• 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…

  • Poetry

    To the Smog-Filled Sun Beams of Santiago de Cuba

    by Sarah Felder   Children line up asking for gifts– They gleam in their dirty American Popular-cartoon-t-shirts– Don’t worry someone will take you home Tonight: feed you the American way, love You the American way: through money, through Candy, and through camera lenses. [divider] The social clubs are home to old ghosts dancing They forgot where they parked their cars after A few too many gin martinis, whirling olives. I collect their reassuring winks, put their memories Into clickable slides, hold their faces in sea shells And dead coral. [divider] You can’t take a picture of this: Sun bleached blue, yellows and whites, The salt tarnished sea-wall on the high-way, The undiluted smell…

  • Poetry

    Thirteen Ways of Looking at Present Tense

    by Sarah Felder   I Valentines Day, North Philadelphia we dance until dawn; wild limbs lift like dust. I fall asleep on your floor again. I feel your bones through the wood; I lay like leather and don’t move for hours. II we sit parked by the river. you collect your thoughts; pick them off the ground like change and I’m on currency again, my body drops into the seat. III it rains heavily today. I lose my skin on the walk. I lean over to pick up a quarter. my watch hits the pavement  and breaks open. I forget the time. IV you are a mirror inside of my…

  • Poetry

    A Carpet of Lights Over a Dark Thing

    by Sarah Felder   Layers. Layering/folding over Gates of houses Following snow trails this is The first snow I’ve Seen that sticks to the Curves of Octobers ancient Lettering: throws, hurls itself At those hard to reach Creaks of hour to hour life; Divorce, inside of its magenta Creases a monotonous color like The underside of velvet Textile; the insecurities; Pull of feeling on the backside Of cheekbones (she tells me her Translucent tear ducts are blocked, They only flow every six months)   March is the month that cold lives In only in New England though Glows on our white faces Dry, skin, backs of our hands, White with…