Category: Poetry

Poetry

The Road By Richard Hoffman Mothers with newborns in knotted slings, on their heads impossible towers of things, the old in carts, the children by the hand, these people crossing a cratered land are more than metaphor; but they are also metaphor. We are the truth to one another. Look: don’t wait for some historian’s book to understand this (then it will be too late). This is the unchecked power of the State, the end of empathy, the rise of Mars, the avarice that in the end mars all our laws and medicine and art. Show me one fleeing...

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Poetry

male bonding for Adrian, J., Christopher, Matthew & Randall i want my sons to know men who smile i want my sons to know men who own their imperfections i want my sons to know men who listen i want my sons to know men who hear hearts, see words i want my sons to know men who honor women i want my sons to know men who appreciate the arts i want my sons to know men who adore their mamas i want my sons to know men who aren’t afraid of tears i want my sons to...

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Gavin Harrison

  Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance, when you’re perfectly free. —Rumi   “It is not unusual to find oneself drenched to the bone while walking in the early morning mists of Waipio Valley in Hawai‘i or the Ofafa Valley in Africa,” writes Gavin Harrison. “For me the adventure of Awakening has been mostly like that—a gradual soaking, with intermittent bolts of clarity, just like lightning piercing the depths of an African thunderstorm.” Harrison is the author of In the Lap of...

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Man Prayer

May I be a man. Whose confidence comes from the depth of my giving. Who understands that vulnerability is my greatest strength. Who creates space rather than dominates it. Who appreciates listening more than knowing. Who seeks kindness over control. Who cries when the grief is too much. Who refuses the slap, the gun, the choke, the insult, the punch. May I not be afraid to get lost. May I cherish touch more than performance. And the experience more than getting there. May I move slowly not abruptly. May I be brave enough to share my fear and shame....

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Protected: Poetry

The Taste of a Little Boy’s Trust By Richard Jeffrey Newman   Snow still falling this late, when each house framed by the window above my desk is dark, and even my wife’s breathing has grown indistinguishable from the quiet, snow still falling as a truck rolls by, big-cat-svelte on eighteen wheels, orange running lights spreading up and down my block a Halloween glow in mid-December, like a space vessel landing, bringing me the boy I was standing in the courtyard, searching the descending whiteness for the shapes of ships I longed to fly away on, snow still falling...

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Fall 2017

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Voice Male: the Book