• Poetry

    Anagama

    by Nick Treinen There are galaxies in these pots, Says Tom and we watch sparks Cluster with stars as they whirl From the chimney with abandon. Front stoke, side stoke, damper shut And let elm, cottonwood and pine brew In a whispering bed of coals that tremble In wait; the plotting volcanic bowels. Or is she a dragon? Anagama, Her gut gorged with pots, breathes out. Tumbleweeds wither and ashes rustle away. As the sun rises on the fourth day, The world stops to let light fill Chino’s plain. Crickets hold their notes; in their dens The coyotes are still. No smoke rises. A lone darkling beetle crawls into sight,…

  • Poetry

    Death of An English Shepherd at Flanders Fields

    By L.J. Bosela Bombs are falling thick Set me free, let me run My heart stops its’ beat In this hour of my death Save me, Lord, take me home. Clutch my beads, shout a prayer My fate is sealed like a tomb.Close my eyes, see the cross A priest offering up the Sacrament, We are the hallowed flesh Given up by those we do not see An easy, near-forgotten sacrifice To the masters of our war. Our blood is naught but A cheap, unconsecrated libation. And now the crimson earth is Drunk with blood of the nations.Out beyond my trench- A fitting grave for this mass of men- The…

  • Poetry

    The Irish Sweepstakes

    By Sarah Felder Snow now is only means of weathered transport: Sleep in hinged places just so I can See the bricked fire char and breathe, Lighting the burgundy flooring. I wrote this letter a generation ago; When all those lit Augusts were Nothing but spruce, spurs, spinning And growing up and over on the Chain- link. I wasn’t in the light then because I didn’t understand the destiny of being Born in the first place: I hadn’t re-taught my youngdom To begin again. I contemplate your breathing beats, What they were when I was young: The flaws in our own ticking machines, My dinner to the floor, rocking my…

  • Poetry

    Fool’s Paradise

    by Édouard Ruess Rotor blades pierce the January breeze loud enough to shatter my nightmare. Realizing the untruth that controlled my mind, The night is blocked.So starts another day at war. As the vibrations fade, my eyes struggle to regain perception. In their success, I once-over my room. Every morning, wagering my life against death, I walk out the door. The sharp breath of earth fills my lungs, Awakening every muscle in my body. I never thought the clause I signed Would have landed me here. Anticipation builds for the return home. A fool’s paradise remains my home, Until a birds view of the city reflects in my gaze. [divider]…

  • Poetry

    More Poems, Less Homework

    by Nikolai Windahl Robber of Gods I drank the earth shine To the very last drop I became supersaturated and Oozed light from every pore I Breathed in the dark and Exhaled golden fire I bled tears of joyous magma and Deep into the earth I melted beyond all recognition Recycling puddles of lifetime I returned to the earth its shine [divider] Finally Winter Has Come   Quietly, coldly and forming Storming, howling and blowing Snowily, deepening and whitening Skiing, laughing and smiling Freely, flying and floating Resting, smoking and drinking Sleeping, snoring and dreaming Finally winter has come…. [divider] Nikolai is a Minnesota native who loves the outdoors.

  • Poetry

    I RECOUNT MYSELF ON THIS

    By Sarah Felder Eyes back, lean back, I haven’t felt The bare boned winter yet,   Your face in circles trailing skin-like Apparitions, parenthetical laugh lines, Twined lips, puckered and alive with Hiccupped laughing;   The Italian leather of your BMW sticks To my thighs, I dream of her there, The yellowing walls of the Ramada, Where we smoked cigarettes all night Between scratchy throws and music Humming against the floors.   Back on the Island I remember you more: The broken stairs to Mconoky beach, Lambert’s cove road winds to me, extends It’s tar limbs to visit for a day, and since leaving That whistle of a place I…

  • Poetry

    Addict

    by Nikolai Windahl The snow out at Turnagain is deep, like really fuckin’ deep. I sit in class and cannot listen because I know when this power point is over I’m free! Running to my room, beacon, probe, shovel, helmet, boots, snowboard, jacket, bibs, gloves, snowshoes, poles, everything. All these items crammed into a specific spot in my backpack. Galloping to the car my things become projectiles as they shoot into the trunk. On the road, snowy, icy, no studs, lame. Death grip on the wheel and too many contracting muscles. Relax. Breathe. After about two hours of this process I find myself in the Eddies lot with one other…

  • Poetry

    Cold Shoulder

    by Shelby Faulconer The chills straighten the spines of       exposed trees.  Naked branches warm with a       layer of ice, granted thus by humidity’s       last attempt to leave water droplets       on grass blades, already a feet under       snow. And yet, the tree understands,       standing encased by moisture,       turn quick by temperature       to frost-plated statues, erected by       silent melodies of winter. A visible sigh, and one full appreciative apprehension to this spectacle of life. [divider] Marine biology and mathematics. You could say I grew up…

  • Poetry

    A Poem for Burnt Popcorn in November

    by Rosanne Pagano Tell me that some axis has shifted and the whole world is veering and then whisper, “It’s normal for November.” Go ahead, make it up, fib, lie, cross your heart and hope to die (but not in November; the cold earth is hard to dig.) Tell me November can’t last. Pretend somewhere it is spring and sunlight and my mother is working her crossword on the porch before lunch. Let’s forget for now that life is as predictable as applesauce on a cancer ward. Instead you pack the picnic hamper, I’ll take the oars. Let there be a wide sky, a big river, a broad silence. Just…

  • Poetry

    Taku Wind

    by Sarah Page Rays creep down the valley Through heavy, pressing clouds Onto the dark Gastineau Channel. Here, the world moves so fast Yet time has slowed. The clouds, so fleeting The waves, so slight Fill me with every gust As if it is known The body is but a thick mesh film Allowing separation, not distinction, From the natural world. The slightest crescent moon peers down As the eagles, gulls, and ravens glide. I too feel the breeze beneath my wings. [divider] Anchorage raised Sarah Page graduated from APU in December ’13 with a Liberal Studies degree. You can usually find her singing, reading, playing outside, or traveling the…