Softly she dabs
at crimson stars
her hand towel
bright with glow
you never say
where you find
them but keep
a tidy sky
More from Issue #2
Blues Noise by Dave Gregg
When the blues are played dirty (as must be) and they ricochet off the brick walls and echo over the levee linger long enough to join chorus of field hollers so long…
Birth Place by Dave Gregg
In the nineteenth century the delta was a swamp layered with rich life forms Rife with great white oak but commerce triumphed and the swamp was drained Great levees were constructed cotton…
A Sequence of Rainbows by Ken L. Jones
The first spring day is blissful serenity Fresh water from the mountains Brought down unto me After a winter that has played an ape Until all was so very pale That I…
Poets Warren by Dave Gregg
Is this when you cry? Where you tumble down the hillside beg and plead for another lazy day one more wasted minute? A week you’ll wisely Imbibe sobriety? This isn’t the return…