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M a r t í n  E s p a d a
I would hope that people would see that poem as a continuation of what I have been doing all along. In other words, that poem and the statement that that poem makes are consistent with everything that I have been saying as a poet for 20 years.

j a m e s  l e e
the moon rolled you
out like a tongue
and started spitting junky pickups
into the lone rock cemetary

S a r a  V e r s t y n e n
At forty-eight, he looks dead, but our
breathing is always the same

Web Features

M a d  P o e t s  R e v o l t !
On February 12, over 125 people braved cold weather to pack Mother Fool’s Coffee House and speak out against the war. Click here for photo, audio, press, protest and peace.

M o o n  W a t c h i n g
P o e t s  U n i t e !
In the Heian Era (794-1192) in Japan, poets would gather to watch the moon, listen to classical music, and write Haiku and poetry. We are continuing this tradition in Madison.

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Artwork: Erin Pandya

About the Artwork

When we sat down to plan the cover of this journal, we were trying to figure out how the number six could be conceptually fleshed out in design. After a couple of pints of beer and some spirited conversation, we decided that the best way to get to the essence of “six” was to enlist six different artists and charge them with the task of carving a linoleum block around the theme of six.

Our thanks to the artists: Brenda Baker, Rachel Davis, Miriam Hall, Erika Koivunen, Sara Mayer, Erin Pandya, and Sachin Pandya.

This journal is lonely and
craves your company!

Excerpts

L i s a  M a r i e  B r o d s k y
love turned origami,
a question turned into
an answer walking away.

G u y  B e i n i n g
watching birds pick apart fields.
i joined them & gathered
all the pebbles i could find.

O l i v i a  F r i e d m a n
she is yellowed and fraying,
dressed in cobwebs of scales and lace

M i c h a e l  K r e i s e l
sometimes I think we’re
singing to ourselves
like children when they play alone

Web Poetry

M e l i n d a  G r e e n  H a r v e y
Bottle necks embellished
a spindly iron fence
guarding shards of
last summer's garden.

S h e r y l  M c C u r d y
Where small children once
Floated paper boats
After the spring rain showers

M a r i a n a  R u y b a l i d
Hot thirsty wind rips
needles from tree branches.

D a v i d e  T r a m e
The air flashes with quietness,
A wholeness that makes you shiver

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