Poetry Summer 2021 fiction all issues
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Diana Akhmetianova
Monique Jonath
Viscosity
& other poems
Alix Christofides Lowenthal
Before and After
& other poems
Rebbekah Vega-Romero
La Persona Que Quiero Ser
& other poems
Oak Morse
Incandescent Light That Peeks Through Secrets
& other poems
George Kramer
The Last Aspen Stand
& other poems
Elizabeth Sutterlin
Meditations on Mars
& other poems
Holly Marie Roland
Clearfelling
& other poems
Devon Bohm
A Bouquet of Cherry Blossoms
& other poems
Ana Reisens
In praise of an everyday object
& other poems
Maxi Wardcantori
The Understory
& other poems
William A. Greenfield
Sometimes
& other poems
Karen L Kilcup
The Sky Is Just About to Fall
& other poems
Pamela Wax
He dreams of birds
& other poems
Mary Jane Panke
Apophasis
& other poems
a mykl herdklotz
Mouettes et Mastodontes
& other poems
Claudia Maurino
Good Pilgrim
& other poems
Mary Pacifico Curtis
One Mystical Day
& other poems
Tess Cooper
Airport Poem
& other poems
Peter Kent
Congress of Ravens
& other poems
Kimberly Sailor
White Women Running
& other poems
Bill Cushing
Creating a Corpse
& other poems
Everett Roberts
Hagar
& other poems
Susan Marie Powers
Canada Geese
& other poems
Peter Kent
Congress of Ravens
Flock of crooked bones, pasted
in feather, thrown into a wind
filled with knives, they rise
against dwindling day’s darker blue,
an armada in black, wings trimming
light from the air. And, now, convened
on bare branches like a corruption
of foliage, they debate with staccato
strains in a land bereft of melody.
Orphan Tale
Millions of miles away a cosmic-pinprick furnace
belches an acid flare that threatens to tear apart
a small, blue planet’s electromagnetic veil.
Fragile marble, spinning in this great dark room,
has someone left the quantum deadbolt open?
Offer your prayers to whatever dealer
turns over the cards that define one’s fate.
May your mindless waltz continue unimpeded
during our brief tenure of consciousness.
Masons Mend the Custom House Tower
A pair of peregrines
who’ve colonized the tower’s heights
dive at these intruders emerging
from granite pores, wrapped in rope
and harness to defy gravity’s insistence.
They work the afternoon in singular focus
with mortar and trowel, to craft a practical
artistry. Where the great stone blocks intersect,
the worms of climate will find their passage
repulsed. The falcons finally settle
upon the tower’s pinnacle, recognizing
that those who build such monuments
rarely choose to approach its apogee.
In such small acts of balance rests
the security that every creature seeks.
Spring
The exuberant waving of flags
and tree branches signals the shift
in wind from polar to equatorial.
Heaven-starved faces lift toward
radiant cumulus blossoming against
cerulean. Days brightened by a prophecy
of unrestrained bounty. Optimism’s
raw wonder restored. Nature’s
subtle hallelujahs tempt spirits
sealed in skyscrapers to wonder
if even their tombs might be inverted
by light’s irrepressible ascension.
Winter
I worry for the swans outside Swampscott.
Ice must be a foot thick now in the reeds
and narrow stretches of water that
they made their home. Have they gone
from this white desolation? Or,
do they endure with stoic acceptance
what follows the days of contentment
allotted for drift and nonchalance. Is this
where the sublime’s crown comes to rest?
Peter Kent
’s poems have appeared in Cagibi, Cimarron Review, Lullwater Review, New Millennium Writings, The Opiate, Subprimal Poetry Art and other journals. He lives in Boston, Massachusetts.