Tarra Palacios-PerezPhotography Contributor
ISSN 2642-0104 (print)
ISSN 2641-7693 (online)
Founding Editor, Juliette Sebock
December Daybreak, Ceinwen E. Cariad Haydon
(The crow), an excerpt from “Atlas,” Glenn Bach
A Composition of Melodious Words, Justine Akbari
Migration, Mary Christine Delea
Bright sky, Carol Alena Aronoff
malignant dystopia, Linda M. Crate
Superman With Angel’s Wings, Lynn White
Halycon, Hilda Coleman (Jupiter)
the tricks of bandages, A.H. Lewis
Tacit Clarity, W. Rebecca Wood
birds, opening act, Caroline Grand-Clement
Dreamers Dream Dreamers Do, Akif Kichloo
Leaves of Late November, Kristin Ferragut
Silence – a lost art, Megha Sood
we wait for something beautiful then we destroy it, Stuart Buck
before you leave, Prem Sylvester
A Murmuration of Starlings, Amanda Crum
Quarter Life Blues in Solitude, Tiffany Moton
Writing is a kind of monsoon, Satya Dash
If Nothing Else, Jessalyn Johnson
Ascending Cliffs in the Distance, Jeffrey Yamaguchi
MOTHER EARTH CHANGES HER NAME TO SELENE, miss macross
The Inertia of Wings, Ray Ball
Airplane Vignettes, Erin Moran
A Mother’s Love, Kimberly Wolkens
The Fall of Icarus, Mel D. Sullivan
The Pineal Door, Shawn McClure
Right Now, Long Ago, Scott Moses
Perspective from the Pillbox, Zoe Philippou
Intangible Matter, Zoe Philippou
Flying Free, Tarra Palacios-Perez
A Dragon in our Midst, Zoe Philippou
Guiding Light, Tarra Palacios-Perez
Peaceful Easy Feeling, Tarra Palacios-Perez
Daytime Reflections, Zoe Philippou
Ascending Cliffs in the Distance, Jeffrey Yamaguchi
Devil’s Den No More, Zoe Philippou
Running from Day, Zoe Philippou
Sunset Flight, Tarra Palacios-Perez
–
In the leadup to flight, we shared a series of micropoems across social media:
War blew in, blew in savagely
against and with sway. March 8, 2017
Judy DeCroce
green soldiers of March
tipped, tipping to a fall
in a theatre of engagement
uprooted casualties
their twist and snap
swelling piles of death
bullied to the last
by a weapon unseen
falling without grace
branches, lost limbs,
tangled or straight
yet there stands victors
victors among them—distinguished
in wind’s accent
It’s like a free fall
and your marrow becomes wind and your eyes are parched,
but down isn’t a direction and up is a beating heart.
The hollow parts of your lungs where breath no longer hides:
the questions arise from there.
Did we jump? Was I pushed?
Midair, it matters little.
So many pretenses, now this one of flying.
How long is the fall? Where is the earth?
These are the tricks of bandages,
the sweet poison of empty philosophy
like a pacifier for newborn screams.
We have to be close, what else could there be?
Despite the view, it dawns:
we weren’t meant to fly.
I dare to peek our progress—
there is no stitch of ground; we cast no shadow.
But my, how far we’ve fallen.
Sara KellyPoetry Contributor
Britton MinorPhotography and Nonfiction Contributor
Gregor (flight)
lift off (flight)
Alex in flight (flight)
hover (flight)
How to … (renaissance)
Satya Dash
It seems futile
to attempt a poem about rain
knowing well that everything that is to be said
has already been said.
But then writing isn’t as much about saying
as it is about feeling. And percolation of that
feeling – the blood and bone of a poem
into every vessel of your porous body,
slowly building its empire of fluff-
a redolence where to beg
is to demand
turning you slowly
knob after knob
into a floating canopy
of fleece
By the time you see a boy emerge from the mist
near a window in an aeroplane
and wave at you,
you’ve realized you’re
nothing
but
a quintessential cloud.
You suck in your stomach in vanity and wave back.
And once the plane is out of sight,
you exhale
and
rain.
