Epiphany Magazine - epiphmag.com Issue 16
Where Creativity and Inspiration Evolve!
Sounds Good To Me
or from the beginning
from the start.
Like an ink blot
lets begin as that . . .
where we are.
Imposters called future
past, failure and success,
they've all just
missed the point.
became a surrealist
from lack of funds.
on a frozen river
as slippery as
lit by a string
trees bared fruit
original scripts edited.
is the manifesto ~
Photo by Maja Trochimczyk
Ayaz Daryl Nielsen
some days I can't
see twilight alpenglow
nor my wife's lips
in front of mine
nor the beloved's
out breath as
my in breath
some days my
so tense, the
upon the out breath
yearning for the
of love, lover
in front of,
upon and within
This poem is quite small.
It only needs
a quiet corner
to sit in and
watch over us as
it cries and cheers
for us and laughs and
yearns with us and
always prays for us.
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Hubris makes me . . .
wear red when I'm feeling gray
bite my tongue when your name threatens to escape
PMS until Christmas starting in June
hum Portuguese love songs to strangers on an elevator
drive recklessly on the 110 freeway
run on the treadmill past the posted 60 minute limit
sing the song about no rain and dance like the bumblebee at any
use my sexuality to achieve totality
say "Okay" when I mean another four letter word
channel Elvis's hips to cause a commotion
argue over unnecessary situations with my cats
challenge myself to a walk off
rearrange my closet by circumstances
deconstruct your name into a verb and conjugate you
act unkind to those who love me the most
refer to myself as "the new black"
laugh at inappropriate times
alienate those who care
plant firm kisses on those who don't
remember you holding me so I can later forget
paint my toenails with "No Room for the Blues"
snack, drink and smoke simultaneously
scrub my body raw to erase your touch
dream in stark black and white
not say love when I mean breathe
I breathe you
BIO: Amber Magruder is a graduate student completing her MFA degree in Creative Writing from Adelphi University. Her thesis, "The Cubicle Chronicles: Tales from the Underbelly" is a collection of intersecting short stories focused on the dark side of Corporate America. Amber was born in Mallorca, raised in Chicago and resided in Los Angeles for several years as a spin class obsessed hipster. She currently resides in Brooklyn, NY where she rarely admits to being single with two senior Siamese cats, Ari and Bella, and utilizes her voyages on the subway to write fiction and poetry on her iPhone.
Go to your private room
the one that has been cleared
of all unnecessary things
the one with the window
that shows you the moon
the one with the old good furniture
and the small rug made by women
in Persia, reciting Hafiz
and the candles from the dime store
the books well-loved and chosen
the pens full of poems
and the paper waiting to receive them.
Go to your quiet room
the corners piled with whispers
the dim hiss of distant tires
kissing staying pavement
the spaces where the songs go
like empty trumpet cases
questions and suggestions
hung like coats on coat hooks.
Go to your holy room
where everything is possible
and everything is forgiven
and everything is acceptable
and nothing really matters
you can be as alone as the moon
and still part of a far-flung family
do something - do nothing
just do it with love and hunger.
BIO: Dave Morrison is like a carpenter missing fingers - do you worry about his ability or applaud his devotion? Morrison's poems have been featured in literary magazines and anthologies, and read on Writer's Almanac. Clubland (2011 Fighting Cock Press), a collection of poems about rock bars written in verse is his seventh book.
A Final Homework Assignment
Even if you didn't hear a single
word I said,
I listened to you closely.
this learning thing is a two way street,
the covers of books
or the windows of classrooms.
learn this Latin phrase:
Omnia vincit amor,
and keep it in your heart
as far as you go
in this great big world.
You will be quizzed later;
you can count on that.
BIO: Andrew lives in Smyrna, TN., with his beautiful wife and three beautiful children. He loves to travel to Northern Ireland, where he first met his wife. He has published poetry in The English Journal, Skive, 34th Parallel. He has published two collections of poetry and prose: For You, and Limitless. His third collection is expected to be published by Spring 2013.
For You: www.amazon.com/For-You-ebook
Photo by Maja Trochimczyk
Late summer and the sky has nothing left to say -
a wrinkle or two of blue air, the facts of autumn
laid out in careless rows against September.
I say each image is a careful bias: bottlebrush
and bougainvillea climb the outside steps,
irreconcilable - each bougainvillea blossom
a minor unit of self pity, paper thin
and malleable, bract after tropical bract shifting
its bright texts, each small floweret
sadly white - uncoded little messages.
Differences, you say, and that is
elementally a fact. The vine is evergreen,
self-limiting; the bracts are semiotics that float
above their own grammar.
I watch your reflection in the window.
Past it, regressive little buds nubbin
on the bottle brush: prestructurals -
this or that detail of a genetic text.
Blossom as artifact, you say. I study
the window panes, cautious squares,
irrational little trains of thought.
The bottlebrush will bloom 'til Advent.
Nothing happens, you assure me. I agree.
Time struggles down its seasons and is gone.
There's scarcely a breeze this afternoon.
