David Fewster

Saw them get out of their Lexus

to pick up their 10 and 11 year-old daughters

fat, affluent, they were out of

a George Grosz painting,

hands on porcine hips, obviously giving the girls

a lecture on the American Way.

Disgusted, I bent back over my book,

a biography of the Marquis de Sade,

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Claudia Castro Luna

Washington’s Winter

Winter’s taciturn realm asks nothing.
Crowned in hushed browns and somber greens, it rules by turns with quiet song
then with pummeling winds obeying no one.
It will be dark soon everyday for months
Color hibernates, leaving behind
its essence to purr
in everything oblique light touches.
In the hush, it asks us to see, and see again,
to hear the echo of step
over moss covered ground,

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Shankar Narayan

The Times Asks Poets to Describe the Haze Over Seattle

 No one asked me, but I would have said this apocalypse

looks like home.  The laureate

says a grey gullet has swallowed

a molten coin, another calls it powered cadmium

and cirrhosis, dystopian, grotesque, a crematorium.  Yes,

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Christina Buckman


5:50 am 

A dream vignette splintered into reality. 

Sore muscles of last night’s workout.

A daily success, even before dawn. 

Eyes half closed, coffee on my mind. 

Reasons to call in, rejected by fierce routine. 

“Alexa, play KEXP.” 

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Jonathan Shipley


I want an IKEA life with you.
One with gifts untold. I want
a life with one of those big
rolly carts - piled high with the
small things that will make our
lives maybe a little more
comfortable. I accept the challenges
of IKEA assemblages later. 

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Samanthe Sheffer

Looks Like Faith                                                      

Chill southern winds shove and pummel grand 

leafing maples, stately cedars, day after day from 

one month into another, cracking off thick limbs, 

hurling them to sodden ground impaled 

by deadwood spears, strewn with ragged branches,

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Chris Jarmick


Now that I’m nearly grown up
sometimes the acid rain from years ago
burns my eyes
reminding me of how far we’ve travelled
first together
then apart
forever connected
and I won’t insist it is more bitter than sweet.
There was and remains too much good
through all of it.

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Willie Smith


I went out with the infinite.
We swapped spit
in the backseat of a jalopy.
Explored ourselves
while ignoring the movie.
Walked home from the parkinglot,
falling all over each other.
Detoured through the park.
Dallied on a bench.

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