The cracked blue jug
on the porch steps
and the old barn
and the larkspur planted
by grandmothers past
Category: poetry
Ocular Migraine with Waterbirds
I heard you call my name.
The wire of your voice pulled tight
through the hallway.
Suffer the Little Children
Along the Rio Grande, in Ciudad Juárez,
amid the high Chihuahuan desert,
when bitter winter arrives, asylum
seekers like a Zacatecas grandfather
make coffee in a pot from water
frozen overnight
One night when I am gone
J. M. Jordan recently began writing again after a twenty-year hiatus. He is a Georgia native, a Virginia resident, and a homicide detective by profession. His poems have appeared recently in The Chattahoochee Review, Image, The Carolina Quarterly, Dappled Things, Louisiana Literature, Modern Age and elsewhere.
Brother Frank Walks the Abbey Woods
I never tire of these woods,
having walked them since I arrived
young, intemperate, intent on living
beyond death among these men of practiced habit.
Quotidian Fever
by Naomi Bess Leimsider Two spikes a day; the heat slams through me.Doubles down, bends around, catches sudden and quick. Then nothing breaksexcept the chill of space.This is how it…
Valentine w/a Sentence Inside it
by Ken Meisel Some valentines have sentences in them first.That’s why everything I loved, in one moment, changed when you interrupted me.All love is an interruption of that madness that…