Monday, July 20, 2015

Early Indoctrination

Boys and Girls
with apologies to Robert Southey

What are little boys made of?
What are little boys made of?
Hoodies and high-tops
and games on the X-box.
That's what little boys are made of.

What are little girls made of?
What are little girls made of?
Make-up and magazines
number Ones and dance routines.
That's what little girls are made of.

by Sian Williams-Fowler
in volume 4 issue 1

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Monday, July 6, 2015

A Fresh View

These Listerine Cities
with apologies to John Ashbery

These Listerine cities grew out of antiseptic swishing
Into something frothful, although angry with hygiene.
They are the product of an idea: that man is stinky, for instance,
Though this is only one example.

They emerged until a clear blue bottle
Controlled the faux-marble countertop, and with artifice dipped back
Into the glass for pimples and feigning poses,
Burning the tongue, until all that hate of germs was transformed into useless freshness.

Then you are left with an idea of your breath
And the feeling of ascending alcohols of the early-morning or late-night rinsing
Which must be charged to the embarrassment of the others in the mirror
Who fly by you like so many Chiclets or Tic Tacs.

The robot toothbrush of German design is a sentinel.
Much of your brushing has been occupied by staring past the mad animal mouth to voided eyes
Until now, but we have all-inclusive dental plans for you.
We had thought, for instance, of sending your teeth to space,

To an exotic and violent whitening treatment, the closeness of the others like stale air
To you, pressing you back into a startled dream of lovers' morning breath
As white waxed floss greets a child's baby teeth.
But the past is already here, and you are nursing some private plan for your pearly whites.

The worst is not over, yet I know
You will have the breath of angels here. Because of the logic
Of your mouth, which is something no routine of antiseptic gargling can outclean.
Tender and insouciant, your mucous membranes—you see

You have built a mountain of oral ablution,
Thoughtfully pouring all your energy into this single cool burst,
Whose peppermint wind is desire scratching the gums,
Whose disappointment broke into a panoply of teeth.

by Jessica Cornelson
in volume 4 issue 1

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Monday, June 29, 2015

Wars not make one great

The Peaceful Warrior

His fight
isn't, quite.
by James B. Nicola


in aisle five
bruised oranges
by James D. Fuson
both in volume 4 issue 1

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Monday, June 22, 2015

American Summer

To the Sale Lovers to Kick It into High Gear
with apologies to Robert Herrick

Gather ye bargains while ye may.
The big-sale days are flying.
If we don't dash to town today,
tomorrow we'll be crying.

Before the rising of the sun,
the battle will be raging.
Come on! Let's break into a run,
our own war to be waging.

The time is now. When that first door
flies open, we'll be leading.
We'll wildly race from store to store,
withstanding all stampeding.

Let's grab our credit cards and cash
and let them work their magic.
Such chances vanish in a flash.
Now wouldn't that be tragic?

by Janice Canerdy
in volume 4 issue 1

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Monday, June 15, 2015

Ode to a Transformation

Keats Becoming Yeats

If you were dark, I'd praise your darknesses;
if you were easy, I would praise your ease,
but you are palely loitering—lilies, yes,
upon your brow—and breast—this sans merci's

for you—I can provide no easy answers—
can't foretell the future—how am I
to tell you Yes—or how to No the dancers
from the dance, or separate the lie

from what it lies in, or disguise from what
it dies in? Here, where no birds sing, and sedge
has withered by the lake and where the gut
unsettles once we pass the paling's edge –

I dream of your Ledean body, dear,
as I put on my feathered glory here.

by Lee Warner Brooks
in volume 4 issue 1

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