Featured Poets

December has been a rich month. Here is more poetry -- from Rebecca Lu Kiernan, who i invited to submit; and from Jarrett Reynolds, who is a student from Corpus Christi, Texas who i know through John Heymann (issue #3) and summer work. Expect to see more from him. Enjoy these.

Hmm a bio? Well, what i can say is that i graduated from King High School last year and now i'm attending corpus christi A&M university. I really didn't write per se in high school but rather i did some "flowing". However that isn't to say that all my poetry is meant to be "flowed". Other than that i surf, play soccer, and keep telling myself i'm not a hopeless romantic.

Rebecca Lu Kiernan is the editor of Gecko. Her poetry has been published in Ms. Magazine, Duct Tape Press, Gargoyle, Longshot, Southern Ocean Review, New Works Review, Naked Poetry and others. She has work upcoming in Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, Exquisite Corpse, Boomerang and The North American Review. Her chapbook, "Sex With Trees And Other Things Equally Responsive" was recently released from 2River Press.


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Other than that i surf, play soccer, and keep telling myself i'm not a hopeless romantic. My song Dreams often come when the song has already been sung regretfully you dream regretfully you face reality i will sing my song again no matter the time or person my song will be heard no matter in a dream or reality my song will stay with me sometimes you give away your dreams for reality sometimes you give away reality for your dreams this does not matter to my song of love Which is Which Sometimes early in the morning with a dreamer's disease everything works out in my mind that is. Sometimes in the afternoon with a dreamer's nightmare everything just doesn't happen in my mind that is. Sometimes in a dream with a dreamer's dream I wake up in reality thatis. Dreams and Reality often mix in each other in reality we dream in Dreams we are in reality. Untitled My thoughts rush I picture us I can see us anywhere I see her everywhere all i could do was sit and stare would she care about me my feelings my thoughts I can't wait forever I could never forget her but forget her she doesn't act to the fact that i am what i am what i can and can't do and who knew that i would get the screw and so few get to find what i found it's so profound it's the sound but you have to love the pain that goes with the gain it's what keeps us sane. Rebecca Lu Kiernan Rebecca Lu Kiernan is the editor of Gecko. Her poetry has been published in Ms. Magazine, Duct Tape Press, Gargoyle, Longshot, Southern Ocean Review, New Works Review, Naked Poetry and others. She has work upcoming in Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, Exquisite Corpse, Boomerang and The North American Review. Her chapbook, "Sex With Trees And Other Things Equally Responsive" was recently released from 2River Press. DETANGLEMENT From a desert diner in New Mexico he calls . Heads down we shuffle through the details of Our detanglement. He says he will load my Furniture in a warehouse, even pay for the First two months, he will cover my indigo sofa, Tenderly wrap my grandmothers blue onion China, suspend my giraffe rocking horse in Popcorn, pack everything up real nice. I ask If he could hire someone to do it. Genuinely Puzzled he asks, "Why would you want that?" He wants to know if I am going to leave faster Than planned, makes me promise I will tell him. He keeps clearing his throat. He had chicken And dumplings for dinner. I had pancakes with Peach preserves. "For dinner?" he asks. Yes, For dinner. He asks if I watered the window Box tiger lilies and do I remember planting them Together when I first moved in. I have never met The woman who moved into this cobblestone House. I've seen photographs. They remind me Of a sweet girl I see sometimes in dreams. Advice to The Tin Man To achieve suicide by revolver One must remain sober, steady For the sweet bull's-eye. To exit via pills, have a meal first And take them all at once. For fumes, leave the car door Open, garage door closed, crevices packed with wet towels And do it at night to minimize Rescue attempts. If you leap from a bridge, tie Your feet together. You can forget a razor to the Wrist. To die by spilling blood You would have to have A heart to pump it. The Polite Divorce Put down the parasol. Come, this sunset is made Of cotton candy. Let's eat the sky! It melts on the tongue Disappears. What will hold the stars If night comes? Tell me the darkest thing You never told a soul. The chessboard kitchen Tile has a jagged crack. We cannot detach our Eyes from it over hazelnut Coffee and coconut toast. What's for dinner? Whatever you want. Starting now it's all wrong Colorless and stabbing Like a newspaper report Of the house burning to the Ground. No one died, they Say, failing to mention Photographs that curled Away. Now how can we Ever recall smiling like that? What about the dragonfly Rug from Australia? Did we ever go there? Does the country still exist? Did you ever hold my hand, Kiss my forehead? Faded jeans that fit just right, Shoes that didn't bite, broken In leather, nothing will ever Feel like that. Strangers sift through ashes, Find some unharmed silver Trinket, neither of us has ever Seen before. The new house is too neat and Everything is catalogued for Insurance, a temporary feel. Don't get too attached and Bottom line me, What's it worth when it's gone? Now in a dark Italian restaurant The ostrich fettuccini has a sharp Metallic taste. Two thieves fingering weapons Under the plum linen. What's wrong with you? Everything is fine. Then the contest, hold our Breath until one of us passes out. But you can't die like that. The brain takes over, sneaks a Breath. A new dentist, a new Antiquarian book store. Shark, shaken, unfed, turning Ivory, a peeling of skin, a Counting of teeth. Here are the new keys. Here are the new crippled bones That can't be moved but should Not be treated in a cast Because God, God, You wouldn't want them To heal like that. Afterburn You pummeled my head with lemons Sharp and hard. I was dizzy and saw Stars. When the lemons went soft with Rot, you aimed them at my eyes To burst and sting. Cancel the ship. Take back the ring. A poet, finding lemonade predictable I squeezed your foul fruit into gold. Ah, the burn of muscles it must have Taken to catapult those bombs on Such deadly trajectory. I bet the exertion Keeps you warm at night. To The Dog Who Ate A Bat In my lap he is a viscous dog with broken teeth foaming at the mouth bleeding from a jagged bite on his belly chasing shadows chewing his own tail potentially rabid. I suspect he will have to be put down. I keep fingering the gun but am disuaded by the melody of his shrill miserable whimper, his unblinking yellow eyes begging me to love him or kill him. So hard to tell the difference. Not to worry I usually end up doing both.