Our Summer 2015 Issue is now available featuring poetry by Sarah Anderson, Michael Biehl, Molly M. Caldwell, Kathleen Clancy, Philip Dacey, Mark DeCarteret, André T. Demers, Eric Forsbergh, Ceridwen Hall, Bruce Holsapple, Pippa Little, John Lorence, Mark Parsons, Ronald J. Pelias, George Repp, James Rioux, Annie Stenzel, S Stephanie, Tim Suermondt and Marc Swan. The issue features artwork from Brett Newburn, Elizabeth Ostrander and Marc Shanker, reviews by Jefferson Navicky, Kate Partridge and Julie Poitras Santos.
In Memoriam
Franz Wright
1953-2015
Poetry Excerpts from this Issue
a toast to the apocalypse
by John Lorence a toast to sunlight’s smidgen of disclosure. to the magnificent bath of dark clouds being drawn in the west end. to the
the visitation
by John Lorence hours ago, in what is not yesterday, before arriving in his moment of rage, before being too shy was underlined, before ripping
The Spy Who Came In For His Appointment
by Mark Parsons The difference between a perfectionist and a man obsessed, the difference between us, doctor.
What’s In A Name, From A Height
by Mark Parsons In the town square below community service ex–convicts with plumb hatchets, chisels and mallets chip and whittle, carving
Success Comes To A Place Too Sad To Have A Name
by Mark Parsons We started with communal living, drugs. Then got involved in real estate scams, extortion, blackmailing a restaurant owner for
On Coming to Her
by George Repp It’s not about originality as much as it is borrowing paints to generate a message that targets the reader to feel and feel
Spence Hot Spring
by Molly M. Caldwell Spence Hot Spring Jemez River, NM TripAdvisor said be careful not to swallow Janis Joplin’s pubic hairs, and mind the
A Long Drive for a Short Hike in Maine
by Molly M. Caldwell You sleep most of the way like you do most of the time. From Ellsworth to Machias I drink cold coffee from a handmade mug
Eulogy
by Molly M. Caldwell The skin on my father’s calves hangs like a translucent bag full of tiny purple lightning bolts — little blue streams,
Navy Coffee
by Eric Forsbergh Cook! Boil us a pot. Fresh. Or yesterday’s. We don’t care as long as there’s no skin of mold. Better take it bitter. Black.
Language
by Ceridwen Hall There’s an island in the middle of a lake. During summer, boats go back and forth. People bring dogs and bicycles. They circle
Travelogue
by Ceridwen Hall Travelogue Edmonton When I cannot see the earth or hear beyond the roar of the engine, nothing seems real but my cramped
Judgment
by Ronald J. Pelias My sister said on the witness stand her child was just under bad influences; she didn’t think irreparable damage had been
Spiritual Resourcefulness
by Michael Biehl Every time the world ends, he breaks out in loneliness, like chickenpox. Then the world–wheel, creaking, turns again, not
Renaissance Faire
by Michael Biehl Death watches from an upstairs window the little scene transpiring below: six semi–dangerous eighth graders, jostling a
Suburbia
by Michael Biehl God bless cookie–cutter houses, cookie–cutter poems, cookie–cutter people. Pigeons! Pizzas! Penelope gazes
Rain Barrel
by Bruce Holsapple Four wood rats drowned in a rain barrel, after recent storms not all at once — one after another repeated the same mistake
Confounded
by Bruce Holsapple Small moth folded dusty white on the Desk Encyclopedia zonked by the lamp I’d guess but who could argue that, given a
Friend Peter
by Bruce Holsapple Opened window by the sink dark wind clattering thru wood blinds — reminds me, washing dishes, of an island breeze & it is,
Responder
by Marc Swan In the kitchen by a stash of red wine, I meet Alice from Bucks County, a dentist with a story. She’s been married, widowed,
Karner Blue Butterfly
by Marc Swan It’s a small show in a grand old brick synagogue converted to artist studios — a photographer is hosting a display of eight
South Central Los Angeles, 1975
by Marc Swan There’s no gunshot or mayhem just the thought raging like wildfire inside my head. He’s an older man just released from Atascadero.
