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PUBLISHING POETRY, FICTION, NON-FICTION, & VISUAL ART FROM CREATIVE MINDS AROUND THE WORLD. A COMPREHENSIVE LITERARY MAGAZINE THAT PUBLISHES WRITERS AND ARTISTS OF ALL AGES.

READING THE SPANISH POETS BY ANDREA POTOS

I like arriving at my neighborhood cafe under a still-dark sky of an early December morning, the air trembling with a secret anticipation as if a quiet gift is about to be opened, the ribbon already fallen to the floor.

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ON OUR WAY TO MY GRANDFATHER’S VILLAGE BY ANDREA POTOS

Roumeli, Greece We stalled in traffic–a line of goats tinkling their bells as they made a relaxed gait across the narrow road. They turned to notice us, no time to hurry. The land held the clock and we were only its visitants. A few more leaning, mountain curves, and...

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WITHIN THE LANDSCAPE OF THE WORD BY ANDREA POTOS

Connemara Be it unsung notes or syllables unrolling aloud, those who have gone on before me somehow return in the emerald hills smoothed by mist and edged by ocean, in lichened stone walls and deep russet bogs, rounding the sharp edges of grief, polishing and...

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BEFORE THAT SEPTEMBER DAY BY ANDREA POTOS

we had not yet gathered in the clinic’s reception area, my mother my sister and I; we had not yet followed the dark-haired nurse into the doctor’s office, arranged ourselves on grey metal chairs; the tall doctor had not yet entered, his greeting soft-spoken and kind....

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MY CITY OF NEW YORK BY JOHN BONANNI

My whole life experience as a young boy can be told in a photo taken from the platform of the Smith-Ninth Street subway station in South Brooklyn. The station sits on a viaduct 87 feet above street level, a depression-era project built to ensure passage of tall ships...

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COMMIATO, TRANSLATION BY WALLY SWIST

From Locvizza, il a ottobre 1916 by Giuseppi Ungaretti Gentile Ettore Serra poesie e il mondo l’umanita la propria vita fioriti dalla parola la limpid meraviglia di un delirante ferment Quando trovo in questo mio silenzio una parola scavata e nella mia vita come un...

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DOLINA NOTTURNA, TRANSLATION BY WALLY SWIST

From Napoli il 26 dicembre 1916 by Giuseppi Ungaretti Il volto di stanotte e secco come una pergamena Questo nomade adunco morbid di neve si lascia come una foglia accartocciata L’interminabile tempo mi adopera come un fruscio   NOCTURNAL VALLEY The face of...

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NATALE, TRANSLATION BY WALLY SWIST

From Napoli il 26 dicembre 1916 by Giuseppi Ungaretti Non ho voglia di tuffarmi in un gomitolo di strade Ho tanta stanchezza sulle spalle Lasciatemi cosi come una cosa posata in un angolo e dimenticata Qui non si sente altro che il caldo buono Sto con le Quattro...

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VANITA, TRANSLATION BY WALLY SWIST

From Vallone il 19 agosto 1917 by Giuseppi Ungaretti D’improvviso e alto sulle macerie il limpido stupor dell’immensita E l’uomo curvato sull’acqua sorpressa dal sole si rinviene un’ombra Cullata e piano franta   VANITY Suddenly and high over the rubble the...

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O COOL ELECTRIC BLUE BY BRANT HUDDLESTON

O cool electric blue your star is on the rise with trouble you came through with promises and lies shards of metal bits of bone strewn with splintered wood we made this bargain for our souls and we declared it good the drone, the whistle, the thunderous sound it...

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IN THE BAR BY BRANT HUDDLESTON

She never saw me In the bar She with a young man Twisting and pulling her hair Like a weaver pulls wool into a jenny Gold from straw Would she ever guess my name? I watched her from the shadows of my doubt A troll crouching under a stone bridge of my own design...

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THE BUZZ BOMB BY JEFFREY FEINGOLD

The Nazis never did catch me. I was an explosives expert, and I was just too good for them. I could blast my way out of any situation, no matter how dire. I was seven or eight years old, growing up in the pretend war-torn streets of inner-city Boston. My friends and I...

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“MIKEY” BY MICHAEL S. GLASER

Start close in, / don’t take the second step / or the third, start with the first / thing/ close in, / the step/ you don’t want to take. . . . David Whyte Start here: with that smiling face of your childhood as you breathed in the fragrance of the Lily of the Valley...

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BRIEF BIO BY MICHAEL S. GLASER

Old age has invited me to embrace uncertainty look in the mirror of impermanence and find there, at last, my heart’s true song smiling and simply humming to itself.

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SOMEWHERE BY MICHAEL S. GLASER

Somewhere, under the jumble of words that surround the white space on the pages of my life Somewhere underneath the clutter of last night’s dirty dishes and the pharmacological diagnosis of why we feel lost, Somewhere beyond the theological analysis of our grief and...

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LIGHT BY MICHAEL S. GLASER

I knew its name once, this small flower. Now I know only its beauty . . . .David Rome The Bottom of the Sky Age finds its way into us. Details fade, importance shifts the mind culls the unneeded and what begins to bloom is gratitude, a spice rack of possibilities as...

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IN THE CONCRETE BY S. D. DILLON

1. Valued founders & natives, Houses resort To decay At the side of the road in back of the lake. 2. With proper frontage east of Beaufait Eleven historical columns Unfold printed documents. 3. The lament of strangers as they wind into Detroit’s spare present. 4....

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ABOUT PROPHECIES BY RICHARD ERIC JOHNSON

sow seeds to harvest grapes for wine reap the wheat erect altar and temple hallow horn of ram blow mournful tone through valley over hill river current tides of sea bow in prayer kiss my IOU Richard Eric Johnson lives and writes poetry in Arlington, Virginia. He has...

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