Monday, August 26, 2019

Jaynie, a poem by Jared Carter


Jaynie
by Jared Carter

Under the bridge, not far away,
lived Jaynie Dean,
Who had no other place to stay
except between

Two railings stuffed with random rags
and cardboard. Sacks,
Containing clothes, and plastic bags
filled up the cracks.

Content to have a place to call
her own, she froze
One night. A trash truck came to haul
away the clothes.


Jared Carter’s most recent book is The Land Itself, from Monongahela Books in West Virginia. He lives in Indianapolis.

Monday, August 19, 2019

San Souci, a poem by Mary M. Brown


San Souci
by Mary Brown
I am a large quiet bird
I am a newly washed window
opening onto the loveliest fog

I am a comma, a saga that needs
no hero, a long movement adagio
a mime, silver faced and unphased

I am a loose, gauzy gown

I am a giver unable to begrudge
anyone anything, sweetly disabled
by the others in this roomy moment

I am petals unfolded
species unidentified

I am an elegant cursive
ink looped in coos

Slowed, I yearn only for what
I already hold, arms unburdened

I am a casket, a pocket, a cup

I am a coin unspent
content just to be saved


Mary M. Brown lives and writes in Anderson, Indiana. She taught literature and creative writing at Indiana Wesleyan University for many years. Her poetry appears on the Poetry Foundation and American Life in Poetry websites, in Plough, Third Wednesday, Quiddity, JJournal, and many other journals and magazines.


Monday, August 12, 2019

Farewell Fanfare in B Minor, a poem by Tim Heerdink


Farewell Fanfare in B Minor
by Tim Heerdink 

All the horns blow simultaneously in tune
for the ones being marched to a still moment.
Let the singers serenade with their swan songs
while the majority pray that wood can triumph over flame.
The Sun shall rise on the very last day,
waving its rays to welcome Earth and its terminal inhabitants.
Hell, the birds may decide to whistle as well in rejoice.


I’ve heard one network has an orchestral broadcast
set to play
Nearer, My God, to Thee
when the sky begins to fall.
It’s also been said that a band used the same hymn
to calm the doomed
who couldn’t escape the Titanic.
Someone must have taken note
and thought it not their time to depart.

Surely, there’ll be others running from Death
or glued to the silver screens as often is the case,
watching overpaid suits quickly lose their thought process
as pools of perspiration mixed with tears blind them from the present.

There’s no hiding from the dark angel forever.
Instead of joining in the looting and chaos,
my plan is to embrace my girls
and let the Tchaikovsky vinyl sooth us,
knowing there’s no place I’d rather be.


Tim Heerdink is the author of Red Flag and Other Poems (Bird Brain Publishing, 2018) and the short story “The Tithing of Man.” He also has poems published in Poetry Quarterly, the Fish Hook, Shared Words, Distinct Voices, The Eye of the Storyteller, and On Earth As It Is in Poetry.

























Monday, August 5, 2019

Hiroshima & Nagasaki, a poem by Hiromi Yoshida


Hiroshima & Nagasaki
by Hiromi Yoshida


The flash


The crash


The ash.


Decimation was instantaneous—skeletons etched upon asphalt,


shadows sick with radiation


vomited skyward curses—


The True Man hanging from the over-blossoming
tree of public panic unlynched.




Bio: Hiromi Yoshida teaches American Literature for the award-winning VITAL program at the Monroe County Public Library. Her poems have been published in literary magazines and journals that include Indiana Voice Journal, The Asian American Literary Review, Evergreen Review, and The Rain, Party, & Disaster Society.