Poetry

Strains. Pains. Cheerless.

"...That insidious virus hasn’t gone anywhere..."

"My sister’s a chair..."

"...that must have been another me..."

"...gravestones are metaphysical name tags..."

"This is a letter to the man who lashed out..."

"Sad, like, red, is a conveniencism..."

"You asked me to write a poem..."

"...Are we not emotive and spiritual creatures?..."

"... the brutal cold takes his breath away..."

Remembering a good season...

"...stronger as we found our voices..."

"...here’s scree too heavy, mountain clad..."

"...Society rains hate on men who cry..."

"...Slow traffic for miles and miles..."

"...A million fragments scatter..."

"A taste of music sits pink on her tongue..."

"...a crack of his heart can be heard houses away..."

Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.

John Swain lives in Le Perreux-sur-Marne, France. His most recent chapbook, "The Daymark," was published by Origami Poems Project.

"...we are old enough to know..."

"...I walk into the wilderness of the sky..."

"...Let my dream Take me in her ‘fold’..."

"...quick as a dart game with half a pint left..."

"...tattered souls seeking solace..."

Charles Rammelkamp is Prose Editor for BrickHouse Books in Baltimore.

"...falling through trap doors of chance..."

"...We’re daring equals, investors and innovators..."

"...voices soaked in spices and seawind..."

"... It’s all good..."