Tag Archives: moves in contemporary poetry

SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: IRIS JAMAHL DUNKLE

DAPHNE’S BROKEN SONNET By Iris Jamahl Dunkle Apples are imagining themselves onto hillsides – pink petals stick out their tongues from the dark mouths of branches  and the forest canopy ripens overnight until it pulses like a green heart. Spring frankensteins … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: ANDREA SHERWOOD

BLACKOUT By Andrea Sherwood I lived a year in a small black box under a barbershop some nights not even an inch of moonshine would sit on the windowsill the room                                    purgatory with no objects no thing save the thick dark … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: ERRIC EMERSON

By Erric Emerson: MOTHERLESS If I try eyes-shut hard; recall the misty likeness of a stretcher and air mask, a trailer lined with ice-fangs in Napanoch, a red ball I worshipped at three years old. How your legacy sits in … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: EMILY BLAIR

By Emily Blair: Today’s poems previously appeared in cream city review (vol. 41.1) and Indiana Review (vol. 39, no.1) and appear here today with permission from the poet. Emily Blair’s poetry has appeared in Gulf Coast, Sixth Finch, Juked, Indiana … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: LAURA READ

RIP, LAURA’S VAGINA By Laura Read Your vagina is beginning to devitalize, the doctor explained, when I asked him why I had had so many urinary tract infections lately. The first thing I thought was that I should say No, … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: DEEP CALLS TO DEEP

From DEEP CALLS TO DEEP By Jane Medved: WINTER BURIAL For the sky that reaches into its hushed pocket,                                            for the bridle of winter waiting to be released. For the ghost face which slips over everyone,                                            for the tusk of … Continue reading

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SATURDAY POETRY SERIES PRESENTS: LYNN POWELL

By Lynn Powell: THE MOON RISING Sly old guru, Rorschach moon, you’re calling me again with your round riddle, your paradox of Ohm and moan. All day the sun was up on its soapbox, a Pollyanna casting out the darkness … Continue reading

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