You tell me that your hands are cold.
I watch them fill with quick blue air.
BIO: Co-Editor of Ekphrasis, Carol Frith has chapbooks from Bacchae Press, Medicinal Purposes, Palanquin Press, Finishing Line, Rattlesnake, & Gribble Press (she recently won the Gribble Press chapbook competition). Her full-length book is from David Robert Books. She has a special mention in the 2003 Pushcart Prize anthology, and her poems have been published in Atlanta Review, Seattle Review, Rhino, Rattle, POEM, Poetry Kanto in Japan, and elsewhere.
Two links where my work can be found online:
First light winks
in an October daybreak
over the island
near the gazebo
our bicycle moves
with jumbled shadows
along the shore's edge
when two gulls
yearning for the height
of jostled clouds
cover high pitched dunes
with deep sea voices
from an unmemoried sky
on a truant hour
by dark water swills
unsure that anyone
even that one tourist
with a torn map
and soaked with beer
would be curious
to bypass our path
by an outer bank
on unwalled sands
Posted on the sky
a body of culled shapes
drifts as long sighs
with every possibilty
from your sepia height
of words, mien, imagination
to embarasss the world.
Here a poet by sea voices
rests long sleeves
on the tall grass dunes
entangled in shadows
through Blakean glasses
of leafy eyes
the sky of circled birds
on wing covered dawn.
your absence landscapes
from memory of the sea
dwindles in lambent shapes
with intimate wounds
on a horizon of sky,
an intertwined echo
from musical stones
deafens the waves
in your watery throbs
along the sand dunes
of the Cape
half- asleep in the sun
consumed by our voices
by child laughter on rocks
and reefs of silence.
That was only shade
in gestures by the staircase
eclipsed from night swells
here by changing shapes
of ocean haze
returning from the Cape
of phantom memory
as ideas float on waves
with spacious sounds
of birdsong from the dunes,
breaths of wind
fill echoes of sea voices
away from unshackled time
of fragrant shadows
along the greensward shore
when first light marvels
from the quick landscape
of budding words
offering us sleepless news
of nature's nascent signs
along the coast,
our footpaths consumes
the sunshine moving us
in corners and crevasses
on the muffled sand
oblivious to your fingers
holding a pear
you wander in the yard
outside of Bay windows
from a scent of Fall's colors
barely tossed about us.
BIO: B.Z. NIDITCH is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and teacher.
His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including: Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; Hawaii Review; Le Guepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Budapest); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others.
BZ's New poetry collection " Lorca at Sevilla" March St. Press, N. C.
He lives in Brookline, Massachusetts.
Seventeen stepping off that eastbound
train, studying poetry by day and living
poetry by night, thinking that the world
would always be to the beat of a drum.
Melody wrapped memories of you and
me walking down that path to the river
where we lived the night. Just a Saturday
night in Iowa City so long ago. Seventeen
stepping off that eastbound train, studying
poetry by day and living poetry by night.
Melody wrapped memories
BIO Shel Bockman is a professor at California State University, San Bernardino. He attended the University of Iowa years ago where he took some poetry/creative writing courses, but he stopped writing poetry after receiving advanced degrees in a different field. But recently he has for some unknown reason started writing poetry again, and has published poems in Epiphany (forthcoming), Strong Verse, Locust, Sleet, The Houston Literary Review, A Hudson View, SNReview, A Little Poetry, Boston Literary Magazine, Maverick, Flutter, Words-Myth, and Kupozine
Heart and Mind
Oh Heart; why do you stay?
My mind is screaming "There is another way!",
Why do you throb at the very name?
My mind is writhing in pain.
Why can't you see, heart, that you've been led astray?
My mind is warning you not to play,
Won't you believe Heart? Your path is not the way,
My mind is yelling to get away,
But Heart you will not obey.
Now here we are, ripped apart,
Because of your decision, Heart.
Was it worth it? Pieces lay broken, all in dismay.
Heart, why are you breaking? You got your way.
My mind is crying, wishing you would go away,
We both have a price to pay.
BIO: Jessica Ingle is a college student. "Writing has been my passion, along with reading, since I was a child. My imagination was always overactive and my writing has always been unique." This is the first work that she has submitted for publication.
Photo by Maja Trochimczyk
The Rite of Passage
Cobalt, emerald, azure -
All the names are wrong
For the color of this lake
In the High Sierras of basalt and fir
The lake of healing
Jacinth, turquoise, sapphire
Of crisp green waters welcome me
Topaz, chrysolite, beryl
Shine on the peaks of sequoias
I swim above dark mossy boulders
Reflections scatter and greet
My return from translucent depths
Jasper, amethyst, opal
Shimmer on the lake's surface
Symmetry of ritual gestures
Cold water cleanses my spirit
Despair drowns in my wake
BIO: Maja Trochimczyk , Ph.D. is a poet, music historian and photographer, born in Poland, educated in Canada (McGill), and living in California. She authored four books of music studies, four books of poetry, and hundreds of articles and poems.
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