POETRY PACIFIC

Traffic Light Green, Yellow, Red Step Stop Yet again I missed the light What could have been What should have been My chance to burst to The...

Love Becomes My Name The crucifix that has become My breath speaks to me In waves of hellos I cry to the skies, But receive only rain I year...

Saltspray where you’re dying by the ocean, your dogs run on the beach, unawares. it saddens me to think of them looking for you after you’re...

I WRITE IN WATER Just opposite, an island of the sea, There came enchantment with the shifting wind, That did both drown and keep alive my e...

  Bionote Dominik Slusarczyk is an artist who makes everything from music to painting. He was educated at The University of Nottingham where...

Note: The following five poems have been previously published and collected in my novel trilog TOWARDS, which was published by the Vancouver...

The Last Time I took a walk through the woods before the leaves fell for the last time. I heard them glistening and shaking getting ready to...

Against the Sky The hiding game the crows played with me up there in the trees is over now that the leaves have Novembered to the ground. Th...

  Bionote J.I. Kleinberg lives in Bellingham, Washington, USA, and on Instagram @jikleinberg. Collections of her visual poems include How to...

II. Robins singing, larkspurs   sunning, white horses     floating overhead. III. An azure dome, the garden              glittering with bee...

This Holy Litany (Salem Witch Trials) after Allen Ginsberg A psalm, a hymn, and a prayer. A palm holding a candle. Confess. Reap. Stained gl...

No Singing The sun blazed. The Ohio River Motionless. I grabbed my BB gun headed for the creek to hunt dragonflies. Looked up into the blue ...

Claw Machine Kingdom As you walk by a claw machine  you can hear the pleading of  the eye-catching plushies from  the other side of The Grea...

What place keeps the veil between life and decay?  There’re countless answers, a hospital where people are born and where most die of illnes...

Kinetic Mojo Machine The point of poetry is to release the kraken universal emotion sucker punched in the toothache clobber smacked upside t...

The Anthill of Regrets It dawned on me like a dirt puddle as I stood Waiting for Godot— splashing on my foot-slogging conscience as some rec...

The Feel of a Petal You cannot show me black. I dare you to find white that isn’t really gray dark or light, or purple or yellow variations...

  Two Trains Running                                       With gratitude to August Wilson                                      and Mark Cla...