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TRAVELOGUE BY JOHN DOUGHERTY

Up north in Maryland the railroad tracks Have been removed, The neat and graded right-of-way Rechristened “cycling trail.” Travelers now drive Along an Interstate, And to the east The exercisers pedal. It piques the second...

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HARLEQUIN BY JOHN DOUGHERTY

America has no need of Milton at this very hour But just a Punch, a Feste, a Touchstone, Or that nameless fool in Lear Should it ever come to that. A certified Shakespearean fool with all The motley, foolscap, bauble –...

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PASSING THE TORCH BY JOHN DOUGHERTY

How about imaginary numbers and infinity, Isotopes, electron flow, radio-activity, The shock of The Windhover, the silence Surging from The Listeners, the mystery Of the St. John’s gospel, the enticing list Of other books within...

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ELPIS BY JOHN DOUGHERTY

I saw my mother once reduced To those good days that sent me rays of hope. I couldn’t help but think: this good day Means you’re getting better and soon We’ll show them; I’ll be taking you right home. What we call hope the...

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Cultural Immersion by Carol Severino

I was anxious and fearful about swimming my 100th mile, the final 64 laps that would earn me a 100-mile Swim Club T-shirt. It would be my 5th consecutive day of mile-swimming, and my shoulders were sore. Mile number 99 the day...

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Hold On by Mark Williams

They must think I don’t belong here as I walk across their campus, me, too old to be a student. Who am I kidding? Too old to be on faculty. One by one, I pass them, their eyes feet-fixed as though the ground might erupt. I’m...

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Infamy by Katherine Hanson

The ragged lace of my oldest nightgown hung below the quilted polyester bathrobe I threw on as I got myself out of bed. Someone was knocking at the door. It’s probably just Harry, I thought, as the knocking persisted. My...

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Early Winter Garden by John Muro

There’s a seeming that, perhaps, winter has lost its way, and that summer still holds these early December days in bondage, delaying its slow retreat while fragrances rise then fall over abandoned beds, leaving a profusion of...

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Near Sachem’s Head by John Muro

Summer is in free-fall and the tree line’s now green-blue coppering in late-day shadow, while the last of day’s light is spread in chromatic scatter across the tides that I’m watching advance towards the shoreline, only to...

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Winterberry by John Muro

With morning chores behind me, I have no desire to turn from winter’s ghostly arrival, watching the moth- soft flakes lessen the harsh contours of the earth and accentuate the ruby splatter suspended in mid-air like dense...

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The Autobiography of John Doe by Jon Lavieri

I’m unable to speak of dry leaves lifting off the pavement on a carpet of wind or how the sun only loves us a day at a time I can’t explain this arcane desire to live the next life in the same world as my body There’s going to...

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Ânima by Jon Lavieri

Say that soft refraction of moonlight slipping through a wedge of night sky between buildings shatters on the fire escape – night like a lost diary – Someone comes out to smoke on a landing overhead She leans on the rail and...

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