In turf of truthiness human tribe lives on
with modulations of its making: truth I
know is mine, yours is with you, there is
nothing more veridic than this. In affairs
of state bottom line is tweaked to please
the handshaker at the helm and pecking
order at the headquarters, one can never
attain rectitude. Flow with perspicacity
and perception. It will not fall through.



About the Poet: Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). His poems are in venues around the world: The Broadkill Review, Synchronized Chaos, After the Pause, Former People, Unlikely Stories Mark V, Ann Arbor Review, London Grip, M58, Bonnie’s Crew, Urtica Lit, Postcolonial Text, Communion Arts Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.

Sacred Wood

A light fir bell
sprung green,
a tree full-grown,
green, green as ever
its coat ever green
in this forest of hope.

A special worshipful tree,
its needles, its cunning cones
with stiff prickled scales
welcoming, bristling,
in the morning breeze.

This one tree waiting
in the forest’s heart
for the consequence of
our arrival; the forest
parting itself only
to fold itself
over and over;
the traveler’s footsteps,
the hunter’s hut,
the remains of seasons
leave no trace.

The wood creaks in the cold
and we wonder why we came
on a cold day to this forest,
the two of us, all this way,
wandering far from home,
wondering how we found
this special tree.

The tree, that light
fir bell sprung green,
a shield, a queen, an upright
altar, growing towards heaven,
taking us, two among many,
opening our hearts,
making us one,
making us see
in exaltation and terror
its standing transient splendor,
its sacred stance and place,
then changing us
to one certain form,
making us open to all,
making us sound no separation,
no sound at all,
silent and joyous
in the open air,
like bells made of water.



About the Author: Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in Scrivener, Mind In Motion, The Comstock Review, The Antioch Review, Bay Area Poets’ Coalition, The University of Texas Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal and a number of other on-line and in print poetry magazines over the years. 

The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town near Albany, N.Y. He was born and worked in upstate New York. He is retired from doing whatever he was doing before he retired. 

Vanilla Deaf

by J.E. Beville

We left it out to melt
But it disappeared
By smelling salts traveling
Out of porch slats to
            The street is truly running
            Pedestrians, right? Um,
It’s questionable how blissful
Has to be coincidental trickery
How beautiful the patio
Just became
            When your song came on
Formula for fixing resolution or
To fix to obliterate
Don’t say,
            I didn’t see it coming
            I never thought…
            I don’t know how…

You got what you wanted
Weren’t so blind, so innocent,
Maybe naïve
Feel better now,

            They make women like this
Plenty, probably
In many places or under
Just as soft and bitter
            Quirky, spry
            Fierce, timid, and nervous with
            A view of the brighter
If not more, many more after
Me, there will be loads
You say,
            True, it’s true
Then there’s a lasso
A phone bill, a promise,
A problem, thanks
Finger spell good-bye and
Good luck. Faster.
Then smell my hair
            It’s so circular
            And steep
Psst, I put it in the dresser
Well, I couldn’t absorb it
                        Why not?
Because you’d like that
So would we all.
But while I hate quick
People, quick settlements
Still, if you touch me,
My teeth fall out.

What Else Had We

What spirit we had
Like peas engaged
Engaged and married

Bought baby clothes and toys and furniture
Purchased all the popular brands of peripheral gear
We snatched what credit we could wrangle
From every offer promising platinum pre-approval

Phasing in sync as a married couple and a family
Love kept up and we kept stretching the dinners
And then we moved to capture the house equity

The new place was a bad fit
We troubled ourselves but could not be bothered
Broken off from the normalcy of spending

Impatient for the leftovers to be boxed up
We thought we could separately bow out
Extinguish the last blaring light in the building

What spirit we had
A slap in the face it felt
We had to split into unholy factions

Shifting logic and alliances
Personal back channel treachery
Social media the final and most potent trip

Debts finally extinguished we dispersed
We blew off special occasions handily
So far away it didn’t and couldn’t hurt



About the Author, Louis Del Grosso: LDG has poetry in several journals including Mulberry Fork Review, Straight Forward Poetry, and Triggerfish Critical Review and most recently poetry in Crosswinds.

The Rot

They estimate a gradual decline
in worldly production by
the lessening of the harvest,
and grain shall be in want,
but greed shall halt it from
reaching the world's market places.
And one man controls
the rot of the field-
ending with the
rot of the flesh.
And political strongholds
shall fail to prevail,
and the thunder roars-
the rain comes in tub fulls-
and the rot continues,
until flesh and grain
have become compost...
for the next springs plantings.



About the Author, EG Ted Davis: Previously published in the 80's then resigned from creative pursuits until semi retirement led me back towards such...


Deadheading Despair

the early lake still
the call of loons

a fishing boat trolls
the far shore

footprints of ghost foxes

geese wilding above
white wings wheeling

sweet cinnamon tea

my sleepy son
drags Paddington Bear

onto the porch
fetal-curls on my lap

it’s all kind of amazing



About the Author: Claire Scott is an award winning poet who has received multiple Pushcart Prize nominations. Her work has been accepted by the Atlanta Review, Bellevue Literary Review, Enizagam, New Ohio Review and Healing Muse among others. Claire is the author of Waiting to be Called and the co-author of Unfolding in Light: A Sisters’ Journey in Photography and Poetry.

Letters From The Moving Coast

No matter how much time it takes
I want a little more
a coastline always changing
time and sea complaining

so I claim the littorals and vicissitudes
of these crowding waters
this needy weather
as any reason you might demand

but I do ask that you forgive
these letters from the moving coast
please understand they are no less true
for being unpredictable.



About the Poet: Dean Baltesson is a poet and musician living in Victoria BC Canada. He is currently working on a volume of poetry entitled There Must be Words To Describe This. His poetry and can be found in a number of online and print literary journals or on his recent CD “Covering Ground”.