December 12-18, 2022: Poetry from Martin Gottlieb Cohen and C.W. Bigelow

Send us your poetry. Click here for submission guidelines.

Martin Gottlieb Cohen

Martin Gottlieb Cohen was born in the South Bronx somewhere on Simpson Street, went to a Yeshiva on East Broadway and Canal Street, and then lived in the South of Brooklyn, the South of Long Island, The Southern Tier of Upstate New York, The South of Manhattan, and finally South Jersey in Egg Harbor.

The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by Martin Gottlieb Cohen and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

within the stillness rat’s ripples

~

between the stars
pond’s smell

~

moored boats
the smell of the sea
within me

~

remembering…
the smell after the rain
Bucha

C.W. Bigelow

After receiving his B.A. in English from Colorado State University, C.W. Bigelow lived in nine northern states, before moving south to the Charlotte, NC area. He is the author of the poetry collection Fractured Reflections. His fiction and poetry have appeared most recently in Midway Journal, The Blue Mountain Review, Glassworks, Blood & Bourbon, The Courtship of Winds, Poetry Super Highway, Good Works Review, Backchannels, The Saturday Evening Post, New Plains Review, DASH, and Blue Lake Review, Short Story Town, INK Babies, Flash Fiction Magazine, Hare’s Paw, The Write Launch, Hole in the Head Review, Last Leaves Magazine, and Drunk Monkeys, with a story forthcoming in Moss Piglet.

The following work is Copyright © 2022, and owned by C.W. Bigelow and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Airport Observations

Vapid stares from cataracts-covered eyeballs
floating in thick rouge-painted wrinkles.

Teetering on wobbly legs while
a haze fights with flirting moments of lucidity.

Anguished adult children command invisible leashes
with angry scowls at those whose lives left quality behind.

You are gathered in a plastic box,
having stubbornly raged into the storm –

valiantly deciding to avoid the sliding staircase,
stealing my ticket to the wrinkled marionette show.

Now I wander on a fruitless quest
to fill the vacuum left by your premature departure.

Subscribe to our weekly Newsletter: