The voices speak poetry even as so much else happens, including the poet going out | Michael Dickel | Meta/ Phor(e) /Play
A wall waiting for graffiti, a lost love in Paris, psychedelic apple blossoms| hired sycophants | poems | J Matthew Waters
Hassan Melehy’s poems, Recriminations & Doctrines of Honesty, provide “unrepentant insolence”—perhaps of the Beats, perhaps of our own.
Evocative imagery woven into a sense of displacement, nostalgia, & longing | imaginary maps | Reshmi Dutt-Ballerstadt | Meta/Phor(e)/Play
Michael Dickel’s poem, Dust to Dust — the passing of time and the absurdity of meaning fill out the form of this poem on Meta / Phor(e) / Play.
Korean-American poet Melissa Houghton offers three poems on Meta / Phor(e) / Play for interNational Poetry Month.
Poet Michael Dickel constructs an experimental variation on Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Ozymandias using cubism…sort of | Meta/Phor(e)/Play.
Hungarian poet Kinga Fabó | the blue is drifting | 3 poems translated from Hungarian | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
falling innocently | Three poems by Spanish poet Toni García Arias from his book, Fallen Angels —— The Last Summer, You, and Working Days | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
Italian poet and photographer Donatella D’Angelo presents 3 poems, translated by Dennis Formento with the poet | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
Haitian-American poet Valérie Déus shares three poems (Misdirection, Told, and Body) from her forthcoming book | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
Three poems from Indian poet Aditi Angiras—Abandon, Geography, and Planchette | Meta / Phor(e) / Play
This year, Michael Dickel, Contributing Editor, served as lead for The BeZine April issue— Celebrating interNational Poetry Month.
Jamie Dedes offers two spring poems of roses and love | Meta-Phor(e) /Play
Three poems by gary lundy—“what does life account for after all. a brush stroke here. there. a few words follow. memorable or not.”
Surrealist dreamscape through a wormhole—a poem by Michael Dickel.
Faruk Buzhala, an Albanian from Kosovo, shares three poems—one written in English, two translated from Albanian.
Short poem and art—a cold and wet egret. I could say I have no egrets, but it wouldn’t be true.