— Stephanie Yue Duhem is writing out of Austin, TX. She can be found online at www.sydpoetry.com.
Outside You are the red leaf, the dry, dead red leaf:when it is gone into dust, you are gone.You are the shadow in the street, looking upto be let in; out there, angry, alone. You have no father, sister or brother.You took them away from yourself one day:The moon stood in the air beside the … Continue reading “OUTSIDE” – “AFTER THE LAST MINUTE”
This golden cross about my neck,This silver ring around my thumb.In shining metals I’m bedeckedUntil the days of flames here come. Of tarnished copper is my soul,Of poison lead I made my mind.These elements compose my whole,With every pro, a con is rhymed. If only I were but a treeAnd made of Boniface’s wood,I’d burn … Continue reading “WHAT I AM”
And so the reaches1 to which castaway affects aspire to niche-hood2 also reign in according to Kant.3 Of course the empire is on fire and joblessness is at an all-time low; there is no house big enough for us all and no one is trying to smash worry into beauty and tomorrow; it’s almost all. … Continue reading “2022.02”
Wounds of phosphor, wounds ofred jam smears.Swords of golden crosses, swords ofbroken seashells.Words of wrecked teeth, words ofvelvet serpents.Gears of clocks, gears of offshorecannonade that blow holes in bodies, makes wounds of phosphor,wounds ofred jam smears. -- John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.
A Scavenger's Song I met a man who worked the plain like me,Who farmed the fruits of human ingenuity,And I tattooed him in my brain with dotted lines for cuts of meat. //We sat together, compared notes,On men who bleat and fall like goats.His head was tufted, poorly-weeded hair, hisEyes were clear and beautiful, irises … Continue reading SONGS FOR THE IRREGULARS
Somewhere across the great plains of the world,an antelope is galloping away.He runs, and has been running for all time;and many a predator has tried its handat landing claws in that elusive hide.They seem to pass straight through and meet in prayer,the paws that clap together in his wake.Those killers are reduced to cats, brought … Continue reading “PRAYER”
I. Bug-Out Bag It is April 2020And no one wants to do jihad anymoreThe bedrock trembles in its burial shroudYawning titans birth a plagueOur gods all seem to catch itAnd live, like oceans retching back black rain II. Shoot House, Autumn View West wind a truck on fireWrecking through these woodsBut I face itI am … Continue reading “PASTORAL”
Riding on top of a horseWhere dead men hangFrom the raftersMaybe your father is a beastBrought home on a cartPulled by oxenYou are a boy, given purple flowerThen you are a manhanded purple flower and sword -- Sean Bronson works as an English teacher overseas. On his free time, he likes to travel the world. … Continue reading “IN THE MOUNTAINS”
There is a pile of avocados. They arenot hand grenades. Those watermelonsare striped, not wired. The inflatablefootball field, atop the frozen food isle,is ineffective cover. The grocer stockingthe bananas looks as annoyedas I am, there is barely a speck of yellow in a field of phallic green. The handle forthe cart is moist. I hope … Continue reading “GROUNDING”