Category Archives: poem

“The Snake” by Daniela Mihaleva

I’m as poisonous as an apple
the snake told eve
everything in this world is halved
believe me
I’ve long been sneaking
among the fig leaves

and I always survive
I’m attracted to heat
to the smoke ring behind your ebony lashes
to adam’s neck
to the monkeys on the tree

I lie still

the falling dusk
lulls me to sleep
ever so steadily

I slip away

I can undress
as if I’m about to bathe
in something familiar
but I never remain naked

who is to tempt the snake

I sink
into the apple

–Даниела Михалева
(Daniela Mihaleva),
The Season of Delicate Hunger:
Anthology of Contemporary Bulgarian Poetry
(Accents Publishing)

Daniela Mihaleva was born on October 29th, 1971 in Varna. She holds a degree in education. She likes to draw and write poetry and short fiction. Her work has received several literary awards, and her debut poetry collection, A Positive, won the Ars Press first book contest in 2009. Daniela lives and writes in Pleven.

“Arrivals” by Andrei Guruianu

206 Replies

The clock in the plaza
showed the wrong time,
which was just right for somewhere else.

And why were you so surprised
that at that hour
we simply did not exist?

It wasn’t our turn yet.
The clock had three other faces—
each for a different hour of need.

–Andrei Guruianu,
Bigger Than They Appear:
Anthology of Very Short Poems
(Accents Publishing)

Andrei Guruianu is the author of three collections of poetry and the memoir Metal and Plum (Mayapple Press, 2010). Most recent interest—digital photography.

“Draw” by Jay McCoy

17 Replies

She must be new. I’ve never seen her
here before—a vision in white, all
business except when she smiles
her crooked/coy grin, says I have pretty

veins. Her hazel eyes hold steady
my gaze as the cold needle plunges
into raised blue lines traversing
the bend of my right arm. Now

just hold this tight.

–Jay McCoy,
The Occupation
(Accents Publishing)

Jay McCoy is a Lexington-based poet and visual artist with deep roots in Eastern Kentucky. Currently, he fills his days working as general manager for the Morris Book Shop and a writing instructor. Jay holds degrees from Transylvania University, the University of Akron, and earned his MFA in creative writing from the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University. He co-founded the Teen Howl Poetry Series as a venue for young poets to discover their own voice. Jay’s poetry has appeared in several anthologies and journals including Blue Fifth Review, Kentucky Monthly, Kudzu, Naugatuck River Review, Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel, and Still: The Journal.

“Aunt Cordelia to John Mason” by Nana Lampton

16 Replies

Your father told you, you trust too much.
You believe the generals. French and Milner
for the British, Joffre for the French,
Von Kluck of Germany, speak of themselves
as well-schooled nobility, a notch under all-knowing,
bred of kings with better boot legs, finer noses,
better posture in the saddle.

Look at the results! They make their private decisions, so jealous
they won’t consult. One army passes another allied army
in the night, by mistake, squandering troops’ energy,
too late to reach the battle, to hold the line.
Soldiers march twice the needed distance.
Infantry—the lowly troop—lacks water, rest, and food,
expected to fight next morning. (This happens, I read,
more than once.) Exhausted soldiers die, wounded are left
behind—the victims of generals’ bull-fighting.
Joffre fires 58 generals.

For glory of the battle, the lances and the pennants fly,
horses leap the shell holes, until they, too, are
hanging their heads for lack of food and water.
Fodder follows a week late, across the sea, then by rail.

Look, John Mason, we have to stop this insanity!
Listen! You’re not any better bred than the fellows who
can’t speak the language, than recruits who
might be born a different color.
Pay attention! Find the meaning of your life.
You are training first generation boys.
Teach them to go forward as Americans,
with respect and common sense. One of them
could be President one day. Try not to lose him.

–Nana Lampton
Wash the Dust from My Eyes
(Accents Publishing)

Nana Lampton is a lifelong resident of Louisville, Kentucky and leads the company her grandfather Lampton founded in 1906. She graduated from Wellesley College and worked under May Sarton. She earned an M.A. from the University of Virginia where she studied with George Garrett. In 2004, she received an MFA in writing from Spalding University. An Honorary Consul to the Kingdom of Morocco, she is an active business woman whose interests include community development, historic preservation, land conservation, and the arts. She serves on the Boards of Yaddo and Fons Vitae, and on the Advisory Board of Sarabande Books. Her books of poetry include The Moon with the Sun in Her Eye, published by Fleur-de-Lis Press, Snowy Owl Gathers in Her Trove, published by Chapman Friedman Gallery, and Bloom on a Split Board, published by Accents Publishing.

“Open Season” by Thom Ward

212 Replies

Fifty years
since it stepped
from the brush
the moose
on the wall
smiles

–Thom Ward,
Bigger Than They Appear:
Anthology of Very Short Poems
(Accents Publishing)

Thom Ward is the author of several books of poetry, most recently Etcetera’s Mistress (Accents Publishing, 2011).

