Hare & Tortoise Stew

by L.G. Corey

 

Light the fire with your finger.
Light the fire with your tongue.
Spread their ashes on the altar.

There is magic in their planting,
omens in their dust,
and a whiff of sulphur
on their breath.

As I’ve said so many times before,
Time, at the speed of light, stands still.

Do you remember?
Anything at all?

Have you forgotten
the quick lick of words on your lips
and the stiff tongue
that reamed the omens from your navel,

disturbed your breath
and set the sulphur burning
on your altar
at the speed of light?

Nothing remains
of what was once forgotten
in the dust of hares and tortoises.

The race is over, but never won;
the race is neither ended nor begun.

 

©Copyright 2015, Larry G. Corey

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LARRY G. COREY - [Read Full Bio] brought out his collection, Kalidas Verses, last February. A second, Rats' Alley Poems, (which takes its title from "The Wasteland" by T.S. Eliot, to whose memory the book is dedicated) will follow soon. Corey's work appears (or is scheduled to appear) in, California Journal of Poetics; Snapping Twig; Rogues Review Anthology (December, 2015)...

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: Botanical Hairstyle by Barbara Ruth. ©Copyright 2015, Barbara Ruth.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

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Song of Elephanta Forest

by Debasis Mukhopadhyay

 

The dawning birds over Subarnarekha river were rising to the summer sky.

 Our empty bodies lay in bed awake to innocence. No refrain of kiss, no

rumble in flesh, no rattling silence anymore. Daybreak through the

 windowpane as the birds started calling drowning out our bare love. No

hope, just a fog of fear, and a damp world of death. Then the riot of their

cries streaked through the feathered sky to become our dreams again.

 

©Copyright 2015, Debasis Mukhopadhyay

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DEBASIS MUKHOPADHYAY - [Read Full Bio] grew up in Calcutta, India and now lives in Montreal, Canada. He has a PhD in literary studies from Université Laval. He writes poetry in both Bengali and English. His debut collection of poetry in Bengali was published in 2005...

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: and it is not our part here to take thought only for a season by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A. Spahr-Summers.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

Hinckley’s Shame

by Ernest Williamson

 

the windows were caskets;
placating purple flares;
smoldering by a tattered King James Bible
beneath deceptively secured feet;
draped in red-brown leather sandals
atop musty parkay floors
layered with red ants;
chasing spilled heavy oozing red honey,
as garrulous mice were squealing in soprano tones
esoteric trills leaking
like liquid ragweed in zero degree temperature,
pleasant itching eyes yet cold as rime;
though I still see the White House
in memory,
it won’t change the agony of day;
unless I shut up
the windows
where my breaded works
remain
distilled, uncooked, and cracked.

 

©Copyright 2015, Ernest Williamson

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ERNEST WILLIAMSON - has published creative work in over 550 journals. His poetry has appeared in journals such as, The Oklahoma Review and Review Americana. His artwork has appeared in journals such as, The Tulane Review and The Columbia Review. He is an Assistant Professor of English at Allen University...

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[Featured]Art Image Credit: “Sieving Wheat” by Jan Price. ©Copyright 2015, Jan Price.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

Miller Lite Runs In The Family

by Sarah Frances Moran

 

He opens the door of his too small apartment and immediately goes to the thermostat.  It’s set to 70 and that’s too warm.  He pushes the down arrow until it rests on 65.  Content, he goes over to the fridge where a 12-pack waits for him.   Pops the tab on a Miller Lite and sits at the dining room table he’s had for as long as he can remember.  He downs that first beer within a minute, gets up for another.

Usually he’d turn on the TV and see if there was anything worth watching.  Baseball, a basketball game, a really bad B movie.  Today his mind wanders.  He glances over at the pictures of children.  They’re grown now and distant.  It’s not a separation he knows how to mend.  He wonders about letting go.  He wonders about his ex-wife and the way he treated her.  He wonders about how his mother died too young and how his father used to hit her.

He’s in his fifties and he still has those memories.  He can vividly remember his father drunk and belligerent after downing Miller Lites.  He figures his children probably have bad memories too.

He’s on beer three now and decides he’d like to check in on his daughter.   He grabs his cell phone and scrolls through the list of names, finds her and hits call.  It always just rings and rings.   Those rings have become more familiar than her voice.  The voicemail picks up and this time he doesn’t feel like leaving a message.  He wishes she’d answer more.  He gets up for a fourth beer and remembers he hasn’t eaten, opens up the fridge again to find it empty except for the Miller Lite, contemplates momentarily ordering a pizza and then shuts the fridge door.  He doesn’t feel like calling anyone again, not even for food.  He resigns to allow the TV to finally give him company.

