Not doing much but composing a poem in my head—which might be somethingif the poem is consummated,turning out to be good. Sunlight steps easy on the waterall the way to Quay Bercyand a new first line—that’s better.Lush, green leaves on the trees, a cat chases plump birds,a couple on the roof of a houseboatkiss and […]Read more "Along the Seine"
August Garden Overgrown, ravaged with insects, humming incessant sun, the lot of it buckles, sucks, sags and slumps toward autumn — all bursting, come to fruition, seeking divisions between sex and sex and death — breathing last breaths, heaving its seed toward next season. Stephen Jackson [he/him] lives and writes in the Pacific Northwest. His […]Read more "August Garden"
Williams I stole a book or two in my time— from a room where it bided unread winter and winter came Williams, came that greeny asphodel; unknown then to me in my darkness, how it bloomed when I brought it out, modestly, continuously, met me long years away with waves of renewed waking, a kind […]Read more "Williams"
Wrapped Tight Ball of string wrapped tight and tidy yearns to fling itself in a direction to unravel massiveness into feathery strand beckoning in wind for more length to discover more paths no worries of finding way back or to dangle like trapeze swinging back and forth inviting acrobats to fly unlike ball of string […]Read more "Wrapped Tight"
Brother, Can You Spare The Time? To be fully present for the sensation of a moment where you can discover what lies behind the human masquerade, and have the chance to make everything in your life new again. You’ll uncover grief, sorrow and passion in the sensing of the body armor. The tragic spiritual mediocrity […]Read more "Brother, Can You Spare The Time?"
A Master What if A Master could teach my son to fly over the cornfields of any countryside a person might wish or dream to see. This Master would dress like a carnival barker. My son, who long ago stopped minding my rules, would kick off his tennis shoes and take flight. People would see […]Read more "A Master"
The following is an excerpt chapter from Ms. Never (published November 1, 2019) by Colin Dodds, whose poetry was previously published here at Visitant. The most recent description of Ms. Never: Ms. Never is the story of a woman with apocalyptic depression, and a man who buys human souls using the terms of service in […]Read more "Ms. Never | Joel’s Last Night, First Night – A Short Story"
Barred From The Hive The birds have gone to sleep tonight And after more nights the unnecessary drones Will be homeless, barred from the hive, Buzzing around the discarded soda bottles And trying not to die but verily dying While I lie here waiting out another year Of my lifecycle Alone Alone, Barred from the […]Read more "Barred From The Hive"
Ode to the Library Imagine the ideas that float around, some sticking to the stacks like kites caught in power lines. Some gummy on the shelves after decades of disuse. Some so juicy you could scrape them into a blender for a smoothie to sell at the fair near the merry-go-round. Or the hands that […]Read more "Ode to the Library"
Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk We are quiet and courteous. The woman with Tylenol lets the bent-over woman go in front with a cart full of incontinence briefs. A man tends the scanner and register. His shirt tail needs tucking in at the back and his hair could use a slicking […]Read more "Seven Women In Line at the Pharmacy at Dusk"