Not Going to See Jean Valentine Get Her Gold Medal Award
by Tim Suermondt To put it in poetic language: it’s raining Brahmins and sharks — and lately my spirit and my body have been working in tandem,
Naxos in April
by Tim Suermondt Gray and blue and beautiful, the night of perfect possibilities is here. The man wipes his shoes for some last minute spit and
How the Last European Film Will Go
by Tim Suermondt The charming couple will split over bad sex and incompatible philosophy — the long tracking shots and extreme close–ups
The Theater of Breakfast
by Philip Dacey Knife, banana, bowl — props for the theater our father staged each day as he gave voice to slice after slice: “I am the Emperor,
Against the Orchestra
by Philip Dacey If it’s to be a concerto for violin, let the orchestra score be transcribed for piano so that we hear two voices in dialogue with
Black and White
by Philip Dacey St. Louis. The Forties. The neighborhood poor white. (Or say white trash, given how when the flight to the suburbs happened
Triolet: At Juilliard
by Philip Dacey The female pianist’s long blonde lock of hair swings down before her face as she is playing fugal Bach. The female pianist’s long
Black
by Philip Dacey “My mother never let me wear black; now I wear black all the time.”
Egg
by Pippa Little fits in a palm or snug in an eggcup. Cool, undimpled shades of lukewarm milk, magnolia emulsion, plain and neat as clouds on an
Amber
by Pippa Little warmed from within you thin as I hold you up to light, slow as aromatic malt swirl you to my mouth so all my vowels melt, leggy
Earth Grazers
by Pippa Little Over blue woods soaked in night–juices They nose low from star fields and ice caps, move true To earth’s curve, surprised
At The General’s Graveside
by Pippa Little drops of light drown the carved letters of his name hero of war / in love, a deserter the cold weight of him seeps from her
Stuck / Torn
by Annie Stenzel Stuck / Torn All change is for the worse. — Anon. Because the rut has earned its fame for comfort, being now furnished
Cassandra talks in her sleep
by Annie Stenzel But if you’re waiting for me to Say things the way I used to say things, don’t bother. There is no demand for plangent images
Her Hero
by André T. Demers In the end, she said, he survived. Besides, she sighed, they say that love is a road and even crawling is heroic. She smiled,
New England Style, Move-In Ready
by André T. Demers The floors slope from east and west towards the center beam of the house. Four pine wedges had been hammered between the
Why I Left the Poetry Reading?
by S Stephanie Something about the clouds in the windows was upsetting, they were traveling on before I could grasp them and the poets were
Lorca’s Calling
by S Stephanie Lorca’s Calling after reading the documents on Lorca’s death finally released by Granada Police, 04/2015 I’m calling in
A Description of New England
by Mark DeCarteret A Description of New England “ . . . the paradise of those parts.” John Smith It was
Spirit Board
by Mark DeCarteret “ . . . and so we got rid of the day as well as we could.” — Nathaniel Hawthorne All that separates you from the past is this
Meeting in Galway
by Sarah Anderson 1. They agreed to meet at half seven, the pub on the corner with the bright yellow door. He told her to look for his faded red
Hunger
by Sarah Anderson You see, it was hot orange light back in the forest by the rusted water tower where he said never turn this way — flames
Shakespeare’s Mistress
by Kathleen Clancy Shakespeare! Over and over and over again he professes his love: longer than time, more solid than stone, immune to actual war
Ripe
by Kathleen Clancy At the end of a summer’s day gravity pushed me down toward the earth. I bounced once, landing on the sloping pavement. I
Mostly, You’ll Find Me
by James Rioux Mostly, You’ll Find Me for Franz Wright Forgive me this silly little riddle: of how the world keeps giving me these bruised
Black
by Philip Dacey “My mother never let me wear black; now I wear black all the time.”
