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©2018 Barren Magazine. An Alt.Lit Introspective.

Poetry.


Category

I Will Not Waste You

I Will Not Waste You

The pink of your thighs folding in is the conch I hold to my mouth and the soft curve of your body a bell to my ear. Sickness washes in like flood water, foul…

Katelyn Delvaux 09/19/2018
The Beetle

The Beetle

all broken and yellow as antique things tend to be there is beauty in oxidation, in the elements eating through metal like larvae         through leaf the…

Rebecca Kokitus 09/19/2018
It's Just That Sometimes I Feel Trapped

It's Just That Sometimes I Feel Trapped

He refuses to eat vegetables from our garden, says nothing grown half a mile from a steel mill can be safe. What about me, then? But I, I refuse to be a…

Megan Neville 09/19/2018
Nationalism

Nationalism

You’ve solved the problem of sirens and birds – there are fewer. Calls go to voicemail; sleep is a holiday but dreams are work. The vast emporia that welcome…

Frederick Pollack 09/19/2018
Visitation

Visitation

When Abraham came by after work to pick up Isaac and said he was taking him hunting on Mt. Moriah, Sarah cautioned them to be careful— look out for mountain…

Marissa Glover 09/19/2018
displaced

displaced

autumn smells of an ashen orange leaf stretching on its cot of morning dew. i lift my window for the embers floating in the air. the Midwest has a kind nature,…

Madeleine Corley 09/19/2018
Hot and Cold

Hot and Cold

I'm never afraid of what's ahead unless it's a mirror showing me what's behind I don't fear monsters, I fear stoves I don't fear muddy boots, I fear house slippers the…

Celeste Ramos 09/19/2018
gemini

gemini

the curve of her spine falling like rainwater. the smell of whiskey in her hair. a dirty gold braid longing to be loved. this is the twin that sleeps above…

alyssa hanna 09/19/2018
Thump,

Thump,

Thump, the perpetual freezing / Thump - the virulence, the White-hot blaze of a heart under the tundra Limestone, basalt heart of memory - Heart of throughline…

Lauren Suchenski 09/19/2018
Silent No More

Silent No More

The silence of a thousand years is broken with a whisper, emanating from the heartbeat of oppression. Time can no longer restrain truth. It breaks open sins…

Ann Christine Tabaka 09/19/2018
Bus through Dubuque, Iowa

Bus through Dubuque, Iowa

This is the road that folds the latitude of night into brave passages through fields of stirring, the keen awareness of hurtling through time, or whatever stands…

Iris Orpi 09/19/2018
Dead Leaves

Dead Leaves

After Remedios Varo If I do not tell you of the lichen growing on the living room floor will you feel it on the soles of your feet? What of the yellowed…

Erin Emily Ann Vance 09/19/2018
At a Restaurant the Night My Son Died

At a Restaurant the Night My Son Died

I sat across from him, shooting his portrait with my phone. His charcoal sweatshirt faded into the dark booth. He played tic-tac-toe in the dim light. I…

Chanel Brenner 09/19/2018
Drive

Drive

First time you say I’m driving off the bridge I hyperventilate and wonder how I will survive, on flowered tile, the ridged linoleum remains, caffeine-free brown, of…

Kristin Garth 09/19/2018
I know the river ran red

I know the river ran red

I know the river ran red until the sea, where the wild throat of a sky washed to the reaches before the magnet dark of eve. In this wavelength, this limbo…

Christopher Hopkins 09/19/2018
hecate #1

hecate #1

undeath is in creation / and the degloving of hands / digging up of pale yellow talisman / kiss of moonlight through the willow branches / fade / d / undeath…

Katherine DeCoste 09/19/2018
Gone

Gone

Your words flew in - like scattered shadows held themselves at a         distance, waited to shape from sorrow tomorrow’s understanding. They exploded…

K.V. Martins 09/19/2018
Transposition

Transposition

your peaceful face in the back of the car driving home from an airport we collected you your peaceful voice temporarily changed to quiet measures conflictless…

Mark Mayes 09/19/2018
The Art of Alchemy

The Art of Alchemy

Oh yes, I remember the feel of slick on slick, my tongue loose in your mouth. But I remember the emptiness better, how birds wait on wires for hours before…

Katarina Boudreaux 09/19/2018
Original Wisdom

Original Wisdom

My grandparents’ kitchen was indelibly turquoise their laminate countertops hosted black currant jam parties berries picked, cooked, poured into paraffin topped…

