Public Republic

Simon Perchik Photo:Yoshikazu TAKADA Even if these waves are calmed this rock deserves respect though there’s no grave not yet that first turn to the side, smoothed the way all night your eyes stare at the beach, guiding it to

Donal Mahoney Photo: krokodil.nana Oso, Washington 2014 Under the mud he can hear the men digging and cursing but they can’t hear him scream. The mud won’t let him scream. He was out for a walk when the mud came down the hill like lava

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: dailyinvention last night i heard the snow as it was saying … i tried to answer it but it interrupted

Donal Mahoney Photo: Sandy Brown Jensen Waterbugs scurry when the light snaps on at midnight in the bathroom the way this woman’s eyes dart when I see her dancing with a nice man but not the right man.

Simon Perchik Photo: jar() These sheep have no choice either though even in summer they still want to hear the truth just by staring back at the grass lifelike – it’s not for you they hold power here, let go nothing, not their fleece not these sleeves, face to face – you have no right […]

Simon Perchik Photo: jar() You still use rain, breathe in till your mouth is full -you can’t jump clear, grow huge on a sky that has no holes, no Earth -what did you say, what words were helped along, holding on to the others all the way down, facing the sun

Simon Perchik Photo: jar() This path so like the others doesn’t know where else to go and for each funeral you build another hallway in another mountain, the palaces filling with a great rockslide

Simon Perchik Photo: jar() The ground so slow to heal has yellowed though the camera injected a faint gloss calmed the family and friends still afraid to move the body -not too close! Your cheek could scare her off and the snapshot tree and all, left empty cared for by the sun alone can’t get […]

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: Fillmore Photography we throw stones we throw with bare hands we’ll be gathering them biting coals tomorrow when the weather starts blowing we will pray for a single tear

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: SteveD. i see worm i see hook i see rod i see…

Stoyanka Grudova Translated by Katerina Stoykova-Klemer Photo: erix! the traveling point of view of water even the idea of it is enough

Aksinia Mihailova Photo: scotthudson Many nights in a row he has been coming back to the terrace of my dreams, mounting its crumbling steps – a silent shade like an abandoned house, he seeks his face in the empty eyes of weathered window sills, a bandana of fading colors with a bundle of parched cornflowers […]

Allen Qing Yuan Photo: trioptikmal He surges beyond the clouds Breaking the puffs of dreams He detects the mocking laughters of clowns But furiously, pushes the jesters away

Changming Yuan Photo: inajeep Leaves hip-hopping to the music of early summer One long branch flirting with every passer-by Trunk shaking with laughter from last spring But behind the fence, your roots remain firm Never budging a single inch, between day and night

Donal Mahoney Photo: ruresolitude In 1948 Booger McNulty’s coal yard stirred constant gossip among the citizens who lived in little bungalows on narrow blocks in my far corner of Chicago. That was more than 60 years ago, a time when families took Sunday walks and went back home in time to hear Jack Benny on […]

Donal Mahoney Photo: pancakeplan Forty years older than I, Charles, in his tweed cap, stands starched in gray chino and blue chambray. For more than a year his broad tie has let the same iridescent duck fly against a vermillion sky. Like a Vatican Guard he oversees the parking lot I cut through each morning […]

Donal Mahoney Photo: Crunchy Footsteps Sue phones the hotel around midnight. Two weeks earlier, at her request, I took a room there. Three bags, half packed in the corner, are ready to go back. “There’s been a fire,” Sue says. I ask “Is everyone all right?”

Donal Mahoney Photo: iwona_kellie Odd the way the very old pick a winter day to fall, break a minor bone, be assigned to bed and death a bear napping out the winter

Donal Mahoney Photo: Poppy Photography “On the sill today the sun’s pure white. Usually it’s gold,” says Nell, propped in a smock, all frills, sipping tea turning cold as she braids white ram horns of hair high and tight to the sides of her skull.

Changming Yuan Photo: FelixHuth On the local screens, one beside another It shows low clouds drifting like fog That can be seen on the walls of highrises Here the rain downpours as if all the tabs In the heavens have been turned on Curtains of beads, giving us more privacy More freedom, more serenity