Poetry: Sidewinder

Issue 2.1

by Bob Thimmesh

for Ray S.

Sweetness
wrapped by a horn’s husk
slithers softly
between the muffled cadence
of mallets
and arpeggios
of imitation ivory, then
dangles like a green pepper
at the end of a painter’s string.

Sweetness
sandwiched between
crisp cymbals and a stiletto stutter
of breathy innuendo
flowing through the bell and valve
of Morgan’s lament;

disparate solos
enter and depart
the rotunda
of bass and drum–

a sometime dowdy pair that shed
their homebody socks for a night on the town–
gingerly tasting
the sparse cloud of the horn’s contrail,
the disjointed guttural
of the swaggering sax.

They complete a dosey-doh;

notes linked
elbow-to-elbow
bow to each other

behind the conversation of wind
the dialog of string; engagement
that winds side-to- side

sensing discordance
and harmony;
tongue darting
in and out

savoring chords above the flat of E, sensing
joy and pathos on the other side of midnight.


Bob Thimmesh is a retired businessman who enjoys spending most of his time writing poetry and fiction. He is currently working on his memoir and lives in central Minnesota.

Poetry: Without Applause

Issue 2.1

by Darren Demaree

The all-bruise
doesn’t fade
as it’s the context

& the hymns
of the arcade
that constantly

push against
the already risen
blood. To be broken

& to have that
breaking known
publicly is to be

fated, is to be
prematurely swallowed
by the fates

& when it comes, that
one time the user
doesn’t use,

nobody put their hands
together for that
moment.

They should.
That is a mountain
risen, but refusing

to touch the blue
of the sky
that looks so warm.


Darren Demaree‘s poems have appeared, or are scheduled to appear in numerous magazines/journals, including the South Dakota Review, Meridian, New Letters, Diagram, and the Colorado Review. He is the author of six poetry collections, most recently Many Full Hands Applauding Inelegantly (2016, 8th House Publishing), and he is the Managing Editor of the Best of the Net Anthology and Ovenbird Poetry.

Poetry: Secrets

Issue 2.1

by Bob Thimmesh

Secrets are whispers
carried on the wind of privilege
a wind of harmony

(in the key of C)
and the dissonance
of a B-flat despair;

some carry the guilt of a solo riff,
others the synchronized delusion
of a hidden sweetness.

Privilege, a summer dalliance
that replaces the possibility
of good with the certitude of loyalty;

for loyalty caroms through
the curves of whim
ricocheting from the wall
of rationality to the wall of caprice,
and sustains itself
by feasting on its adherents;

for the secret becomes
its own testament, complete
in its ontological pedigree,
a temple where wind-borne words acquire
the sacredness of an ex cathedra proclamation.


Bob Thimmesh is a retired businessman who enjoys spending most of his time writing poetry and fiction. He is currently working on his memoir and lives in central Minnesota.

 

Poetry: My Consciousness

Issue 2.1

by Lea Moore

I am a smoothie.
I want my fish to die.
The metal feels smooth under my fingertips.
The light makes the green fern almost translucent.
The spices invade my nose from two stories down.
The blueberry skin lingers in the cracks of my mouth.
There is a hidden banging as he strikes the keys.
The. Clock. Moves. So. Slow.
The chocolate-butter aroma warms my face.
Scot wants to be like New York City.
The light solidifies the green fern.
The leaves squat in the ceramic pot the color or every Cape Cod guest bedroom with the sandy,
white sea shells in the clear candy jar.
‘Badonk-a-donk’ wakes me up with a smile.
If he told his story, she would be an alien.
That indicates there is a very strong relationship here.

I zoned out.

They were as chatty as turtles.
He plunged into the sink and swam with the eels.
Lea is confused.
He will scoot in and she will scoot to the side so he will scoot to the side.
I scalped her book.
Shut up! I’m trying to observe this painting!
J’ai faim. (aka I have hunger.)
My zumba instruction video was having a fantastical time.

Just like how bananas, lemon juice, blueberries, and coconut water
(oh and with a hint of cayenne of course)
can sing sweet music in my mouth,
my thoughts love to party in my brain.


Lea Moore is a high school senior. We are proud to be her first publication.