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Andrew Wessels :: from That Sunshiny Field


The tail drew
seven crowns
and ten horns
upon that old
serpent’s head.

“He is called
Revelation, who
cause the whole
world. Take him

as worthy
reward attired
like the Whore of Babylon
reaching the third
part of the stars.

Do not cause him to die.”


          °


Clutch the garment
gladly, find it
with such
difficulty the life
persuades back
to the body
(“native prison”).

To gaze on death
(“holy beasts”),
that earthly form.



And God said
too late
“Let there be,”

and the piercing light
faltered into two shapes
of the tree: an allusion
to time (of sorrow)
and reward (of death).


          °


Beaten, the top
of the helmet glitters
with anguish flashing
as the stroke
comes over
the shoulder
with power.

Splendid evening stars.



The shield made
of one solid
diamond, unflawed
except with magnificence.

In the Letter to Raleigh,
it is identified
with virtues, containing
them all: the clear moon,
the constellations, the palm.

The magicians
believed the eclipse
wanted a change:

to make the form
marvelously dim.


          °


He that fails
to control
the spear
lays open
his spirit.

He that fails
to will
cannot will
power. The spirit
pours forth
the end a kind
of courtesy
never found.



Destruction ran
its course
along the garden,
the wounded
either forsaken
or plundered.
The lands—
Phison, Euphrates,
Gehon, and Tartarus
—remained
impartial.


          °


Brave means
“who was not killed.”

His strong hands
guiltily stained
the object
with mortal fear.

Who prefer death
to treachery, go
unrespected.
The sad, unfortunate
dear one, misjudges
who judges rightly.



Andrew Wessels: I’m a writer, translator, editor, book designer, and teacher. My first book is A Turkish Dictionary, published by 1913 Press. Semi Circle, a chapbook of my translations of the Turkish poet Nurduran Duman, was published by Goodmorning Menagerie.

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submissions :: where is the river

Up to six poems in a single .doc file with author biography and photo to kieferjdlogan@gmail.com

All rights revert to the author/s upon publication.

Elidio La Torre Lagares :: Six poems

walking in Rome
male cicadas foretell the sun
the distance of rain as we walk
through Rome on the 25th of July:
the history of Empire

i touch the breath of fireinside
my mouth birds peck at
dormant words under my steps

roads lead into alibis for an idea of time
when tutte strada vanno a Roma

lady Cicadas, on the other hand, treasure
silence around the marbled stories
of Villa Burghese

Sophie walks beside me painting
the air longing dreams
the world conforms a canvasher voice
a ripe fruit that floats
on the Roman landscape

from the hills of Villa Medici the city
spreads like the wings of an eagle of light
constantly diffusing emergingsomehow
the impending clearance of dependences
melts with the gradation of memories the precise
clockwork of stages

with loss and life to gain

clouds travel homeless



colosseum

The Roman Colosseum-
round as a certainty
or the eye of a hurricane-
was once one of the
seventh wonders
of the world. But, little
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about :: where is the river

where is the river :: a poetry experiment is a bi-monthly poetry journal open to a variety of aesthetics, forms and experiences, with a preference towards showcasing work by emerging writers. There is no single path, nor any single way. Founded in September 2017. Edited by Kiefer JD Logan.