Calling poets to a greater role in public life and fostering a national network of socially engaged poets.
By Bettina JuddLucy didn’t scream like most. Though sometimes she
would moan--deep, long and overdue. I’d wake
thinking death. It’s her, knees curled under, head face
down, her body trying to move out of itself. Anarcha
By Rayna MomenUnprotected sex is a woman in America.
Unprotected sex is a woman in the world.
My body is my temple and will always be
it is not some place where you go to pray
By Franny ChoiHow'd you get so slice?
Razor pinch all flat-like? All puff
& sting? What's your allergy?
By Kathi WolfeI'm in my seat,
averting my eyes,
those funhouse mirrors,
By Joseph RossHammering on rocks
can break the hammerer's back
when stooped
By Jennifer PerrineUnder the surface of this winter lake,
I can still hear him say you're on thin ice
now, my heel grabbed, dragged into the opaque
By Rachel M. Simonthe name altered from parent's choosing
the threshold of a home
white gloves on the windowsill
By Joseph RossIn a summer of snipers
some men raised their hands
with fingers pressed
By Kazim AliI was whispered along the road at Ache
toward the sun-puddled gate
By Joseph RossIf you leave your shoes
on the front porch
when you run