Friend Peter
by Bruce Holsapple Opened window by the sink dark wind clattering thru wood blinds — reminds me, washing dishes, of an island breeze & it is,
Mostly, You’ll Find Me for Franz Wright
by James Rioux Forgive me this silly little riddle: of how the world keeps giving me these bruised sunsets pooling into night, the endless jokes
Reviews
Citizen: An American Lyric
by Claudia Rankine, Graywolf Press, 2014, 169 pages, paper, ISBN: 978-1-55597-690-3 Buy the Book It is the late 1970s. Our family has recently
Gabriel: A Poem
by Edward Hirsch, Knopf Doubleday, 2014, 96 pp, hardcover and paperback, ISBN: 978-0-385-35373-1 (hardcover) and 978-0-8041-7287-5 (paperback)
No Girls No Telephones
Brittany Cavallaro and Rebecca Hazelton, Black Lawrence Press, 2014, 28 pages, paper, $8.95, ISBN: 978-1-62557-999-7 Buy this Book Probably the
Poet Biographies
Marc Swan
lives in Portland, Maine. His third collection, Simple Distraction, selected poems from 1989 to 2009, was published in 2009 by
Tim Suermondt
is the author of two full–length collections of poems: Trying to Help the Elephant Man Dance (The Backwaters Press, 2007) and Just
S Stephanie
holds an MFA in Creative Writing with a focus in Poetry from Vermont College of Fine Arts. She has three chapbooks: Throat (Igneus Press), What
James Rioux
his poems and essays have appeared in such publications as Five Points, the North American Review, Prairie Schooner, and Agenda. He teaches
George Repp
is a graduate of Goddard College and Pacifica Graduate Institute who enjoys an interest in psyche, soul, and the expressive arts. He is a
Ronald J. Pelias
his poems have appeared in a number of journals, including Small Pond, Yet Another Small Magazine, Out of Line, Midwest Poetry Review, Margie,
Mark Parsons
his poems have recently been published or are forthcoming in Curbside Splendor, Smalldoggies, Poetry Quarterly, Heavy Feather Review, Regarding
John Lorence
was raised on the challenging streets of Hartford, Connecticut, and now lives as a “from–away” resident of Portland, Maine with his
Bruce Holsapple
works as a Speech–Language Pathologist in Magdalena, New Mexico, where he makes his home. His most recent book of poetry is Wayward Shadow
Ceridwen Hall
has recently completed an MFA at the University of Illinois (Urbana–Champaign) where he served as assistant poetry editor at the Ninth
Eric Forsbergh
won the Poetry Society of Virginia’s premier prize, the Edgar Allen Poe Memorial in 2013 and again in 2014. He won the University of Tennessee
Mark DeCarteret
his work has appeared in the anthologies American Poetry: The Next Generation (Carnegie Mellon), Place of Passage: Contemporary Catholic Poetry
Philip Dacey
his latest book is Church of the Adagio and his previous book, Gimme Five, won the 2012 Blue Light Press Award. He appears in Scribner’s Best
Kathleen Clancy
has her MFA from University of Southern Maine–Stonecoast. She most recently placed poems in Cider Press Review and Apalachee Review. In
Molly M. Caldwell
is a Maine Native and a recent graduate from College of The Atlantic. She works seasonally in Bar Harbor and spends her free time traveling and
Michael Biehl
his poetry has appeared in Image, Callaloo, Prairie Fire, and Grain Magazine, among other journals. New work is forthcoming in the Texas Review
Sarah Anderson
is a poet and high school English teacher. Her poems have appeared in The 2008 Poets Guide to New Hampshire, Currents V: Seacoast Writers
Artist Biographies
Reviewer and Interviewer Biographies
Julie Poitras Santos
has poems that have appeared, or are forthcoming, online in Glint, The New Guard: Bang!, La Fovea, and The Wesleyan University Press blog. Her
Kate Partridge
received her MFA from George Mason University, and her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Colorado Review, Blackbird, Arts & Letters,
Jefferson Navicky
his work has appeared in Stolen Island, Birkensnake, Hobart, Unbroken, and The Belfast Poetry Festival. He teaches English at Southern Maine