Mark DeCarteret, “plush”

Mark DeCarteret was Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, NH, and dreamed up a postcard project that inspired 67 poets and 132 artists. Twice, he was a finalist for NH Poet Laureate. He has hosted and organized two reading series and co-edited an anthology of NH poets. He’s been a member of the City Hall Poets workshop for 30 years, and his work has appeared in 450 reviews, 25 anthologies, and 7 books.

plush

I am less asleep
than passed-off-on—
fed a diet of space &

this re-patched piece
of consciousness
spanning from one

stitch to the other
on that childlike self
I’ve long held to

 

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Mark DeCarteret, “I meant nothing”

Mark DeCarteret was Poet Laureate of Portsmouth, NH, and dreamed up a postcard project that inspired 67 poets and 132 artists. Twice, he was a finalist for NH Poet Laureate. He has hosted and organized two reading series and co-edited an anthology of NH poets. He’s been a member of the City Hall Poets workshop for 30 years, and his work has appeared in 450 reviews, 25 anthologies, and 7 books.

I meant nothing

we are admitted
into the same door
& deem it order

or assume the same
tiresome manner
& name it truth

as if art a sort of math
rather than a smarting
at most, merely, after

 

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Cameron Morse, “New Galleries”

Cameron Morse (he, him) is senior reviews editor at Harbor Review and the author of eight collections of poetry. His first collection, Fall Risk, won Glass Lyre Press’s 2018 Best Book Award. His latest is The Thing Is (Briar Creek Press, 2021). He holds an MFA from the University of Kansas City-Missouri and lives in Independence, Missouri, with his wife Lili and three children. For more information, check out his Facebook page or website.

New Galleries

The dead limb lost its bark a long time ago,
a middle finger to the interstate in my back yard.
The interstate sighs. It’s been here before.
It will be here again. Besides, the limb
is no longer alive. It’s just a monument
to what was. Pumped full of bullet holes
by the carpenters. Who open new galleries
in the sky. Inside the limb, the interstate
is not so loud. The carpenters are too hard at work
to notice the sirens, the whale song of the big rigs.
Their mandibles whirring, they do not listen.
The tree lowers its finger and I mistake
their work for woodrot as my chainsaw smiles
through the clouds of sawdust.

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Peycho Kanev, “Someplace”

Peycho Kanev is the author of ten poetry collections and three chapbooks, published in the USA and Europe. His poems have appeared in many literary magazines, including Rattle, Poetry Quarterly, Evergreen Review, Front Porch Review, and others. His new book of poetry titled A Fake Memoir was published in 2022 by Cyberwit.

Someplace

Everything is better than good. The quiet night
outside. The candles burning in the room.
The slow music on the stereo. The wine breathing
in the decanter. The baby sleeping in the crib.
The water in the tall glass. The poems in the book
of poems. The pristine white walls. The open fire
and the cat sleeping by the fireplace with the crack
in her heart through which the dark creeps out again.

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Nicholas Barnes, “river rat”

Nicholas Barnes earned a Bachelor of Arts in English at Southern Oregon University. He is currently working as an editor in Portland, and enjoys music, museums, movie theaters, and rain. His least favorite season is summer. His favorite soda is RC Cola.

river rat

The rodent was rather large,
the third I’d seen that month.

It ran through the parking lot
behind Dante’s.

I told that nice lady Nikki
I have quite the eye for rats.

But hey, let’s give this town
the benefit of the doubt.

Vermin ain’t bad,
just misunderstood.

And we were on the shores
of the Willamette, after all.

 

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