Public Republic

Roumen Leonidov

Photo: Stuart Chalmers
At Central Station
in the center of the snack joint
the drunk railwaymen
are drinking their twentieth beer…
Boys that hang around
are hitting on Diddy
once again,
Diddy, the beauty behind the buffet;
time and again they raise their glass trumpets
blowing them ardently,
then at the cash register
they search their pockets for small change…
At the end of the workday,
at [...]

Christina Lovin

Photo: Zest-pk
They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
James Wright, “A Blessing”
Now there are two. Seven deer, I’m told, before
the cougar’s appetite growled: one by one they were taken
down to the forest’s soft floor. Just these two escaping:
a tale told by the ragged ear of the [...]

Interview with Barry George by Barbara Sabol

Barry George’s haiku have been distinguished through numerous publications and awards. Wrecking Ball and Other Urban Haiku, to be released April 1, 2010 by Accents Publishing, is his first collection of haiku. George’s haiku blend a distinctly urban content with the nature-oriented perspective of traditional haiku. A true [...]

Chris Mattingly is currently pursuing an MFA in poetry from Spalding University in Louisville, Kentucky. His poems have appeared in public-Republic, Margie: The Journal of American Poetry, Moonshot, The Louisville Review, and the forthcoming chapbook Ad Hoc from Q Avenue Press. Chris is also a banjo player and long time member [...]

Roumen Leonidov

Photo: Anosmia
Because my straitjacket armor was a bit too short
they shod me in a pair of knights’ boots,
they pulled a helmet over my eyes, my hands
they chopped off, just in case.
And because it’s only knights I’ve met since then,
I rush to handshake them,
rush to handshake them,
rush to handshake them.
And sometimes I survive.
Translated from Bulgarian [...]

Christina Lovin

Photo: hickoryhollow113
I am afraid, I admit. There are reports of mountain lions
in these woods. I am mortal, like the deer and the squirrel,
but I come prepared: large stick in my hand, a knife
from the kitchen in my pocket. A quick study, I stop
and turn as I have read, to act as prey would: wary
and [...]

Kenneth Pobo

Photo: [nati]
Thirteen in October 1967, face
smeared with brown Clearasil to hide
popped pimples. Bullies gathered.
Jesus said He’d return one day
to avenge me. Too distant. The Family
had a hit single in Chicago,
“Face The Autumn.” How to face
Atutumn? Winter? Spring? Bullies,
birds surrounding the house
at the end of Hitchcock’s film
waited. I didn’t tell
my parents, feared they’d [...]

Kerana Angelova

Photo: HaPe_Gera
Caterpillars wriggle
And creep fluffily
It’s difficult to believe
Their mother is the butterfly
With oriental eyes
Her wings made of ashes and beams of light
Her flight above oval meadows
As aslant as the dance of souls
Butterflies have such a lot of
Sky to fly
And
What a lot of names, my God, butterfly-like
Catocala
The Sky Bluish
The Fiery
The Lemony
The Big Crescent
Apollo’s Butterfly
Mourning Cloak
The [...]

Roumen Leonidov
From The Night of the Salesman

Photo: DerrickT
In an empty room a little boy is sitting cross-legged
With its back to us.
The child is naked, it is obvious he is resting his chin
On an elbow, thinking. The square of the floor rises
Into a cone, the room turnes into a small transparent
Pyramid.
The boy floats in transparency
Head down. [...]

Christina Lovin

Photo: Ctd 2005
I wanted to write something deep,
but your eyes are only blue: that color
of October oceans or the clear skies
of May, though not so fathomless.
Your gaze holds more these tidal pools
reflecting August’s rain-thirsty heaven
and flocks of greedy gulls. Knowing
them to be too shallow, too warm, I plunge
into the petulant surf, while you take [...]

Leatha Kendrick

Photo: slingshots+meo remalante
A day at home, no big news. Alone,
with CNN and tea, stiff bones
of the Christmas tree, ravenous
for unsweet things. After the gush
of singing, unsought treats
and gifts, it’s time to pay. A rush
to Returns’ endless line. A fine
for late-mailed, past-due bills. It’s back
to ordinary time, days of sunshine

Becca Books

Photo: brains the head
I know I’m near.
Not so bad as some.
Here, I mean. Here ― whatdoyoucallit.
Wait, it will come.
I wanted to die in my own little head;
but after the ― clock?
No… stroke!
Stroke of midnight, that’s how I got there.
Here, I mean, to the Test Home.
I couldn’t do for myself anymore.
All the chopping and [...]

Sheri Wright

Jim Lally’s love of earth is presented to us quietly, deeply, much like his description of a Quaker gathering in his poem At The Quaker Meeting. This book shows us that we can live in a balanced way with our surroundings, with each other and that change does not require coercion, that it is [...]

Roumen Leonidov

Photo: Mira Dimova
Every morning I tear away the tip of my tongue
so that I can lick
so that I can lick
and I lick
and I lick tranquilly
the fishbone of tranquility.
Who can keep me from licking
I was ordered to lick my lips
I was ordered to lick my lips
like the cat that generated
the cat that generated herself
I have [...]

Kenneth Pobo

Photo: mikebaird
My Sunday School teacher mom
wears a green dress. In baggy pants,
bow tie, I’m thinking about Mama
Cass, Question Mark and the
Mysterians, Keith. Glenn laughs,
talks out of turn, interrupts. His mom,
Lydia, stalks in, gives him a SLAP
across the face. Glenn,
no expression, like he wants
to cry but not when a guy’s started
junior high. Mom looks [...]

Christina Lovin

Photo: FotoDawg
The snow came first, and then the rain—
it froze to everything
exposed, increased upon itself like grief
or love left unexpressed,
until the heavy branches sagged
with melancholy weight.
Some crashed to earth,
some fingered roofs or cars,
electric lines like arcs of flight
across the frozen air.

Leatha Kendrick

Photo: rolands.lakis
This boy sleeps on my lap,
his fists curled and pink
as April oak leaves. His feet
root against my arm. His
head a soft arc against
my bent arm. When I reach
across his belly’s curve,
my arm brown-spotted, pale,
his breath unfurls
a scream. I am
the rotting log
he grows upon.

Christina Lovin

Photo: clspeace
“A woman without humor is a lost woman.” Djuna Barnes
Nellie wore Slightly Wicked cologne—
the bottle shapely, a deep shade of rose:
that blush from a woman who understands
the bawdy joke, the double entendre—
a knock off ordered from catalogs of household
supplies—brushes, brooms, dust mitts, cleanser—
and delivered by a traveling salesman.
Did he sit there at [...]

Mariana Velichkova

Photo: Catherinette Rings Steampunk
I have tried
so many times
to forget about you
to delete you
to erase you
to get over you
even to pretend
I never met you
And of course
to graciously
move on…
Well, with the same success
air or fire can turn into a stone.

Becca Books

Photo: jurek d.
Fifty years here. Then all in one stroke…
My turn now. No help but to go.
I’m Old Folk.
Let me see, let me see. What will I need?
What does it mean when you’re even past need?
The one single thing I wish I could bring
Is the warming cup of feeling familiar.