Friday, March 16, 2012. Stale smoke hanging in the air, like cooled grease a top a day old soup. Lonely, longing, my mother is staring out the front window. I can see it in her face, in her movement. Can hear it in her silence. I want to say something,. But I merely walk through, dispelling the cloud. Yesterday we buried her mother. The wind so cold, hot tears burn and freeze,.

Treadings and musings on the things that keep me afloat poetry, food, drink, and anything else that swims by. Tuesday, March 10, 2009. Saturday, February 28, 2009.

Too Late for Fruit, Too Soon for Flowers. Monday, March 13, 2006. Tuesday, December 13, 2005. Me being the Tart in question. And here are my eyeballs. Sunday, December 11, 2005. 1 UPDATE BLOG, UPDATE BLOG! I got a lett.

Thursday, March 01, 2018. For links to the individual issues of. Has switched from an issues-oriented release to ongoing publications. That is, reviews will be published as they are submitted and accepted. Thanks for your interest! Dear Poetry Reviewer,.

A Blog of Poetry Book Reviews, Poetry Video and Poetics. Nathaniel Tarn Ins and Outs of the Forest Rivers. On November 22, 2011 by Victor Schnickelfritz. The ravaging world has become ever more present in this his 80th year. Tarn was born in .

Poetry, Reviews, and Interviews. Tuesday, February 24, 2009. If Poetry Journal Seeks Poems for Third Issue. Thursday, February 19, 2009. Dear Anais by Diana M. Is a clear-sighted and sometimes romantic picture of a life lived and experienced deeply. To learn more about Diana Raab and her work, visit her site at www. Tuesday, February 3, 2009. The Snide Ethic by Jessy Randall.

Sunday, April 14, 2013. 8220;Sir, having no disease, nor any taint. Nor old hereditament of sin or shame. My back slash is a source. My category confounds the wolf. That I want to throw my smartphone against the first person. That everything I say is a wish for infamy. That I like being common, for example this mouth of mine.

To Blog Xor Not To Blog. Like, um, Rocktober, yeah! Wreaking tough licks like Rocktober,. Like a rubber rat, its brain in a vat,. Is reeking through her hell. Like fishy nettles stuck to a whale. Her deathishness, like summer hoses,. Smells like olden milk goo spray. She touches us all like post-Virgin Mary or Brenda. Walsh, like she points at us each day. Like a Loch Ness of the morning. O so like, rockingful,. I gotta say, you k.

All that I am, and more. Tuesday, July 12, 2011. The birth of the day. The birth of the day. And the mirth of the sun. Makes me want to stay. In a bed of cool green. Or on a blanket of grass. You walk into the sea,. You sway admiring the view. Of you walking toward the sea.