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Poetry - page 2

Here’s a list of our recent selected poetry. We prefer poems with these qualities: innovative, electrifying, and thoroughly intoxicating image, subtlety, and point of view; a surface of worldly exactitude, as well as a depth of semantic ambiguity. Before submitting, please read these poems and our submission guidelines.

Why He Hasn’t Seen The New James Bond Flick and Other Poems, by George Drew

in Poetry by

Why He Hasn’t Seen The New James Bond Flick

He really wanted to go today,
but didn’t. Now the man reclines
in his recliner, watching on his wall
to wall flatscreen images of the most

recent apocalyptic carnage flash
one after another, specters there
then not there, entanglements
of grief and sorrow, anger, and relief

that he is here and not there. Here,
the man rubs his hot crotch, rubs up
and down, each rub aligned to wave
lengths of photons streaming in

and out of his flatscreen. He rubs
and rubs, and nothing happens,
nothing here and nothing there,
rubs, comforted that at least he still

has them. That he hasn’t lost them.
Even if only shaken and not stirred.

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The Architecture of Love Memory Death and Desire and Other Poems, by George Wallace

in Poetry by


There’s no use crying like an idiot child, life is an assassin, chewing on a toothpick, wearing a film noir raincoat and grinning like Bogart and Bacall, and beauty walks by on crooked feet, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot you up or shoot you out of its mouth like spit, and love is nervous as a cat in the southern zone and I am looking for evidence of the sacred in the flesh, and love is always right there behind me or right around the corner, ready to brain me with a cobblestone or the butt end of a handgun

and I worship you publicly and in secret and alone, and memory is time and time is an oppressor, and time is a tyrant and a dead-end alleyway, and life is sacred as bread and spills like milk, and the smile which lurks behind the drapery of flowers is a dynamic music and a bashful woman is always pouring out sweet wine and inviting me to walk with my own shadow,

go blindly, she says, walk through blindly, do not turn back
and the architecture of love memory death and desire is a shadow
and I have loved many women, and only one woman, and you

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Texas Geisha and Other Poems, by Vladimir Nahitchevansky

in Poetry by

Texas geisha

Holy shit! I translate Ancient Greek in my sleep…
But my grandfather… I’m weak.
But my grandfather he can break a walnut
With his knuckles.

Haiku memories— speak softly when I am 60.

Meanwhile in Texas, my Uncle drives out
After a divorce into the desert and hangs himself
From a Palo Verdes.


Is what the Brujo said when they found him.

Twelve days I laid in bed like a frog, dreaming
In Greek. While my grandfather raked leaves
In the rain.

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Stems and other Poems by Martina Newberry

in Poetry by


On the window behind her,
the stems of palm trees were reflected.

She thought how they could scarcely
be called trunks. They were, in fact thick stems.

Pigeons gathered at her feet
(“rats with wings” her uncle said, “just rats”).

She had a vision of them
involving real field rats, garter snakes,

and owls. She had long since moved
beyond the reach of family, further

than all their words. She had moved
beyond her own premonitions of

what her life would be. She had
been out of sync with the flesh-colored

world of the living and now,
more familiar than she imagined,

came the quiver of knowing
and the narrowing silence beyond.

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