POETRY PACIFIC
a literary publication for true lovers of words & wisdom
dear All PP Patrons,
towards the end of last year, several authors published on our website asked us whether we were going to make any nominiations for pubshcart prize and/or 'best of the net'. we told them that as a rule we had never done so regularly, nor would we in the future. the reason is simple: our site is, as indicated explicitly under the name of our e.zine, 'a publication for true lovers of words and wisdom'. indeed, while most, if not all, authors, magazines and presses, may turn out to be pursurers of fame and wealth to varying degrees, our platform cares about neither. it's purely a labor of love.
one thing interesting to note is, though, that since we reduced PP from a biannual into an annual publication in 2020, we have had more pageviewers than before, averaging about 7,500 at least per month. most noticeably, in march 2024, our monthly pageviewers hit a record high, which reached 27,124, a sudden huge jump still unexplanable. on april 5 alone, our pageviewers reached as many as 2,042. compared to other literary/poetic sites (including some university/college-run ones), this achievement is certainly satisfactory. after all, PP is basically a solo performance by an old village boy whose time, energy, health and computer skills are all extremely limited. (we had a statistic report about our site in 2016, and will do so again in 2026, just to see the changes.)
in this annual edition, we are honored to present 70 poetry authors and 4 visual/graphic artists.
enjoy reading/viewing,
with all best wishes for a more rational, peaceful and prosperous time to come...
- eds. at PP
Cliff Dweller
At The Cemetery
Her headstone
whispered
with a voice
made of
memory.
Dried Flowers
After hours spent
with our girls
in the sun
their shoulders,
cheeks, and
noses
all now painted
a summers
pink
I take the
flower
that this day has
bloomed
and fold it
delicately
between the
pages
where we wrote
it’s story
For Delia
Six bushels sit
stacked
Beneath an apple
tree
Empty now
But for the stars
Storms
She slides open the
curtain
of her dainty summer
dress
to the rain soaked
windows
her body passes
through
like a storm
of summer bloomed
lightning
Ravine
We should raise
our smiles in spite
of what we were
like droughted
ravines growing
wildflowers
in the absence of
water.
Bionote
Ryan Brennan lives in the Catskill Mountains with both a witch and a cat. He has recent or forthcoming work in Cider Press Review, Brazos River Review, Pif Magazine, Muddy River Poetry Review, The Mantle, One Sentence Poems, amongst others.
a gentle sorrowing |
no freedom from this |
moon of the day |
the moon did not rise |
the universe in you |
David Boyle has painted many oil paintings since the mid-nineties which have sold well in Wellington, Palmerston Nth and have sold my sculptures fromHastings City gallery New Zealand. David’s art has been seen in online magazines and paperbacks such as Last leaves, The Woodward Review, Five on the Fifth, Radar Poetry and Zoetic Press. I have been inspired by the black humour of the horror writer Shaun Hutson and Neil Cross the thriller author also humourists like Ben Elton. David entered a short story about a were/rat into The Rangitawa Collection of Short Stories by New Zealand Authors 2013 and Twisted Tax Tales Short Story in Australia and both published this in their books of short stories. Zoetic Press. My website is boyleswellington.
READ ME, LOVE
Every Youthful Moment
Paving his ownIn the Detritus and Duff
(after alcohol poisoning)
Dawn at Halape Oasis
The night has worn out. It was my blanketDEPRESSION
From the far lonely reaches of my fears,Lake Patzcuaro: Before All Saints' Eve on Janitzio Island
The lake where fishermen catch lightNight Walk Down a Narrow Street
Dust
Desert dwellers learnKingdom of Gauze
Eh
lease be aware
That the earth doesn't care
About your despair
Nor your petty wares
Or whatever it is you have to share
Water Wells
You could see within our wishing well
Countless stars and endless waterfalls
But one drop taints the well
And now we only see ourselves in free falls
Shelter
SELF-PORTRAIT / Native American poet in the mirror
still naming the ingredients in his face,