Meredith Davies Hadaway

Stephen Massimilla

George Higgins

David Scronce

Nathan Prince

Rich Ives

Joe Gianotti

Ian Ganassi

Judith Cody

Jay Carson

Kriste Matrisch

C.R. Reardon

Kevin McCoy

Gregory Wm. Gunn

Alison Hicks

Hope Slaughter

Alden Dean

Sharon Venezio

Keith Moul

Marc J. Frazier

Terry W. Ford

Barbara Tramonte

Andrey Gritsman

Changming Yuan

Kirk Wilson

henry 7. reneau jr.

Brad Henderson

Stephanie Kaplan Cohen

Sarah Sarai

Paula Bernett

Judy Bebelaar

Julia Klatt Singer

Jason Stocks

Carl Auerbach

Helen Wickes

Jamie Houghton

Bhuwan Thapaliya

Alan Meyrowitz

Deborah George

Desmond Kon Zhicheng-Mingdé

Jennifer Borges Foster

Barry Spacks

Heidi Hart

Julian Sherman

henry 7. reneau jr.

Joseph Farley

Meg Schoerke

Nick Flynn

Susanna Rich

Paul Hamill

Elisabeth Murawski

Steve DeFrance

A.M. Svilar

Natalie Eilbert

Phoebe Wilcox

Sarah Wetzel

David Livingstone Fore

Lisa Mulleneaux

Edwin Rivera

Neil Citrin  

Karen Hildebrand

Jamie Cavanagh

Mel Kenne

Jen Karetnick  

Asya Graf

John Sibley Williams

Peter Grieco

Matthew Jason Mahaney

Fani Papageorgiou

Matteo Spinetti

Rich Murphy

Tom Gribble

Zara Raab

Weam Namou

Tetman Callis

Robert Demaree

Mark Lamoureux

Justin Dodd

Richard L. Provencher

Gigi Marino

Jessica Harris

Judith Salerno

Steve Halasz

David Richardson

Sally Hand

Candy Shue

Robert Wexelblatt

Judy Shepps Battle
Poetry
FOLLY
REPORT
by Barry Spacks

The seas surge, the lions roar,
the sun and the subways pound and the miracles
miracle. Mainly the people sigh.


WAITING
by Barry Spacks

A little boy in a photograph
leans hunched against a white stone wall.

I was once this little boy...
weren’t you? Or his sister, small and waiting.

Waiting for what? For “it” to happen...
"it?" -- whatever's not this wretched wall!



SERENDIPITY
by Barry Spacks

A student queries the spelling
of master poet Rumi's name --
"Roomy?" Well, yes, in a way.



DEW OF THE VOID
by Barry Spacks

Brother Frank rents words to poets. What a notion,
it gives me an urge to traffic
in the silences between.

These words? Rented from Frank, must be returned.
But the little spaces? They're mine.
Please, help yourself, no fee,

use them to bless translucence, the way
a mystical interlude lets the light
pour through to shimmer thoughts.

Bless the poem whose shoes are shined,
whose telling words -- some even rhyme! --
wear suit, crisp shirt & tie.

A poem comes up from darks of sleep
blinking its eyes, saddlebags filled
with strangely set gems from Persia.

Bless the poems that glow for us,
arriving bearing the weight of space
with the dew of the void on their fingers.