A Tribute to the Angels of the Lost Empyrean

by Jim Newcombe Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo. -VIRGIL, Aeneid Smoke and fire’s darkly charring luminosity glamours the hearth with silky gusts of gold, like liquid flags blown loose for liberty or salamanders hatching from the coals in the flap, thrash and crackle of the fire where all flames dance with a dancing shadow,…

Yggdrasil

by Jim Newcombe ‘We are born into the world, and there is something within us which, from the instant that we live, more and more thirsts after its likeness.’ (Percy Bysshe Shelley) ‘It was the year that everything went wrong.’ My father’s estimation says it all. Now, when I think about where I came from,…

First Glimpse of Hades

by Andrea Potos     Shudders in the chest, palls of thrill in the air– Upon her…..an avalanche of fire and snow.     Contributor’s Notes: Andrea Potos is the author of four poetry collections, most recently We Lit the Lamps Themselves, from Salmon Poetry in Ireland. Her poems can be found widely in print…

We Heard It Before We Saw It

by Andrea Potos   …………Trevi Fountain, Rome   that first exhausted day, dazed and wandering the cobblestones from Pantheon to Piazza di Spagna, we came upon it as one would discover a shining beast growing from the ribs of a palazzo– water traced back from a spring they say a young virgin once unearthed, channelled…

So Long, Cy

by Mark Kerstetter (after Cy Twombly) So long C Y long so sigh in all fours solo slitherer C E R B E R U S  C H A L K B O A R D muddy sneakers polished floor a long slide [home? no, we’re not there, i’m not there, still in school, in…

Thamyris

by Mark Kerstetter I. He was tethered to possibility. But his body, neither spring nor anchor, would not allow him, without letting go, reach the instrument broken at his feet. He held but a fragment, a mere stick. Caught comical, pathetic, useless stick hovering in air, his eyes rolled edge to mirror’s edge, his tongue…

Gretel

by Savannah Thorne   Worn trees moan: Ghost-houses in winter. The woods drink our depths. Old leaves brush like damp Bedding across our faces. Broken paths, broken branches. Crescent sun on mud. We do not know where we Are going. But we dare To hope. Darkness comes in slants. The snag of wooden claws, The…

Invitation to the Muse

by Savannah Thorne   Come with me. Through crazed, Embroidered webbing of night, come. Without your aid I am useless. I need To gallop past lips red and hungry, dripping potions. I move in shame and stumbling; Give me your holy dance. Light the flagstones, One by one, flowering in praying light. The night is…