Epiphany Magazine - epiphmag.com                         Issue 16
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Weaver   Sherry Steiner    Ayaz Daryl Nielsen    Amber Magruder    Dave Morrison  

Jessica Ingle   Andrew Lankford   Carol Frith   B.Z. Niditch   Shel Bockman   Maja Trochimczyk  


        Sounds Good To Me

      begin backwards
      or from the beginning
      from the start.
      Like an ink blot
      lets begin as that . . .
      right here,
      where we are.
      Imposters called future
      past, failure and success,
      they've all just
      missed the point.

              Sherry Steiner


      became a surrealist
      from lack of funds.
      on a frozen river
      as slippery as
      in japanese
      held himself
      lit by a string
      trees bared fruit
      original scripts edited.
      is the manifesto ~

photo by Maja Trochimczyk

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

              Ayaz Daryl Nielsen

               Some Days

        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
       shoulders seem
       so tense, the
       upon the out breath
       remain unheard
       silent prayers
       seeking, longing,
       yearning for the
       blessed awareness
       of love, lover
       and beloved
       in front of,
       upon and within
       these lives
       of ours

                This Poem

       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.

                                                   Top of Page

              Amber Magruder


     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
    given moment
     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
     clean incessantly
     urinate fiercely
     curse unapologetically
     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.

              Dave Morrison

        Writing Prompt

        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.

              Andrew Lankford

        A Final Homework Assignment

       Even if you didn't hear a single
       word I said,
       I listened to you closely.
       You see,
       this learning thing is a two way street,
       far beyond
       the covers of books
       or the windows of classrooms.
       For homework,
       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
Limitless: amazon.com/Limitless-Andrew-W-Lankford

photo by Maja Trochimczyk

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

              Carol Frith

        Bright Texts

      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: edwardbyrne.blogspot.com(Valparaiso) authormark.com

              B.Z. Niditch

        Sunday a.m.

       First light winks
       in an October daybreak
       over the island
       near the gazebo
       our bicycle moves
       behind pinewoods
       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
       forgetting us
       by dark water swills
       unsure that anyone
       even that one tourist
       in lederhosen
       with a torn map
       and soaked with beer
       would be curious
       to bypass our path
       by an outer bank
       on unwalled sands
       of invisibility.


       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,
       paints shroud
       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.

        Unsettled Dawn

       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
       like whispers
       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.

              Shel Bockman


      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

              Jessica Ingle

        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

Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

              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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Contributors this Issue:  

Ione Citrin   J.C. Frampton   Daniel J Roozen    Gene Lempert    Marilyn Whitehorse   Diane L. Merkel   

Troy Blackford   Ronald C. Paxton    Johnny Gunn   Marija Stajic   Nancy Stohlman    Jordan Legg   

Elisabeth Rose Genter   Weaver   Sherry Steiner    Ayaz Daryl Nielsen    Amber Magruder   

Dave Morrison   Andrew Lankford   Carol Frith   B.Z. Niditch   Shel Bockman   Jessica Ingle  

Maja Trochimczyk   BZ Niditch    Bea Epstein    Janna Vought   

Erika Hoffman   Carolyn Plath    Kathy Schrenk   

Dan Williams    

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