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Carrie Magness Radna
Born in Norman, Oklahoma, Carrie Magness Radna is an archival audiovisual cataloger at the New York Public Library, a singer, a lyricist-songwriter, and a poet who loves to travel. Her poems have previously appeared in the Oracular Tree, Muddy River Poetry Review, Mediterranean Poetry, First Literary Review-East, The Poetic Bond VIII (Willowdown Books), Shot Glass Journal (issue 27), and will be published in Nomad’s Choir, Polarity E-Magazine and a yet untitled Transcendent Poetry Anthology from Cosmographia in Summer 2019. Her first chapbook, Conversations with dead composers at Carnegie Hall (Flutter Press), was published in January 2019.
The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Carrie Magness Radna and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Lucky stars/Afternoon colors
Missed the good luck
C’mon Unicorn Girl:
but my man needs to work,
(No, I didn’t make it to the island tonight;
Patterns and colors hover by
I blame the tint of my sunglasses
The Queensboro Bridge turned
I was almost run over
I chased the pink light
The light is now fading.
The lights upon the Bridge
(My Dad and I once built
Too bad, Dad. I enjoy these places
On Roosevelt Island,
Michael A. Griffith
Michael A. Griffith’s chapbooks Bloodline (The Blue Nib) and Exposed (Soma Publishing and Hidden Constellation Press) were released in fall 2018. He was nominated for the Pushcart Prize for poetry in October 2018. He lives near Princeton, NJ and teaches at Raritan Valley Community College. He is Poetry Editor (US/Canada) for The Blue Nib magazine.
The following work is Copyright © 2019, and owned by Michael A. Griffith and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.
Satan’s Toy Car
Let me tell you,
Complaining did no good,
Day kept on limping by,
What did come was Satan.
Pulled up in a long red car.
He waves, comes up to the porch
But he was still a bad, bad man.
Says he’s got all kinds of stuff for sale
Can he come on in and show her?
Well, he comes right up on the porch and
Mama says my name like a angry pastor would
That white suit, black shoes what never touched
Kept trying to get Mama to
He leaned in close to her
He smiled real, real big
Then Mama, she stopped her fanning,
Slap loud as a whip crack!
Yes sir, he go storming back to his big red car
He drives away real loud and there’s a big breeze.
Day later I fetched Satan’s toy car,