500 miles away his daughter sits staring at the phone.  It’s 8:00pm.  She let’s it ring.  She doesn’t answer his calls after 6pm when she knows he’s probably already drunk.   She stares down at the phone waiting to see if a message arrives.  One doesn’t and she wishes she’d answer the phone more.  She turns on the TV and settles in with her can of Miller Lite.

 

©Copyright 2015, Sarah Frances Moran

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SARAH FRANCES MORAN - [Read Full Bio] was born and raised in Houston, Texas. Her aim is to poetically fight for love and harness the type of tender violence needed to push love forward. She strongly believes that words have immeasurable power. She is the founder / editor of Yellow Chair Review...

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: no beer outside by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A. Spahr-Summers.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

The Change

by Laurie Kolp

 

Kale gutters leaves and stuffs them in his pockets.
Later he will dump them at his front door
and pretend to slip so he can miss piano lessons.
His mother will pop off the couch, drink still in hand
because no matter how much she staggers
the drink always remains intact. Sometimes
Kale even wonders if its gelatin.
She will bang the door open, her expression
a feline mix between anger and fear.  Sip.
She will yell at Kale and tell him he’s a klutz. Sip.
Her drink won’t splash but her arms will thrash
as she overreacts to the messy leaves. Sip.
His knees and elbows will grow strawberries
because he fell too hard and he will long
for the mother who once sat him in his lap
and wiped away his tears. Kale’s hunchbacked
father breaking plates on the wall while Mother
sticks Band-Aids on his cuts and rocks him to sleep.

 

©Copyright 2015, Laurie Kolp

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LAURIE KOLP - [Read Full Bio] author of Upon the Blue Couch, (Winter Goose Publishing, 2014) and Hello, It's Your Mother, (Finishing Line Press, October 2015) serves as President of Texas Gulf Writers and belongs to the Poetry Society of Texas...

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: life.death.renewal  by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A. Spahr-Summers.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

Thought Follows Thought

by Gerard Caronna

 

I think I’m in love.

I think I’m settling.

I think I’m dumb.

I think I’m pregnant.

I think I’m selfish.

I think I’m having twins.

I think we need to talk.

I think she said I love love you.

I think I’m losing control.

I think I’m trying too hard.

I think I need Adderall.

I think I hate my job.

I think it’s working.

I think you’re lying.

I think I want to have your baby.

I think she cheated.

I think I’m too passive.

I think he got jealous.

I think I may be the father.

I think I might puke.

I think I’m drowning.

I think her water broke.

I think you need to leave.

I think I better let her go.

I think I know that girl.

… I think too much.

 

 

 

Dream Dirty Dream … Dream

The price of passion can be threatening,

like trading a path that no-one along the way explored.

 

 

 

Christmas Lights

 

A light bulb moment …

 

Duller

And

Duller

With

The

Faintest

Shade

Of

Change.

 

©Copyright 2015, Gerard Caronna

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GERARD CARONNA - [Read Full Bio] was born on February 19, 1985 in New Orleans, Louisiana as, Michael Gerard Caronna Jr.. He is a poet, with a keep it simple edge.

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: 19th street on acid by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A.
Spahr-Summers.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015

Eleventh Hour

by Joan McNerney

 

Wrapped in darkness we can

no longer deceive ourselves.

Our smiling masks float away.

We snake here, there

from one side to another.

How many times do we rip off

blankets only to claw more on?

 

Listening to zzzzzz of traffic,

mumble of freight trains, fog horns.

Listening to wheezing,

feeling muscles throb.

How can we find comfort?

 

Say same word over and over

again again falling falling to sleep.

I will stop measuring what was lost.

I will become brave.

 

Let slumber come covering me.

Let my mouth droop, fingers tingle.

Wishing something cool…soft…sweet.

Now I will curl like a fetus

gathering into myself

hoping to awake new born.

 

©Copyright 2015, Joan McNerney

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JOAN MCNERNEY - poetry has been included in numerous literary magazines such as Camel Saloon, Seven Circle Press, Dinner With the Muse, Blueline, Missing of the Birds, as well as included in Bright Hills Press, Kind of A Hurricane Press, and Poppy Road Review, Anthologies. She has been nominated three times for the Best of the Net...

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[Featured]Digital Art Image Credit: i breathe deeply because everything is all sparkly and beautiful and exciting and life is good by J.A. Spahr-Summers. ©Copyright 2015, Jeffrey A. Spahr-Summers.
 

 

Snapping Twig – Summer – 2015

Vol: May 2015 thru Jul 2015