Tagged poetry

0

Selfie of March as Infatuation by Lori Lamothe

Selfie of March as Infatuation Change, as always, arrives late to the party. The pines in the yard stand ringed around stasis, the tips of their branches dripping dirty rain onto snow’s faded carpet. Even the sky stands off in a corner ignoring the small talk of crows, its gray coat draped over its shoulders….

Jennifer Martelli
0

The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo by Jennifer Martelli

The Tao of Virgil Sollozzo   Look at my veiny hands. Look at the bare trees’ branches— we’re holding up the winter sky, giving it back its darkness. A pack of menthol cigarettes, a half empty bic lighter; cleaned out clam shell found on the beach by the stone calendar. In the movie, the doomed…

Jake Tringali
0

Hands of Chance by Jake Tringali

Hands of Chance form shadow puppets, shallow spirits hidden souls born skip across the evening piano, speeding allegro fleeting little song pour firewater liquors, for the tipplers morning’s remorse scar canvas with dark crayon, art seance exquisite corpse flick the card deck, bar bet conjure lost kings light his cigarette, fingers pirouette now his heart…

Unsplash / Rain
0

Two Poems by Rachel Peevler

Symphony Rain. An elastic halo of broken serenity hung over their helmets. Lightning and thunder symphonies roared. Little jewel notes collapsed from the gray canopy and shattered across their exposed skin like glass. They stood still and poised in the rising tempest and, turning their faces to the sky, they squinted through the rain at…

Dianne Silvestri
0

Two Poems by Dianne Silvestri

Long Winter The driveway needs no vision test— it is blind, sunk between sand-grizzled heaps of frozen snow. Vanished are roadside mailboxes once ready to shake hands. The Postal Service will temporarily deliver mail to ice chests wedged into the towering banks. In the back yard a pine bends over to vomit snow. Even nowhere…

0

Winter Rain by Kathryn Knudson

Winter Rain   A few months in, the rain     is no longer a novelty.     I don’t know what           feels more defeating     the understanding that this relentless seeping       could be winter for        as far as I can see     or the realization that this        time next year I may choose to be bundled up   a thousand miles away…

Rachael Fowler
0

Lost King by Rachael Fowler

Lost King Mint leaf —clutched by black-bruised fingers. Most crumble and crack from woodsy earth surrounding town after town. Mint does not shatter into scratchy paper pieces, but folds around my skin, clings to my fingerprints. Fuzzy, not a common green leaf quality. I’m Winter-lonesome, scouring for the maple queen of whiskey. Farewell dear king…

Ana Prundaru
0

Love Letter to Autumn by Ana Prundaru

Love Letter to Autumn         by Ana Prundaru the last rose petals in the morning mist eye the bare branches waiting to join to the crinkly coat of leaves Ana is a writer/artist who roams the globe sometimes. Her work has most recently appeared in Agave Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Toad, Rio Grande Review, SmokeLong…

Emily Frankenberg
0

Processes by Emily Frankenberg

Ceaseless is the process of fitting our September souls into a January world, the sharpened pencils of our hopes into a bag of half erasures, the virgin blankness of our planners into boxes at the door. Imperceptible is the process of the treetops turning brown, of gray horizons slowly closing in their bounds. And yet…

Amaryllis Lyle
0

Collisions in Retrograde by Amaryllis Lyle

Collisions in Retrograde by Amaryllis Lyle   There were once November afternoons When he helped me over chain-link fences or held my hot coffee for me while I smoothed my skirt and blinked into the mirror.                How many Novembers have passed                 since then?                Not many,                but I lost count. And on this particular November…

All rights revert to our authors on publication. Please don't mess with our authors or photographers. ©Apeiron Review