Monday, April 25, 2016

Blue of the Blue, a poem by Terry Ofner

Blue of the Blue
by Terry Ofner
Sky between branches
of blooming Nanking cherry—
After thirty-five years,

the youth in my chest
loses custody of the eyes.
The blue

of the blue dress
she wore on the day
we met.

Bio: Terry Ofner grew up in Iowa not far from the Mississippi River. He holds degrees from the University of Iowa, where he attended the undergraduate Iowa Writer's Workshop in poetry. He is currently an editor for an educational publishing company. He has published poems in World Order, 100 Words, Eclectica, and Right Hand Pointing. His poem "Mama Carving" won first place in the Interboard Poetry Community Contest, January 2015 (Ned Balbo, judge). He is drawn to themes of nature and family and is working on his first collection of poems.


Monday, April 18, 2016

Brazen Bull, a poem by C. Schneider

Brazen Bull
by C. Schneider

There are many times when my eyes go empty
And I’ll find myself in the woods of Bosnia
Ducking through the ancient trunks
As the snaps of bullets clap past my ears
I remember the splinters most vividly
The sight of the bark as it split and shattered
The sound of screams and eerie quiet between
The smell of ash, the taste of iron, and the sight
Of sanguine ink rolling over green leaves.

Heralded the hero upon my return
A statue raised in my honor
A bronze likeness, my own brazen bull.
Some nights I wish I’d never left
To have my body burned reduced to dust
No soul escapes war pure and pristine.
We carry with us the soot of that horrid fight.

I am left to my one recurring dream
Standing in the forest of falling ashes
I ask the dead if honor matters
The silence is their answer.


Bio: C. Schneider is a recent graduate from Indiana University holding a bachelor’s degree in psychology. He plans to obtain a master’s degree in psychiatry. 

Monday, April 11, 2016

Bloodbath, a poem by Jay S Zimmerman

Bloodbath
by Jay S Zimmerman

in shade-drawn darkness
you feel your way
the walls smooth, cool

             remembering Sunday mornings
             sitting on the front porch
             chest naked
             she wearing nearly nothing
             watching sunrises
             the color of bellinis

you feel the
oak banisters oiled and
shaped by hands
of ancient Mariners

                    memories of red moon nights
                    sails splitting the shroud of night
                    waves washed the bow
                    to sounds of laughter

now they curve round the ache
of a heart
split into pieces of glass
lying in blood-red splinters

with each agonizing step
you pursue your lover
in betrayals bed
behind the closed door

her moaning mesmerizing
you are stilled
a viper, fangs dripping poison
in silence you slither
violently striking
sheets billowing with
blood and naked limbs

              then only quiet
              your own haunting screams
              washed in blood
              your tears now the chains
              of a dead end



Bio: Jay S Zimmerman came to poetry from his life as a visual artist, composing poems to go with his art, finding as much joy in painting with words as with other visual tools. He has recently been published in Three Line Poetry, I am not a silent poet, and Flying Island. He was born in the concrete caverns of New York, amid the trolley bells and sounds of subways, travelled south to Miami Beach and thrived in the warm sands and salt air dancing to the musical rhythms of Klesmer, Cha Cha and Bossa Nova, finally venturing to the dark soil, flat farmlands and rolling hills of the Midwest where his roots have grown and been nourished for over 40 years. He is an artist, photographer, psychologist, social justice advocate.

Monday, April 4, 2016

Anchored, a poem by Dale Patterson

Anchored
by Dale Patterson


Reeds porcupine
the back of grey sky.
Rain dimples the lake.

Minnows are lovers
tucked into drifts
of settling silt.

A pickerel suspends
like a U-boat an inch
from the surface
flexes its gills,
opens a mouth
of pin needle teeth.

Father says
persevere
and curses the bites
of a thousand
mosquitoes.

Jing Ting,
his frog colored lure
again and again.


Bio: Dale Patterson is a visual artist and poet living in Indiana. His work has been published in many online and print journals; the most recent appearing in: Pilgrimage, The Tower Journal, The Museum of Americana, The Lake, Short Fast and Deadly and Midwestern Gothic. A more complete listing of Dale’s work can be seen on his website at http://dalepattersonart.com/