Wings of Life (for Peter)
by Calico Prince
Great beauty holds
for deep grief
It is the expanse
of a wing
between earth and sky
Bound by gravity
and yet transcends it
in a single breath
She deepens us
in the places
And she opens us
like a like a flower
to our death
and our petals fall.
What will you become?
by Calico Prince
Calico Prince is a Doctoral Candidate and a practice led researcher and Community Arts and Cultural Development practitioner. Her body of work focuses on creativity and transformation. She has published in academic peer reviewed journals as well as practitioner focused platforms and publications. She is currently Artist In Residence at Blacktown Arts Centre in Western Sydney, Australia. As a mother of a young child, her creative writings often come in the silence that falls after midnight.
as we exchanged our first “hello” in years.
Your navy had grown considerably,
managing to poke and steer
me where you wanted my eyes to go
with battalion force at your disposal.
Yet, the force was a balloon-filled compression
with an almost
dolphin nudging its baby gentle feel.
Your ships poked and prodded
until conversation, on my part,
was on auto-pilot. And, now,
I don’t remember a word of it.
Your F.F. Titan 1 and Titan 2 were things
to behold. Juggernauts
that no torpedo could possibly sink
but only wedge between.
The iceberg me did not crack, but
did start melting..
in a building called ARTSPACE in the west Texas city, El Paso. My art
hangs and sells in galleries here. I sell my poetry eBooks online
through Amazon Kindle and Smashwords. I make small, self-published,
limited edition chapbooks of my poetry as well. I am active on
facebook and participate in several poetry and art groups there.
Life is good.
A very neatly printed missive
by Alfred Booth
As a fellow fan following, or creating, world folly, I would have been honored to meet you in Marrakech next week. That was your destination after the Bastille Day festivities, n’est-pas? Yes, the postmark is Cape Horn. I’ve been waiting for this colossal, unprecedented iceberg to finally rip itself from the motherhood of its continental shelf. What worrisome majesty. My apologies for using that particular adjective. It was spellbinding. So reminiscent of the Titanic. Missing from incessant shutter snaps was the calm of a string quartet playing Debussy. Nothing impressionistic about the split. More Neoclassic with a political twist worn thin. Or Greek tragedy, the blunting of Oedipus’ eye metaphoring climate change disaster. Waiting for such a denouement is what reality TV should have become. I personally thought of Pirandello’s “Six characters in search of an author.” Or the sense of endlessness in Proust’s dense prose. Worthy masterpieces commanding applause. I could never have envisioned that an iceberg could finally upstage the limelight of your public ridicule? Have you made a decision concerning your future exile?
Alfred Booth is an American professional pianist who lives in France, Alfred Booth folds origami; its patience often inspires poetry. When he not at the piano learning new arcane repertoire to stretch his horizons, he teaches would-be amateur musicians to put enough bread on the table. In the 90s he studied extensively the harpsichord and his millennial project had him able to play Bach on the cello; this latter duo waits for his retirement years. Currently he has an 82-poem volume journaling a recent dance with cancer and an 34-poem chapbook of ghazals looking for a homes in the professional world of rhyme. A large handful of his poetry can be found in the e-zines Dead Snakes, I am not a silent poet and Spring Fling. He keeps an online portfolio at: https://www.writing.com/main/portfolio/view/troubadour.
You’re Not the Police
by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
This scrawny kid in green track pants
makes this irritating siren noise
as his finger does a circle over his head
which I imagine to be intended as a flashing light.
He is not doing anything else.
His friend elbows him in the side
and says quite emphatically:
you’re not the police!
The kid immediately stops his siren noise
and spinning his finger above his head.
A few feet on he tries to kick an old pop can
down the sewer.
It gets caught in the overhang
and he gives it up.
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many bears that rifle through his garbage. His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Word Riot, In Between Hangovers, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.