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New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

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Tanka for Butterfly Baby Grand Piano

By Marieta Maglas

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A butterfly lands
on a pressed piano key.
Makes the sound be like
a vortex at the wing edge
with a tremolo effect.

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Ardus Publications, Sybaritic Press, Prolific Press, Silver Birch PressHerEthics Books, and some others published the poems of Marieta Maglas in anthologies like Tanka Journal and Three Line Poetry #25 also #39 edited by Glenn Lyvers, The Aquillrelle Wall of Poetry edited by Yossi Faybish, A Divine Madness edited by John Patrick Boutilier, Near Kin edited by Marie Lecrivain, ENCHANTED – Love Poems and Abstract Art edited by Gabrielle de la Fair, Intercontinental Anthology edited by Madan Gandhi, and Nancy Drew Anthology edited by Melanie Villines. Her poems have been also published in journals like PoeticdiversityI Am not a Silent Poet, and Our Poetry Corner.

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channel 194

By Wanda Morrow Clevenger

 

we don’t get

HBO & Showtime

since our network

got greedy

 

instead we get the

hoarders–bigfoot

monster–paranormal

ufo channel 194

 

we didn’t request it

it just comes free

with our no-frills

package

 

and they let me keep

my soap channel

but moved it from 4pm

to 11am on 4

and 6pm on 117

 

I watch it at 6pm now

while we eat supper

 

the man doesn’t like

anything I watch, calls

all of it stupid

but still doesn’t bother

to get up at 6 pm to eat

in another room

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Wanda Morrow Clevenger is a former Carlinville, IL native.  Over 443 pieces of her work appear in 155 print and electronic publications.  Her flash fiction “Roses and Peppermint Candy” won the 2014 Winter Short Story Contest in The Holiday Café.  Her poem “corsage” won the 2014 Black Diamond Award for Excellence of Craft in The Midnight on the Stroll Poetry Contest. Her nonfiction “Big Love” was nominated for 2016 Best of Net by Red Fez literary journal.

 

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Herd

By Gaynor Kane

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How hard they were to herd, heaving beasts roaming loose,

casually chewing cud and looking at us like mad things.

Delighting in the deliciousness of weed-free grass,

thickened by morning dew and lengthened by a good spell.

Branded with a stubborn streak, they gathered in a gang

and all our shoo shoo shooing and be away with ya nowing

did nothing to make them reconsider. They feasted,

filling all their tummies, trampled, turned lawn to sods.

There is a network in villages like this; under the radar

communications, bouncing your troubles between walls

like white noise. Help arrived before asked for.

Charlie T on a quad, full fired throttle up the drive,

braking hard kicking out a gravel cloud. Behind

wee Tommy T, carried willow twice his height.

They dismounted, approached the cattle, surefooted.

Sent silent signals, tenderly tapping on flank or rump.

Although Tommy was short of years, cows responded

filtered into a line, sauntered in pairs down the drive,

through pillars, up the lane; all done without a word.

Swooped shovels, scooped and hurled the still wet pats,

into the trailer like sliotars. Shook mute apologies,

then were gone. Leaving our dumbfounded laughter

to break the silence, against the rape field backdrop

of our invasion, looking at the trodden, sodden lawn.

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Gaynor Kane is a graduate of the Open University with a BA (Hons) Humanities with Literarure. She has had poems published in the Northern Ireland Community Arts Partnership’s anthology ‘Matter‘ and in online journals, such as: AtriumPoetry, The Galway Review and Panning For Poems. Gaynor was recently appointed as a member of the Executive Board for Women Aloud NI. Founded by Jane Talbot, Women Aloud aims to support female writers from and/or living in Northern Ireland.

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After the sunset rises the poet

By Ranjnish Mishra

>

What do poets do in their long weekend?

They take their family out, grocery shopping,

tend to plants, fill water in inverter-battery,

take car for service

(it drains from the monthly fund),

After getting broken bumper, rear, welded

(after having bumped into a pole in reverse, that very day),

play with their little daughters,

(there are two)

and make calls

(long-delayed),

to friends, uncles and brothers.

 

Poets are human too,

just like me; just like you.

 

After the sunset rises the poet.

 

As the day passes and the night falls,

and sleeps the world, the wife, and daughters.

Then the poet rises,

to do what makes Everyman a poet.

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Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India. He is the editor of PPP Ezine, a poetry ezine. He has a blog on poetry, poetics and aesthetic: pleasure: https:/poetrypoeticspleasure.wordpress.com. His poems have been published in several print and online publications..

 

 

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Fly Fishing

By David Grant

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An empty bag
Blown full by the wind
Dances
Like a fish fighting against the tide.
Earlier it lay face down on the road
Crusted up on its edges.
Flat.
But the wind brings the dance
And the bag is aloft.
An apparition;
A battling fish.

Please come home soon.
Im sick of lying dead-flat.
Make wind
And breathe air into
Me.
So we may swim.

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David Grant is in his own words.

‘A little startled. A little startling’

 

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