No.46 • The Shapeshifting, Quick-Change Issue

Tuesday, March 6, 2012
R.Torres Pandan

Disquisition on the Various Schools of PoeticThought

Whatdo you mean schools of thought?
Ichange my mind from breakfast to bedtime,
Shiftin one direction or the other in a day,
Becomeperplexed dreaming
Ofthe forms of sparrows
Orspring that will never come,
Becomepractical or otherwise clearly rational
Asis made imperative by the next line.
Itake the objective view
Witha bit of whit for history
Andthose bamboozled by it.
Orelse, I take to my bed with a noisy confessional,
Mentioningby name my wife and children
(Asit should not be, the critics claim).
Sowhile the rest of the literary world
Getsstuck in boxes made by bores for one another,
Ican slip from one place to the other
withlittle bother.
Thus,my ars poetica depends
Onwhose elusive arse I want to please—mine, mostly.  

Rae Rival
How mywords got lost

My words were stuck in traffic
in the city that is my mind.
The red light,
halted their forward movement.
When it finally turned green,
a huge, speeding fear truck
cut my words off.
Stunned. My words were stunned.
And the minute they recovered,
hundreds of doubts rushed
on the road, clogging the path.

And so my words decided to board a train,
but a crowd of questions greeted them.
Side by side, one after another.
What ifs hanging on the handles
attached to the ceiling.
Old people and mothers
pregnant with uncertainty,
sat on the shiny seats.
Silly statements waited
for their unclear destinations.

Dazed and shaken,
my words alighted at a strange station,
to a city of unfamiliar streets
where my words lost their significance.

No.45 • Worlds Meet, Time Passes Issue

Monday, December 12, 2011

Aidan Rooney


Noon. The sun lays no shadow on theground
around the aerial footprint ofthings.

Doilies of shaded earth alignbeneath
tomato plants whose stakes can’ttell the time.

The watering can can stick its neckout
all it wants. A hose lies in a slither.

The patio trunk that took allmorning
to right itself, reins in itscanopy.

The bottle has a halo on itsshoulder.
No glint lights on the glass youhave to lift

to see the sun burn at the heart ofit.


A ripe Banon or aVache de Charlais,
right out of its chestnut leaves, can parley

the udder bouquet of milch cows or goats
into taste. About as good as it gets.

Colin James

That which Appropriates

It took up most of the kitchen
and a good portion of the hallway floor.
A queue had begun to form in the early hours
and now extended many blocks
ending at the Jordan's house under
the large oak with the cement reinforcement.
Young Sally was running the lemonade stand.
She couldn't answer the reporter's question
regarding frequency of use,
and quickly coalesced.
Her desperate adlibbing stalling for time,
"This Snack From Hell!"


The locks work well,
no thieves at all have gotten past.
Movement imagined in the begonia bush,
perhaps a possum
or a masked raccoon?
A shape too small for an acquaintance.
I have yet to build a balcony out
extending like a virtue.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

No.44 • JUNE-JULY 2011 • THE 150&50 ISSUE

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

No.43 • April-May 2011

Thursday, April 21, 2011

No.42 • March-April 2011

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Sunday, March 20, 2011
Please bear with us while we are incarnating 
into a new magazine.

(In the imminent future, this page shall serve 
as part of the poet'sPicturebook Archive.
Accordingly, we will redirect you to our new site 
if you land here.)

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