Transfiguration by Missy Grieco

I found a notebook filled with fragments.fleshless bones,skeleton poems,stillborn fiction.I reread them,bleedings from a badly sutured year,throatless memoirmy own ragechoked by my own pen.my own thoughts shrouded, unallowed.no more.I tore each page from the spine and burned my words alive. Missy is a Cleveland poet, madly in love with words.

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The Open Field by Robert Allen

My eyes are lilies.My skin turned toflower flesh forcingsecrets straightto my bright heart.So I become a rose,flower head with no potbut field fresh and readyfor my growth. Robert Allen lives and loves with his family in northern California. In his spare time he writes poems, takes long walks, and looks at birds.

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Let It Go by Barbara Hurwitz

The Rabbi Spokeon Yom Kippur ofthe importance of Forgiveness.He acknowledged thepain of rejection, ofinsult,rebuke,abuse,and the daily burden ofcarrying unwanted memories.  Let them gohe implored us.Let them go and beFree.Free of the spirits occupying too much space in your mind,leaving little room for Peace,Love andJoy that surrounds us.Letting go does not requireforgiveness.He said,Letting go offers usFreedom. The Rabbi spoke, And…

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Somewhere Finding Ferity by Jack Phillips

This dawn the equinox moon is waning a black belly with a left-handed crescent and waxing with frog bubbles puff-up sparrows ferny fiddleheads popping bloodroot in vernal burgeoning. Certain poets (the Beats in particular) prescribe some shack simple those rough-hewn days of dharmas and canned beans in a far-out hovel to revive the talent for…

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