Flying Island

A Writer’s Lament, or Ten Years Among the Wordmongers                                                                                  - dedicated to David Shumate* and Tracy Mishkin** by Mac Greene         So, here I am, a word bumbler trying to transform into an emerging writer, crawling through the smashing surf onto one of the endless islands in the Archipelago Poetico. My Grand Canyon poem washes up in Hawaii. The zombie piece rots on Deadman’s Rock. Several haiku gardens blossom in Japonesia. I land a Christmas tree and a raft of ravens on Wilderness Isle, just as waves slam me down and pull me back to sea. My chapbook lights up the phosphorescentalgae, and then fizzles in the pounding waves. Drums and orators vociferate around all-night campfi...

Poetic Seductress by Jay S Zimmerman A seductress        dressed in poetry her sheer exquisite words flow          over her shoulders                      cling to her body,               leave only a cleavage of metaphors 
      Similes danced like ballerinas              in the curls of her hair 
 Her lips pouted passionate penetrating alliterations                and her thighs provocatively pressed           against her dress                  ...

Villainy of a Villanelle by Frederick Michaels I spend long days in poetic hell seeing my best wrote rhyme and verse tortured at length by a villanelle. Pushed near a suicide farewell, suffering pain from this writer’s curse, I spend long days in poetic hell. In twists that gypsy-read palms foretell, words written simple take turns perverse, tortured at length by a villanelle. Poem cut lean like an empty shell, or still rife with fat — I’m not sure the worse. I spend long days in poetic hell. Words have life, why don’t they rebel? Verbs have a calling inaction subverts, tortured at length by a villanelle. Rigors of my art to this form still compel despite endless drafts toted off in a hearse. I spend long days in poetic hell, tortured at length by a villanelle. Bio: Frederick Michaels writes in retirement from his home in Indianapolis. His poetry has appeared in Flying Island, So It Goes Literary Journal, The Boston Poetry Journ...

If Sylvia Plath Had Been on Facebook by Rosemary Freedman If Sylvia Plath had been on Facebook And Columbus had GPS And Einstein had a laptop They might have googled each other Or become friends— And Columbus could have picked up Sylvia With her mussed up hair— Wishing she looked like Gwyneth Paltrow And had free tickets to Coldplay He might have reached under her arms And dragged her to his boat Her heels digging in as he dragged her Like the wicked witches feet sticking from Under the house— Under the house— Sylvia was there once too. He might have dragged her to a boat Where Einstein waited patiently With his laptop And they could have Mapquested To somewhere peaceful Where poems are all understood And discovered together With the GPS That the world is indeed flat. About Rosemary Freedman: “I am educated with a BA in Creative Writing and Literature from IU and also have a BS in Nursing, as well as master’s level de...