“Blossoming” by Lucia Cherciu

12 Replies

She was not ugly; she was not beautiful.
Skinny, with a scarf that covered her face
when she rushed at night slinking by a fence.

When she smiled, her left cheek revealed
a birthmark, or maybe hid it. The men
who lived up on the hill knew her.

Her neighbors watched her gate,
the stealthy steps of summer, and counted
months for each of her three children.

The last one, blonde, with curly hair,
looked nothing like her mother
or her siblings. Whom she looked like

was her Godfather, who had held
the candles at her wedding, the valley
blossoming with gossip and gossamer.

–Lucia Cherciu,
Circe’s Lament:
Anthology of Wild Women Poetry
(Accents Publishing)

Lucia Cherciu is a Professor of English at SUNY / Dutchess Community College in Poughkeepsie, New York and her latest book of poetry is Edible Flowers (Main Street Rag, 2015). Her poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and for Best of the Net.

“(I Dream that I Cover the Grave with Wet Blankets)” by Marin Bodakov

18 Replies

my father’s corpses—
no irresponsible copies, only originals,
many bodies of the same old man—
stretching everywhere around my home,
face down

–Марин Бодаков
(Marin Bodakov),
translated from the Bulgarian
by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer
The Season of Delicate Hunger:
Anthology of Contemporary Bulgarian Poetry
(Accents Publishing)

Marin Bodakov was born on April 28th, 1971 in Veliko Tarnovo. He holds a degree in Bulgarian philology from St. Kliment Ohridski University in Sofia. He teaches at St. Kliment Ohridski University, and since 2000, he has managed the literary department of Kultura newspaper. He and his wife, translator Zornitsa Hristova founded Tochitsa—an independent press for children’s educational literature. Marin is the author of five books of poetry, most recently Naïve Art (2011), for which he received the Ivan Nikolov National Literary Award.

“His First Cry” by Elizabeth Iannaci

25 Replies

is small and fierce. Suddenly,
I can no longer be trusted
with secrets. Tell me nothing
vital: I would give it up
in an instant. Now, there is
something in life
worth ransom.

–Elizabeth Iannaci,
Bigger Than They Appear:
Anthology of Very Short Poems
(Accents Publishing)

Elizabeth Iannaci holds an MFA in Poetry, lives in Los Angeles, remembers when there really were orange groves, and shares birthdays with Red China and Julie Andrews.

“Opening Up” by Jude Lally

204 Replies

Before I begin,
I’d just like to say
that if there is something wrong with me,
it wasn’t always this way.
And it didn’t suddenly appear
out of the clear, blue sky one day.
There wasn’t some horrific accident,
it didn’t happen overnight,
nor did I realize that life would be an endless fight.
I don’t even know how to tell you what happened to me.
Although it didn’t “run in the family,”
somehow it spawned from my gene pool randomly.

Well I’m not sick,
at least not in a contagious sort of way.
I don’t aim to preach,
but I’ve got a lot to say.
My condition isn’t cognitive,
my perils aren’t simply day-to-day,
my ailment isn’t all in my head.
It severely retards the movements in my lower legs.
This disease affects my arms, my ears and my eyes.
In fact, sometimes I can’t help seeing red.

Now, I’m not slow,
I just talk that way.
I need people to comprehend,
not just get the gist of what I say.
I know what you’re thinking,
and the answer is no—
I haven’t been drinking.
I know I slur my words sometimes,
so it may seem that way.
Let me put it like this:
don’t be so bold as to ask
what’s the matter with me.
Put it another way,
perhaps a little more delicately.

At least I’m not paralyzed.
The diamonds still shine bright,
they’re just not in high demand.
Don’t expect me to wiggle my big toe.
And – for God’s sake! – find someone else
to lend you a hand.

–Jude Lally,
The View from Down Here
Accents Publishing

Jude Lally writes and recites poetry as an outlet for his creative needs and as a means of enlightening, inspiring, engaging and entertaining listeners. Fortunately, Jude’s main source of inspiration in his writing is easily accessible; unfortunately, so many places in the world are not: in 1998 Jude was diagnosed with a rare, degenerative neuromuscular disease called Friedrich’s Ataxia. Jude received a BA in Business Administration in May of 2006. Jude is a member of the poetry group Poezia, occasionally attends The Poet’s Supper and the Artcroft writer’s group outside of Carlisle, KY, and is a regular presenter at the Holler Poets series events.

“Twelfth Hour” by Arlene L. Mandell

269 Replies

As the moon casts
long shadows through
spruce-scented woods

world leaders debate
the essence of evil
an old woman inhales
cold mountain air

a young doe in the thicket
endures her first birth.

-Arlene L. Mandell,
Bigger Than They Appear:
Anthology of Very Short Poems
(Accents Publishing)

Arlene L. Mandell, a retired English professor, has published more than 500 poems, essays and short stories in newspapers and literary journals.

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