Aegean Sea by Julia Knobloch

Seagulls cruise along the ferry’s wake,
the wind smells like engine fuel and tar.
At last we leave those heavy stones behind,
the hyperbolic weight of other peoples’ lives.
Where all is form and repeated gesture
an authentic cast is hard to find.

One night and many hours later
we are still at sea and err
through silent waterscapes,
about to fall off the map.
Islands appear like birds and vanish.
Diffuse shadows rattle
across the white, gray upper deck.

Last night you serenaded me
in a Plaka tavern, inviting me
to come with you and find that farm.
I said: I’d love to, Leonard,
but let’s search where we can eat a pomegranate
without evoking doom and harm.

Let’s forget about eternity, for now.
As long as new shores are not in sight,
let’s loll in unobstructed sunshine
on this ship cutting through dark blue water,
where the wind smells like engine fuel and tar.

Brooklyn, September 1, 2014

julia-knobloch
Julia Knobloch is a former journalist turned translator, project manager, and emerging poet. She occasionally blogs for ReformJudaism.org, and she was awarded the 2016 Poem of the Year prize from Brooklyn Poets for her poem Daylight Saving Time. Her poems are published or forthcoming in Green Mountains Review, Yes, Poetry Magazine, Luna Luna Magazine, in between hangovers, Your One Phone Call and are featured on Brooklyn Poets’ social media outlets.
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Fantasia by Richard Livermore

But I’d much rather dive
like a swallow or swift,

looping the loop
on a Messerschmitt’s tail,

like one of those crazy
guys in a Spitfire.

Tally Ho, Number One,
there’s a bandit above

blowing a kiss
with a promise of love.

richard-livermore
• Biography: Richard Livermore was born in Sussex in 1944. He went to various boarding-schools and left at 15. He joined the Army, but was discharged 6 months later. He went from job to job and in 1974 to Newbattle Abbey College in Scotland. He has lived in Scotland ever since, except for 5 years in Spain. He has had numerous poems published in magazine and webzines in Britain and the USA, plus books by Lothlorien, Diehard and Chanticleer Press. He is presently retired.

Gone by Gregg Dotoli

i want a spaghetti plot
of your thoughts
i need a spaghetti plot
of your thoughts

I must see where I cooled
in your brain
and never forget
that elevator drop feel
heart attacks fill plots
while love rots

gregg-dotoli
Gregg Dotoli lives in New York City area and has studied English at Seton Hall University. He works as a white hat hacker, but his first love is the arts. His poems have been published in, Quail Bell Magazine, The Four Quarters Magazine, Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, Halcyon Magazine, Allegro Magazine, the Mad Swirl, Voices Project, Writing Raw and Down in the Dirt.

Saturday Morning Cartoons by Austin Davis

We used to watch cartoons
on saturday mornings
when the string of tin
cans rattling behind the rusty
cars outside was strangely
unironic. We would lie

with our bellies to the carpet,
pressing our faces closer
and closer to the screen
until Batman’s batarang
shocked the tip of our noses.
Maybe that’s why I always

thought the neighbor’s
hedges were green horses.
Imagination was only half
the equation. Now, 10
years later, it seems we’ve
become accustomed to

the dirt roads pulled tight
around our skin. I, for one,
never questioned why
we got grinning masks
for our 18th
birthdays instead of
lottery tickets or cigars.

We were all adorned
with the same
disguise – always one size
too loose. I guess they wanted
our warm breath to suffocate
under their scrubbed skin, bleached
more pale than the lovers
that used to live on the moon.

It’s only now, as I wait for you
on a morning stained by yellow
clouds, that my reflection
swirling in the black coffee
reminds me more of The Joker.

Austin Davis’ poetry has been published widely in literary journals and magazines. Most recently, his work can be found in Pif Magazine, Folded Word, The Poetry Shed, and Spillwords. “The Moon and Her Ocean” was published in 2017 by Fowlpox Press and Austin’s first full length collection, “Cloudy Days, Still Nights” is being released this spring by Moran Press. Check out Austin’s website at https://austindavispoetry.w eebly.com/

What Passes for Peace Hits the Road by Carl Mayfield

The naked man walking
along the 112 lane highway

draws stares from the flow
of tweets and caffeinated apps.

The ball of lint balanced
on the end of his penis

seems to be for reassurance,
to let the refugee know

that he’ll have a lover
whoever wins the war,

that no one can touch
his sweet spot the way

lint caresses, and stays put.

Carl Mayfield’s most recent chapbook is High Desert Cameos. His poems have been published within his lifetime, which still shocks him a little, having no desire for people to look at him.

Even Though I Love You Telling Me No by Jeanette Powers

My panther of the yellow eyes
and cagey pacing,
when your black body
stinking of meat
leapt back into bed
next to me
with your kamikaze purr
and then
when your huge paws
wrapped me in tight
to the lank of your body
teeth so very near
but no,
no, never touching
the neck I always
leave exposed for you

when you told me
you wanted to die like this
gripped in a savage cat’s embrace
face to face
with whiskers and fangs,
I wondered about the surety
of not leaving this life
alone.

We both know
this is the sort of question
without an answer.

How do I prove
I love someone?
Is it true my body
ends at the skin
and the wide, starry void
is separate from me?
How do you know
I’ll keep my promises?

Let’s stick to questions
with answers.

Are you here right now?
Am I in your feral arms?
Do we dream?

Yes, panther,
yes.

It is my pleasure.
                Open me
                              (hold me open)
with your elusive paws.

JeanettePowersBioPhoto
Jeanette Powers is an anarchist performance artist who uses poetry and art to question habitual behavior and to dismantle internalized obedience. She can most often be found near a river with her hound dog, Olly Mas. Connect with her at jeanettepowers.com or @novel_cliche