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.




Monday, July 29, 2019

He travels with half, a poem by Laurel Smith


He travels with half

his mother’s ashes across the sea,
to the other place she lived away

from him, her East-West selves
grounded in a storied geography:

Here is the river I knew as a girl—
That’s the town where I met him—

her voice a swirl of distant sounds
he knows he will forget. He thinks

dust to dust” a poor cliché, the grains
he now carries more like seeds to be

planted: which one would open in July
with a bloom the size of her fist,

which would grow straight then bend
as if to lift a child who looks like him?

—by Laurel Smith



Bio: Laurel Smith lives in Vincennes, Indiana, and happily participates in projects to promote literacy and the arts. Her poetry has appeared in various periodicals, including Natural Bridge, New Millennium Writings, Tipton Poetry Review, Flying Island, English Journal, JAMA: Journal of the AMA; also in the following anthologies: And Know This Place, Visiting Frost, and Mapping the Muse

Monday, July 22, 2019

Listen to Your Loved Ones Crackle!, a poem by Tim Heerdink


Listen to Your Loved Ones Crackle!
by Tim Heerdink


Oh, what a time we live and die!
Just last morn,
a flash of an article brought strange news
never to be forgotten
as such other atrocities go in history.

Don’t know what to do with your remains?
No need to worry!
Rest forever within the groovy space of vinyl.
For the record,
the sound quality may be horrific,
but that’s all part of the fun.
A teaspoon here,
another touch there,
and now
you’re gold!
What words or music could be important
enough for my ashes to play?
Generations to come will either store the disc
in a basement or attic,
where surely ruin shall follow,
or give it a spin
and complain that an mp3
simply
would be
much better.


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, July 15, 2019

Redwing Swamp, a poem by Paul Richard


Redwing Swamp
by Paul Richard


ferns, fronds, frogs, pollywogs
dew fog,
mist blanket,

snakes just out,
sun’s stove turns up
spring peepers peep

buds awake,
sap ascends,
fledging feathers test flight.

These are all my pets.



From Paul Richard:I've recently had poems published in the Writer's Newsletter in Great Britain. I live in Indianapolis and frequently take poetry classes at the Indiana Writers Center as well as participate in writing and arts seminars. I am a former museum curator and administrator. In my retirement I am a beekeeper and avid gardener and volunteer on behalf of veterans.”




Monday, July 8, 2019

She Loves How Her, a poem by Dan Carpenter


She Loves How Her

mind works
how her attention swoops and swims
through all that lives
how she bares all its secrets
along with all of hers
the way she summons language to this service
uncannily as Snow White
leaving the dusting and bedmaking
to the birds and squirrels

—by Dan Carpenter


Bio: Dan Carpenter is an Indianapolis freelance journalist, poet, fiction writer and blogger. He has published poems in Flying Island, Poetry East, Illuminations, Pearl and other journals, along with two books of poems, The Art He’d Sell for Love (Cherry Grove, 2015) and More Than I Could See (Restoration Press, 2009).