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  • The Poetry of Roy Bentley

    Claire Bateman / 2 Comments

    “It’s a warm December in Washington,/a few days before Christmas, the slaughterhouse/of men quiet, those around the lieutenant general/eager to repeat news of victory they know comes/at a price, even if the war…

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  • The Poet Tom Sturch

    Claire Bateman / 0 Comments

    “I’m preaching to myself, he would say, as if the belief that the grace of a common bread was easier for us to comprehend than the oracle of his mouth; that his humanity…

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  • Dear People of The Future

    Claire Bateman / 4 Comments

    “We need a designated verb tense for this indeterminate present. What day is this, we wonder, what month? The one thing we’re not foggy about, however, is the time. You’d think that the…

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  • The Poetry of Elizabeth Boleman-Herring

    Claire Bateman / 0 Comments

    “Allergic to their stings, you see my words as bees./For all their softness, you see something hidden./They ask for what you can but will not give: a child,/And hidden in the mildness of…

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  • The Poetry of Richard St. John

    Claire Bateman / 2 Comments

    “Our masters and almost friends,/in lab coats and white Cossack smocks,/floated like ghosts across the hillside,/holding our leashes, staring blindly/at the lens./Sniffing, loafing, eager, and at ease,/everything excited us!”—By Richard St. John Speculative…

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  • The Poetry of J. Drew Lanham

    Claire Bateman / 3 Comments

    “Then—/when the once sturdy barrier/is too old; beyond repair—/down to some skeleton/of former fence glory,/the meadowlarks seek new perches/to sing prairie songs/on last autumn’s stakes/of mullein stalks,/yellow breasts glowing like rising suns,/as the…

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  • The Poetry of Jacob Boyd

    Claire Bateman / 0 Comments

    “The world will wrestle you into place and pin you/down while the weeks slip past./Don’t be/so easily corralled. Buck it./Go visit your fucking folk.”— Jacob Boyd Speculative Friction By Claire Bateman GREENVILLE South Carolina—(Weekly…

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  • The Poetry of Chrissy Kolaya

    Claire Bateman / 0 Comments

    “They play at being retired or married, spend the night in a featherbed four feet off the floor, where/they make love, where she crawls beneath the covers and the bed creaks with no…

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  • The Poetry of Sarah Blackman

    Claire Bateman / 6 Comments

    “In a civilization or a family no one knows what comes next./Not the protozoa. Not the whelk./ When we rise, washed smooth, we pat each other/because we are surprised to find each other/more…

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  • The Poetry of Candace Wiley

    Claire Bateman / 0 Comments

    “The excerpt of the poetry project featured here uses science fiction and fantasy to weave narratives that stem from the historic moments of Igbo Landing. In May 1803, 75 Africans from the Igbo…

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