward you a haze—
O'lay, Our Lady binds her wings before your nib:
All this (gesture) is enigmatic, You, Olson,
dataddicted and the WHOLE too esoteric
to be economic. O'lay, the will to change
as Mao, King Charlie—no matter which bird described,
as implied, is needless of date or Malachite: |
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Kenneth Rosen
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We'd recommend them to anyone—
As nice, but pricy (which is a lie)—
Took our breakfast on the Lowes'
Ephesian patio by that pool Mr. Lowe |
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Pablo Garcia Casado
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trace the pacific coast with your hand
feel the moisture on your fingertips crossing the Missouri the storms |
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Shawn Casselle
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that day in iran you weighed
a honeydew's weight when
you first took thick milk from
your dune-gold
mother... |
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Oswald LeWinter
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 The world is my subject; its inundated streets,
where rats tear flesh from corpses as they float
with garbage hauled by floodwaters through
breached levees to lakes. |
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Jorge Melícias
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 but a lung hewn to break from inside,/
the center of a breathed stone. |
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Francis Raven
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and if all you wanted
was hedges and yellow lines of roads
it would be fine in this cold house,
but, of course, you wanted |
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Bridget Rose
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you ask me how I occupy myself
in my dreams
well, if I see one I see the rest
I am not an optimist. |
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Poetry 