Consciously we refer to past acts of
compassion
Traumatized, or in mild paralysis,
damaged, weary
Yet awake and still aware of every strange
new power
Visiting and departing the ways they do,
So ever real, something, sometimes.
a selection from
configuring recolections
Felino A. Soriano
from 0 – X
On the neighbor's
kitchen floor 70's tile
, an obligation
of autumn's tonal orange/brown
my hands, blurred wings: antiquated
pots
anatropous,
wooden spoons
banging incoherent rhythms while
into walls of collecting echoes
waiting, an always waiting
for my brother to appear
from the hands of birth's
critical identity
nearing our eyes' intersecting
intuition: he/then
: and when his smallness of body stays against our
mother's growing warmth, what
occurs is elation on the scale
much larger than my three year old language
could articulate in sound
music
in the hearsay of
distance
my feet
wore wheels of a monarch butterfly’s ornate
attention—
skating with others a
Saturday specific expedition with
my father watching and wearing smiles
arcing happiness
toward my racing / and leaping / with
balance of devotion to keeping rhythm of
the music’s loud and voracious evidence
open
the
embrace
altered
my willingness to
composite faith
, Mondays/Thursdays evenings
bowing into
nights' sweat and improving skills:
age 5:
Tae Kwon
Do, father-initiated
composing identity
in the physical impression
of
practical mentality
each kick and strike
parry, process (inward)
mobile need to
cultivate
, improve ,
become and instill
encounter
with what my memory cannot wholly. a swarm
of gibberish on my corneas. the mumble of the
meandering shifts. shapes condemn then interact.
my body is still the boy's that could not whistle
until my hands unknotted into understanding
shoe-tying dexterity. what is shame but a shape
enlisted to dwarf the mirror's truth of imagery?
perhaps further listening will further the hands
calling from my then-alive grandmothers'
disparate
teachings. too, of my allergies to a cousin's cat, my
still desire to interact though eyes became red
marbles
rolling atop the concrete, the game of trade-off my
friends and devotion called toward collecting,
instilling
diagrams and whereabouts to capture and adhere
to
newness. the classrooms teaching introversion,
first. my
anxiety of deliberate attention never did dissipate.
each
brand of language. a notice to interpret, but what?
how
could interpretation compose my tongue without
defining
an interest to abbreviate my motive. gibberish, my
corneas
will exhale, electric.
draw. write this shape
called circle. instructions from foreign sounds.
tongue of teaching fathoms: concentrate
steer the pencil’s movement, well. of
this kindergarten creation, needed blending
do bodies, too-mine, collaboration with minds
and four-year-old intentions.
asthma
the bouquet of my breathing has wilted—
pastel
clarity
now opacity, an impairment of
ability to move sans
an athlete’s motivated effort—
into the emergency
room’s
diluted warmth, into my uneasiness a shot
exposes fear and a child’s hankering to be
escaped, untainted
2 Poems by Heath
Brougher
Jinxed Memories
The shrill and leavened blood
of the immolated children; fire bones rib-wracked
and squashed brown; now dust
and memory and dream and the uncertainty
of whether these things were ever real,
were ever even made of the Physical Universe
or instead of the lightness of mere fantasy;
a swish and a swirl; a droplet of a galaxy;
the memorial never carved in stone,
never fully knowing if such things ever existed,
the servile mind and memory, lost, limps onward.
drowning in the ubiquitous uncertainty that capes
all Thought.
Wooden Wires
I bleed like boredom.
Everything flows and bleeds through me, not you.
You are the son of the Universe.
You are the son of the Monster.
I put a cork back into the deflating cloud.
You keep growing faces on your head.
I turn into modern.
I turn into a modem.
I turn into moths of math.
I turn into trigonometry.
I turn into Truth.
Satie X 3 , Jerome Lester Horwitz
Mom, what’s a
contributor ?
’s work has appeared in
Heavy Hands Ink, mad swirl, Right Hand
Pointing, Four and Twenty, and vox poetica.
Steven lives alone and paints murals of
crowds.
is a poet, songwriter
and collagist living in Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania. His poems have most recently
appeared locally, nationally, and overseas in a
variety of print and online publications.
studied English at Seton
Hall University and enjoys living in The New
York City area. He is a white-hat hacker, but
his first love is the Arts.
Получить хорошую девушку
Я люблю свободу.
was raised in
Martinsburg, West Virginia, where he
attended public schools until the completion of
seventh grade. He then attended and
graduated from Saint James School located in
Washington County, Maryland. He received
his Bachelor of Arts from West Virginia
University in 1991, and his Master of Arts
from American University in 1999. For over
two decades, he has studied, performed, and
worked with numerous arts projects, musical
collaborations, and arts-related organizations
facilitating various art-mediums and
expression as an artist, a magazine columnist
and poetry editor, lead singer for rock bands,
performance artist, and folk singer. As a solo
artist/acoustic guitarist and songwriter, he
has toured and performed in musical venues
throughout America with an emphasis on the
regions of his Mid-Atlantic roots. He has
three published books of poetry (Red Dragon
Press), and also performed solo works in
improvisational settings in regional art spaces
with nationally known artists and music
groups. He currently lives in Central Florida
and works as a communications director of an
international boarding school where he
continues to write, record, tour, and perform
his acoustic music infused with poetry.
produced all
art within the pages of this magazine,
excluding those attributed to others.
is a poet documenting
coöccurrences. His poetic language stems
from exterior motivation of jazz music and the
belief in language’s unconstrained devotion to
broaden understanding. His work has been
nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of
the Net anthologies. Recent poetry collections
include Forms, migrating, Of isolated
limning, Mathematics, Espials, watching what
invents perception, and Of these voices. He
edits the online journal, Of/with: journal of
immanent renditions. He lives in California
with his wife and family and is a director of
supported living and independent living
programs providing supports to adults with
developmental disabilities. Visit
felinoasoriano.info for more information.
: “I live in York,
Pennsylvania and attended Temple
University. When I am not writing, I help
with the charity called Paws Soup Kitchen
which gives out free dog/cat food to low income
families with pets. My work has appeared or
is forthcoming in Yellow Chair
Review,Of/With, Mobius, Main Street Rag,