john stubb

Two Poems by John Stupp

Colorado Sometimes it hits me the last time I saw my dad he was in a cardboard box at a crematorium in Colorado cold as porcelain before the conveyor moved I was too late [...]

March 19, 2016

Versions of the Truth by Richard King Perkins II

June 1, 2015

For J.P. In gym class, I saw his legs five times a week for three years of middle school. Those tortured limbs never stopped [...]
John and the Rainbow Whatever by Christopher DiCicco

January 4, 2016

John understood the rainbow, which is why he kept his hands on the red. He waited until it hurt, until he felt the colors [...]
Later now, but and other poems by Ed Higgins

June 13, 2017

I can still remember how we kissed then the buzz of bees in our head. Or was it the Zinfandel we had with Reuben sandwiches [...]
Carnival Surprise by Tasha Coryell

August 1, 2015

People often mistook him for a Walmart greeter because of the smiley face pin he wore on his chest each day. He had never [...]
The Happy Light by Cari Scribner

March 19, 2016

As soon as I told my mother I wanted to leave my husband, she said I need to bump up my meds and get more sun. Seriously, [...]
ross from friends emoji set by chuck young

February 17, 2017

two smiling mouths / pressed against each / other gospeling secrets / down ticklish throats. / personal history [...]
Duct-Taped Wedding Bells by Grace Montgomery

December 1, 2014

I haven’t told you I’ve been sleeping on the floor the past six nights in a row. It’s probably because three pages of [...]
Cardboard City by Paul Tristram

October 1, 2014

The Winter winds blow cold and hard under the desolate railway bridge but at least he won’t be waking up to a policeman [...]
Angry Young Man by Raphael Maurice

February 28, 2017

I dropkicked the Holy Book before the morning Mass. You don’t, barring dreamless sleeps & drugs, tend to believe all [...]
white sheets and cow milk by Ingrid Solbrig

January 15, 2017

I want to write [a poem] about us but there is no us There is you, far and me, too close. There is you, unknown. I want to [...]
A Milton Bradley Game by Hilary Sideris

January 4, 2016

The object, for a girl eight to fourteen, is to be ready, to swoon if he’s a dream, recoil if he’s creepy, having [...]
Vending Machine Press Issue #10

June 1, 2015

Photo by: Johannes Huwe The very fine writers for Issue 10 are: Autobiography by Deirdre Coyle Blizzard of 1950, Eatontown [...]

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