The Forgotten Holocaust

Editor poetry

it spills, like ink drooling into graveled roads, hair hanging from the broken neck— i run—past the smoked houses that smell of firecrackers on new year’s—but too heavy—it drags across my skin; they said the wokou are coming! ri ben ren lai le! but the peonies dressed with summer’s qipao told us stay, stay, stay. did we stay to die …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Canada Lynx—Schoolcraft Game Refuge

Editor poetry

December collapses with a heaved sigh. Only the bachelor jay bathed in his cerulean vest resists the fait accompli of ephemeral gray. The lynx pads soundlessly into this laundered, stony light, tufted ears twitching to the avian colic attending her persecution of wending, eremitic hare. Mounting spoor— shallow spoons from snowshoed feet; roods upon whispered white. Deep inside this refuge, …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Howard Brown

Editor poetry

Obliquity   Give me poems— poems which speak to the heart and not the head; whose words roll from the tongue like water over polished stone; which say straight out what they have to say; whose truth does not lie buried beneath endless layers of meaningless metaphor; poems unlike those fawned over by the literary elite, but leave me asking: …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

1977

Editor poetry

I loved the humidity then. It could have smothered me. I didn’t mind, in the tree house, lying on my back like a forgotten swimsuit, drinking in the hum of flies. I rolled over the uneven planks until the call for dinner. That verdict now in.   Heat waves never drove down my street when I was seven, but one …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

My Father’s Song

Editor poetry

Some men are born gathering a nest   of white and dark fabulous musical notes   to them, and some men,   born broken like two halves of the April moon,   discover that to drink alone at night –   under the glass chandelier’s metropolis of stars   buzzing over a river’s boardwalk where tugboats   usher in ships …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Nature is Nurture

Editor poetry

I swear I can feel the grass extend myself out, reach to touch pet and adore, show my affection.   Light makes me marvel all those photons busy working; a free painting every second.   If my hope were tangible I could easily say it lives in times of quiet blessed by a hummingbird beating its wings.     Penney …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

This is how it is

Editor poetry

The little ant stood on the edge of the curb, to avoid being stepped on and looked down, as the city crowds shuffled by, faces clinched to another average  day.   And  someone noticed the little ant, on the curb’s edge – and shouted to the ant, “Jump! Jump you little fucker!”   It’s tough out here.   Tony Walton …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Venture

Editor poetry

suitcase.   it is better than an empty closet, for it encourages thrift and reminds us that we can, indeed, slam those rosewood doors, a cautious sanctimony tucked in the scarves of the accomplished and inarguably well-spoken moms who told us of regrets we ought not to strive for.   escape.   and reach as lost stars do. the clothes …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

A.J. Huffman

Editor poetry

A Brand New World   Strange cracks evaporate, buckle like a sky that has forgotten its blue.  Clouds crawl off the floor, point accusingly at stars swearing they are innocent as a bathroom mirror.  Three leaves send up smoke signals, invitations to tomorrow’s mess.     Of Onions and Umbrellas   Parallel creatures of hanging, droplets are their common denomination. …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Charles Hayes

Editor poetry

Trade-in Through shoes with cardboard soles that sport a clownish grin, my blackened toes flash like rotten teeth. Crows, spooked from the pizza box atop the trash, hurl their curses from the wires on high, to the concrete canyons of misty light. Chalk colored piles with dark swirls,, like rippled custard, dot the box, and I wonder at the absence …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Ron Riekki, Featured Author

Editor poetry

Setting the Landlord on Fire   Let me explain something first. This was by mistake. Although I remember a motivational speaker saying something about how there are no mistakes. And it was only his face. I was trying to do a circus trick. I was drunk. He had a giraffe shirt on so I couldn’t miss him. I spit the …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register

Alex Hughes

Editor poetry

A Seminary Education   The most interesting thing I’ve learned while at seminary was not taught to me in a class, but something I observed gradually around campus:   amid this gluten-free fitness-freak city it seems I’ve stumbled upon some holy place for women who are obese— everywhere I turn there’s a thigh as wide as my waist   gyrating …

This content is for Basic Member, Friends of Burningword 3-Day Pass, Friends of Burningword 3-Month Subscription and Friends of Burningword Annual Subscription members only.
Log In Register