Poetry
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Untitled
Kate Bremer What year is it? Sunday?What’s the donkey’s name;Why is she wearing orange slippers?Draw a Kit Kat Klock–her Krazy eyesAnd rigid plastic tail are mine. Drinking water, Meals on Wheels;I won’t write about killing children(or adults) in GazaUkraine, Salvador. FirstThey took the Venezuelans.Can you pass a Medicare testIf you are steeped in conspiracy–A member Continue reading
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Echoes
Patricia J McLean I’m at the edge of a cliff looking over,looking over at the cracks in the rock onthe other side. I’m at the cliff edgewhere time stretches, arcs back-forward,ages stacked on ages bent, arched,tilted, earth colors, life, death, beginning, end. I’m at the edge of the cliff. I imagine I can seethe other Continue reading
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say what you mean
another nonetMatthew E. Henry an affirmative action hirea multicultural hirea diversity hirean equity hirea DEI… justbe honest and call me anigger,please. Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is the author of six poetry collections, most recently said the Frog to the scorpion (Harbor Editions, 2024). He is editor-in-chief of The Weight Journal, the creative nonfiction editor at Porcupine Literary, and an associate editor Continue reading
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Indigenous People’s Night
Chad Parenteau Auto shop stays opento grill burgers amongthe unfinished labor. Radio on Latin beatshope’s fast drums speedpassersby away quickly. All feel indigenoussomewhere. Anyonecould be a colonist who wants to settleboth feet on our backslike branding irons. Above, moon seeksasylum in clouds, fearsbeing discovered again. Chad Parenteau hosts Boston’s long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His work Continue reading
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Tinder
Andrew Frewin Wilson “It needn’t be tinder, this juncture of the year”—Conor O’Callaghan, January Drought I – Hand-wringing… Tinseltown they called itThe Hollywood sign above itOn mountain and canyons coveredWith scrub like gasoline tinderRich palaces of dreams renderedTo which many young locusts aspiredBut Santa Anna winds have burnedThose houses to naught but ashChimneys only gravestones Continue reading
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Sexes
Aubrey Phoenix I didn’t like myselfWhen I was acceptable to others. My family would tell youThat I was most successfulWhen I worked for Sexes-A seemingly stable 9-6,Hardly above poverty payRelative to the tech-forwardNorcal SF Peninsula…But it came with an apartment,Health insurance, for the first time in my adult life,And a little bit of walking around Continue reading
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The Samaritan Machine
Strider Marcus Jones this field pondis only mydissolvedimagination-thought dropsof summer rainmaking fractal ripplesdrumbeat on skin.a portal sharedwith cawing crowsrevealswho scams and snoops and shootsin contract conversations.this Windsongof Virginia Creeper,ruling Bear and Wolfsbanerustling in black bambootrusts its Samaritan Machinetelling it who to redactin this imposeddystopianequilibriumof dumbed-down massesworshipping Carousel. Strider Marcus Jones is a poet, law graduate, and Continue reading
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Consequences
Benjamin Waldrum They’ll come for you next, you can count on that fact;They’ll keep coming so long as there’s more to subtract.They’ll trumpet their values — no faults, only gloss;They’ll arrive wrapped in the flag and carrying a cross. They’ll reduce human rights with the stroke of a pen;They’ll betray their own people, then betray Continue reading
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No Eulogy
Chad Parenteau Priest readscliff notes,from obit. Lived, worked,retired, died,had family. What elsegets buriedthis afternoon? Not a singlesecret passedover pew. Soon no onewill recallanyone here. Final giftof holyanonymity. Just onemore threadon bootstrap. The unsungof world’swinning team. Sweepingthemselvesunder rug. Pass Peterwithout evershowing pass. Behind gates,faceless divineforevermore. Chad Parenteau hosts Boston’s long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His work has Continue reading
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Ubuntu
Andrew Frewin Wilson When our humanity faltersIn so many placesAnd what really mattersIs trounced in so many waysWhen dictators are not justA “Third” World afflictionWhich “First” encouraged, in moral derelictionAnd now is itself spotted like rustWith rampant would-be elite FascismWe can draw back from the abyssFor democracy is no mere -ismIf “humanity” no longer resonates, Continue reading
The Chaos Section Poetry Project 