Lesley-Anne Evans 09/19/2018
The Wind Plays Tricks On Me In September

The Wind Plays Tricks On Me In September

Long are the rhythms of pain in the fall-- Single leaves upon the wind float then flip, I assume them dead kin: a tree frog a thrush a red squirrel a monarch…

Elisabeth Horan 09/19/2018
Forty Years On

Forty Years On

Walking in snow towards this young ash triggers memories that surge and well, overflowing as uncontrolled gasps of breath. This scar deepens with every visit;…

Jonathan Humble 09/19/2018
Drought

Drought

No clouds clasp onto the hilltops, and the bony trees drop brown leaves curled like fists this summer noonday. Across the way, a pileated woodpecker crawls…

Cate McGowan 09/19/2018
Morning Sex

Morning Sex

We are pushing sixty. Like snails, when we bloom out of ourselves to spy the garden through our blindness we are dancing slowly, alert to the flaming intentions…

Mark Jackley 09/19/2018
Images of Divinity

Images of Divinity

we need a god who sits behind a keyboard in a dive bar every tuesday    wearing a glittery blue button-down shirt    to roast the patrons and regulars no…

Lindsay D'Andrea 09/19/2018
Corpus

Corpus

The mummified body of Ötzi, “the Iceman” from the Copper Age was found in the Italian Alps in 1991. So, you will not show me your hands again, how they…

Hannah Larrabee 09/19/2018
At the 50th

At the 50th

Harvard College Reunion, Class of 1958 Adrift between symposia and seminars, a drizzle of reverie on Bow Street, aimless nostalgia graying in droplets of fog. At…

Krikor N. Der Hohannesian 09/19/2018
I Was Hovering Just Below the Hospital Ceiling, Contemplating My Death

I Was Hovering Just Below the Hospital Ceiling, Contemplating My Death

When I glanced down and saw my body, the suffering, damaged girl. My beloved, nowhere to be found had died on impact. Now the ER doctors say I can go either…

Alexis Rhone Fancher 09/19/2018
Hamilton Mountain Access

Hamilton Mountain Access

Access this light-chocolate path, caramel, peanut butter, chocolate chips, little milk; drab growth, spider plants tumbled slowly out of the top of a project…

Carl Watts 09/19/2018
Heat

Heat

At thirty-three I transformed into the sorceress of eternal summer. It’s cliché to say a man broke the spell—that I couldn’t find the way out of winter…

Marisa Silva-Dunbar 09/19/2018
Landscape

Landscape

I lie, ribs caved in and cracked up like shattered shipping pallets, smashed and battered, dropped in the yard of an industrial estate, forgotten about out…

DS Maolalai 09/19/2018
Coyotes

Coyotes

It’s mid-morning when I walk the back road. Sunlight speckles through the leafy branches, its warmth burning the dew off ferns. And then I hear the coyotes…

Jeannie Prinsen 09/19/2018
With Or Without You

With Or Without You

I remember the way February looks after midnight— jigsaw lines of houses, small front yards the rain crawling along the ground, turning to ice speaking blacktop…

Jeanna Paden 09/19/2018
Under the Catalpa Tree

Under the Catalpa Tree

I see it there knowing full well its cycled presence through daily passing. The wide green expanse a guardian canopy. And think, I’d like to lie out under…

Susan Mulder 09/19/2018
The Small River in the Gutter

The Small River in the Gutter

There is this small river shaped like a gutter near my childhood home. It runs along a centenarian railroad, made of dry wood (with funny knots in it). Walking…

Alexandre Ferrere 09/19/2018
On This Autumn Equinox

On This Autumn Equinox

may the night cool the day into a fog, dripping from trees and roof’s overhang by morning may I wake to the heron sounding its long note as the sun hesitates before…

Lisa Stice 09/19/2018
Village Road

Village Road

Here, a village road, darkly quiet, winds under sunset’s opal sky, wisps tinged turquoise green, rose, tint the low horizon. Here, a country lake, old…

Joyce Wheatley 09/19/2018
No Better Past

No Better Past

Sometimes, we find better selves like lost toys, as if we've dusted cobwebs to reveal old ribcaged hearts garbed in younger, rawer flesh that didn't scar didn't…

Alex Smith 09/19/2018
Need

Need

The blackbirds and the mourning doves that haunt the backyard feeder have me thinking need, the burning fuse that drives us all. And even though right now it’s…

Thomas Zimmerman 09/19/2018
The Outsider

The Outsider

is the woman with no children— I’m not tall enough to see what everyone carries, the broomsticks they hold behind their backs. My feet— They haven’t…

Kristin LaFollette 09/19/2018