the blue is drifting | 3 poems from Kinga Fabó
Hungarian poet Kinga Fabó | the blue is drifting | 3 poems translated from Hungarian | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
Two Spring Poems | Jamie Dedes
Jamie Dedes offers two spring poems of roses and love | Meta-Phor(e) /Play
words refuse to unfix themselves | poems
Three poems by gary lundy—“what does life account for after all. a brush stroke here. there. a few words follow. memorable or not.”
that other night when
Surrealist dreamscape through a wormhole—a poem by Michael Dickel.
Three Poems from Albanian
Faruk Buzhala, an Albanian from Kosovo, shares three poems—one written in English, two translated from Albanian.
Wet Egret | Poem
Short poem and art—a cold and wet egret. I could say I have no egrets, but it wouldn’t be true.
Teaching that (in)famous “Poetry”
“Her (dis)like of poetry showed through
her pure contempt while reading it.…” —poem on Marianne Moore’s “Poetry.”
I Dove In | Hybrid Flash
Want to dive into monstrous conversations firing missiles across continental divides? Write your opinion! Hybrid flash by Michael Dickel
The Raging Storm | Poem
Storm-driven sea and terror-driven police—combine images for our time. | Poem by Michael Dickel
Chai equals eighteen
The poem has four stanzas of 9 lines each, for 36 lines (double 18), not counting the epigrams from Genet. Each line has 9 syllables. The total number of syllables is 324, plus the 36 lines, equals 360—the number of degrees in a circle. Chai, Hebrew for life, equals 18 according to gematria. So, 36 lines, double 18, is double life.
Jerusalem’s Garden — Hybrid
A hybrid essay-fiction flash set in a mystical garden that doesn’t exist in Jerusalem Recalled but possibly in Jerusalem Imagined.
Resist! —2 Poems
Beware false prophecies and Amerika for spatial lies for ambling waves of greed…
an (anti-)Inauguration Poem
When they made strange fire in an idolatrous offering, the earth opened and swallowed them whole—as now, with the inauguration of Fub, The Pretender, 20 Jan 2017. Prose poem by Michael Dickel.
Winter Poem
An epistemological poem on the winter solstice, philosophy, and a ginger cat—by Michael Dickel, with digital artwork.
Werewolves—The Hounds of Hate
Afraid & weak, NAZI werewolves bark, bite, howl, yip. If they didn’t run in packs, they’d be nothing, pornography.
Saturday evening song
Saturday evening song — Song of Obscurity (poem) — on Fragmentarily/ Meta-Phor(e) /Play
Sunday brunch Tuesday | Kinga Fabó
Three poems by Hungarian poet Kinga Fabó, translated into English and in Hungarian.
Sunday brunch Tuesday
Deconstruction
I’ll take your hyper-inflated
phallus, ego-distended balloon,
id-fueled hot-air engine…
Meta/ Phor(e) /Play 