McGowan Dr J A – Dr Jennifer A McGowan

When I Think “Purple”   it is immediately six o’clock, we’re walking the dog, who hasn’t yet eaten whatever it was, you are bruised maybe a little but nothing to signify, I’ve still got both my amethyst earrings. Also the face of the man we found in the old oak out back, the dog sniffing his shadow, the sky radiant and him, gently swinging.     THING   Her thin, fine spines are invisible in skin. I’ve forgotten again, leaned on my desk as if my life were not currently entwined with a cactus. Leaning on Thing is a bad … Continue reading McGowan Dr J A – Dr Jennifer A McGowan

Acuff G – Gale Acuff

Romance   I was holding my Sunday School teacher, Miss Hooker, close to me in bed last night in a dream. When I woke up for breakfast and to get dressed for church next morning I wondered if she’d had it, too, and figured I’d find out by the look on her face when I came into the classroom, a little   late–fashionably late, as Mother says, though I never tell her my dreams because she wouldn’t understand, or maybe she would, and might tell Father, who’d bring it up at Sunday dinner–I don’t like to be embarrassed. Miss Hooker’s a … Continue reading Acuff G – Gale Acuff

Bilman E – Emily Bilman

Rebellion With An Actor and A Poet   Kingfish-refugees gathered on the beach, around bonfires waiting to end their life-risk on land.   I met an unknown actor by the river, reciting Blake’s “Songs of Innocence and Experience”. He had returned from the river’s congested mouth in turmoil like the sacrificial sea.   The migrants were even more vulnerable than migrating birds, a chorus led to their destinations by millenary magnetic patterns.   Innocent like blades of grass their children were lost, severed from their parents, snared in lands of cruel egotism.   At last, the actor facing the blood-sea, … Continue reading Bilman E – Emily Bilman

Imbler M – Linda Imbler

Choices in Frontier Towns   Amid tumbleweeds and clapboard buildings, standing upon dirt roads or a sawn timber dais, snake oil men, extolling their potions, their curing wares depleted by end of day. Risky whiskey, the magic elixir of 19th-century self-proclaimed wizards. Was it truly hope in a bottle or just sanctioned intoxication? The Old West version of paper or plastic.       Changelings (An Etheree Poem)   Cauls on face; the stand-ins enter our world, are revealed as odd. We know them as changelings, left by ones of the old world and recognized by strange facade. Impersonators that … Continue reading Imbler M – Linda Imbler

Moriarty D – Dennis Moriarty

I Dream Of Him     Still damp from his evening walk in the rain The dog sleeps on the floor at my feet. A slowly steaming heap of inertia, he lies there Making neither sound nor movement. He smells of the hillside and warm summer rain And something more sinister. Did he chase sheep I wonder, while my back Was turned?   Spurred on by a ewe’s feeble cries, did he pursue, Hunt, back her into a corner of the field, Did he sit there waiting, watching, willing her To break cover? His soppy grin turning to a snarl … Continue reading Moriarty D – Dennis Moriarty

Brizell B – Ben Brizell

Gusset   Serenity’s been breached, it lies bruised and beaten. The lies of masculinity have been inseminated into the grove.   We’re bleeding to death, clutching the wound, pushing our entrails back in.   Somebody hacked their right foot off amongst blooming flowers   There’s an apple with its core missing Somebody’s mouth is wet with saliva.   Time took the postman’s child so the postman took a knife to his arterial veins   Preach what you believe because the truth is it’ll be an outdated statement to tomorrow’s lacerations.   They flayed the revolutionaries hung them upon meat hooks … Continue reading Brizell B – Ben Brizell

Grey J – John Grey

THE COTTAGE BY THE SHORE   The ocean is theater and its stage is deep and dark, its orchestra seats, the shoreline. But the show is slowly moving in on its audience.   Lying in bed, you listen to the performance. Waves slam against rock, scramble up the sea-wall, sweep across your pebbled lawn, slap against your cottage’s foundations.   No need to panic though. It’s not that kind of show. Sure, you hear water bounce off wood. But the sound is soft and almost pleasing. Ocean can’t surely be a predator. Sure, it rises inch by inch. But so … Continue reading Grey J – John Grey