Sitting by a Rivulet: An Image of Eternity
Restorationist Jane Barker 9 p.m., Aug. 23
Poetry
Eyes are the best bullet proof vests
Two poems by Alex Simand
My Armenian Neighbor Argues about Mushrooms Eta ni lisitchka, my neighbor bellows, words through the threshold — the best place for argument, they say, and the timefield through which he will not pass. I hold ...
The worms will come for you soon
Three poems by Madeline Zilelian
My Golden Coast For Adrian Ernesto Cepeda Caught in my first traffic jam, just south of The Getty Center — I love this stretch of freeway — the congestion gave me stillness, time to memorize ...
I went outside just now and laughed
Three poems by Bill Mohr
1967: “My World Fell Down” Imperial Beach remains remote and intolerable, Both in memory and all its stammering desire. My radio flourished with L.A.’s visionary decibels. I feared its LSD as friendly fire. The hippies ...
Summer, do your worst!
Three poems by Dorothy Parker
August When my eyes are weeds, And my lips are petals, spinning Down the wind that has beginning Where the crumpled beeches start In a fringe of salty reeds; When my arms are elder-bushes, And ...
Try getting into Bar Dynamite in black Dickies
Three poems by Matt Phillips
Work History Bartender’s malaise in my mid-twenties; I smothered fruit flies with cocktail napkins. Sitting at a trolley stop near Little Italy, thinking about City College — graffiti scrawled like Arabic on the sidewalk — ...
Imperial Beach remains remote and intolerable
I walk around and smile, enjoying it while it lasts
1967: “My World Fell Down” Imperial Beach remains remote and intolerable, Both in memory and all its stammering desire. My radio flourished with L.A.’s visionary decibels. I feared its LSD as friendly fire. The hippies ...
The sun has an orgasm across the valley
Three poems by Armine Iknadossian
California Love Poem The sun has an orgasm across the valley as Pasadena opens up in front of me, the Suicide Bridge pushing an arm out of green sleeves, orange blossoms keening after a mid-spring ...
This poet hears America singing
The carpenter, the mason, the boatman...
I Hear America Singing I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear, Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong, The carpenter singing his as he measures his ...
Kernel, Kumquats, Fig Grove
The sweetness of the rind, the shock of bitterness inside
Kernel When I discovered people eat apricot kernels, use them in amaretto and biscotti and apricot jam, part of me was glad to learn the world is more edible than I had known, but another ...
Facebook posted only the words “Go outside.”
“Why?” is the obvious question. “Because I love birds,” he says.
Thoughts at the End of Empire It’s possible future generations will destroy our art, literature, music, film, and corporations, in bitterness for allowing ecosystem collapse, and mistrust for how many leaders were distracted, apathetic, selfish, ...
Watching logs ignite flaring, listen for the charred rhymes
Three poems by Adrian Ernesto Cepeda
On the Balcony of The Signature “I like her; I could watch her the rest of my life.” — Philip K. Dick As my best man handed me a bubbly drink we toasted clinking clear ...
