april 2019

jazz is by Peter Carlos

jazz is
    (for Michael Castro)

a call out
and a response
jazz is
jazz is
jazz is
jazz is
and chill
and cool

jazz is

              Peter Carlos



About Peter Carlos

Peter Carlos has attended the Bread Loaf Writers Conference in Vermont in 1976 and 1979, where he studied under Mark Strand and Robert Pack. He graduated with a M.A. in Creative Writing from Middlebury’s Bread Loaf Graduate School of English. His poetry and photographs have appeared in American Poetry Review, Image, River Styx, The Oakland Review, The St. Louis Post-Dispatch, among other small literary journals. He is author of a chapbook, Praise the High Grass, and a book of poems, Dreamfish. He is the Program Chair of Cinema Arts at Lindenwood University.

Untitled by Jeremy Weeks Joyner

In a tall jeweled tower I ask questions of the stars
Late grows the hour
As Jupiter passes mars.
The heavens whisper secrets
My hourglass is flowing
Another night spent sleepless
The window of time unknowing
Hunt for hidden magic
Prayer for fading lights
Truth is always tragic
With failing absent might
Spells like lightning fly
Across stone cobbled floor
Goblins shrieking begin to pry
Upon immaterial door
High the price of sorcery
A trap long set has sprung
Demons made clever forgery
Now the final song is sung.


About Jeremy Weeks Joyner

Jeremy Weeks Joyner is a poet, philosopher and ordained minister. He lives in central North Carolina.

Plowshare by Jeremy Weeks Joyner


The war was over long ago.
Discarded, engine rusted.
There are flowers now, Where men fought.
Watered by the blood of brave men and fools.
My aim is true, no longer.
Barrel fallen and powerless.
I, forgotten sentry,
From a world that was once burning.
There are flowers now,
Where once was only mud.
Armor, melted by fire and steel
Hotter than the flight of Icarus.
The ridge ahead, marred, now green.
Grass covered and silent,
The cannons evaporated.
No tanks should tread among these flowers.
Silent Behemoth,
The world quaked at my roar.
But that was long ago.
There has been too much pain.
My final task,
To guard the flowers
That men may war no more.


About Jeremy Weeks Joyner
Jeremy Weeks Joyner is a poet, philosopher and ordained minister. He lives in central North Carolina.

Untitled by Jeremy Weeks Joyner

Through a glass, darkly
The necromancers stare
Seeking forbidden wisdom
Spells float on the air.
In this wretched palace
No kings upon the throne
Abandoned pestilent kingdom
Horror haunted halls of stone.
Dead crawl from their graves dancing to an unseen tune
Unaware of their thralldom
Preparing the timber hewn.
The evil sorcerers incantations
Summoning an undead gathering
Corpses pondering lost freedom
Whose call is it they’re answering?


About Jeremy Weeks Joyner

Jeremy Weeks Joyner is a poet, philosopher and ordained minister. He lives in central North Carolina.

How I Finally Became a Mom by Jennifer Carr

Seasons came and went
As did 15 years of my life
During that time I was told
Some people are not born to be a mo
That I was not born to be a mother
I heard that lie so many times
I convinced myself of that truth
Like inmates convicted for crimes
They believed they didn’t commit
I was not better than those convicted
Those convicted in her eyes
Incarcerated in her crippling care
The cage that clipped my wings
The yard I yearned to feel the sun
Stopped my dreams in mid flight
No longer was the sky the limit
I could not see pas the bars
She enslaved me in
And yet, I loved her
And would have died for her
In fact, I almost did several times
After death comes rebirth
Then comes that newfound hope
Hope which brought courage
Suddenly I had not fear
It took me 6 months
Of carefully laid out plans
To plan my escape route
But it paid off
It all paid off
I broke free from that cage
And learned to fly once again
No more solitary confinement
Today, 7 years have passed
And the greatest gift
Besides my freedom
Is the sounds of small fee
Running around
With their blessed hearts
Because they have made me a mom
That’s right, I was born to be a mom
God knew all along
He would bless upon me 2 children
When the time was right
After I was able to leave
My jail cell behind me
Because the sentence time
Wasn’t mine to have to serve



About Jennifer Carr

Poetry written by Jennifer Carr. Jennifer lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico and enjoys spending time with her partner and two children. She is an EMT and firefighter. When she is not working at the local hospital, she spends way too much time writing poetry. Her poetry has been published by Triumph House Poetry with a Purpose. Her poetry has also been recognized by ZenUnleashed, Fanstory, as well as several newspapers. She loves flying by her own wings and looks for any opportunity to soar to new heights. Don’t forget to follow her on Twitter, @PoetryHaiku13.