issue 21: moody by the season

Downpour. (haiku)

- n.b.

Wet season arrives
with muddy hems and soft groans—
black umbrellas bloom.

Mournful Longing

- isaac kendral


I'm blocking out the world.

I'm not me.

I see beauty

and I don't get excited.

I become someone I am and want to be,

but don't feel like I am, that which I portray.


For Death has sent His greetings

and taken someone dear.

I shall send them off with a warm hug,

for Death is a good friend;

Death gives peace

to one,


to all around the one.


I have my time.

Plenty of it.

Until I greet Him myself

with a "Hello, old friend."

Long as that isn't now,

I shall live free.


But for now I block it out.

For in this service,

this time forced on me,

this mandatory patriotism,

I am proud of,

yet have no possibility

to remove this pain from myself.

And so I wait.

For freedom.


- v.v.

Like a white cloud floating in the sun,
I remained lingering in your mind;
A soft reminder of smiles and rolling eyes
Until the arrival of dusk.

Like a silent puppet I hung about,
Flooding your mind with our words;
Words of love and laughter,
Words that were soon to be forgotten.

Like a burnt out candle I disappeared,
From the brightest corners of your recollection;
A dark repose I found
In the abyss of your subconscious.

I am the lonely memory
Seldom recalled behind your eyes,
Fast fading into nothingness
Since we said our goodbyes.

The Nature Of You

- a. st. a.

The beauty of nature is mirrored by you
I see it’s reflection in all that you do
You’re easy to love and hard to forget
I think just of you from dawn to sunset

The lightning that cracks and lights up the skies
Is matched deep within your glistening eyes
The thunder that roars and trembles the floor
I hear in your laugh and your words even more

The first light of morning breaking for miles
Has the same warming feeling as your little smiles
The waves gently flowing, beating the shore
I hear in your breathing as you gently snore

The animals that fight in the wildest fashion
I can see matched, when you’re lit with passion
The rain that falls slowly from the misty night sky
I see when a tear falls when you start to cry

I adore nature and I adore you
They’re one and the same it’s definitely true
You are the Earth, and the stars up above
You are my ocean, my river, my love

OP Panorama (An Aesop Rock Mimic Poem)

- c.e.

I was walking in the Old Port and I saw...

Vegan women munching on bean curd blintzes,
A man with a dog holding onto something he misses,
Two tanned flesh-canvases, blackened from head to toe,
A Somalian mom yelling at kids who just wanna go home.

I saw tough guys wearing hoodie-poofy coat armor,
A cookie-cutter stomping out yoga pant and Beanboot drama,
A crackhead riding the bus to Deep Space 9,
A group of GMO-free peeps sippin’ on mason jar wine.

I saw tourist, a Masshole, a dazed leaf-peeper,
a Gritty’s day-drinker trynna hide from his reaper.
Lord, I saw a preacher drinking Homegrown herb on his grind,
a beanie-capped boarder, puffing an herb of a different kind.

I saw a fresco, a burlesque show, a village made of tents
A Brooklyn expat hiding from protesters demanding they freeze the rent.
I heard moans, of a frat king gripping his stomach, looking green.
The laughter of a bachelorette who’d gotten married at sixteen.

I saw a granny get trapped on the Commercial Street median
A skinhead telling every tourist for just one dollar he could get on his feet again
A plastic owl, a lobster, a very lost crow
A child looking up wondering if anyone would ever Call Joe.

I don’t know, but I dusted off my pen.
I saw guys from the County proud to have made America great again.
A toddler in a picket line grabbing at its mother’s knee,
and the sign in its hand? “God bless--my mom didn’t abort me.”

I saw a man in a kilt loafing around with some Standard bread,
two brass-armed buskers working for another standard instead
A couple chatting up a vendor about the white china she pushes,
A needle with china white residue stashed outside in the bushes.

I saw a homeless woman,
give her pizza to another
who needed it more.

I saw a fluid person,
with hope and pride in their eyes--
all the way through to their core.

I saw all this, hard to believe, I know.
Maybe I should come look again when the city’s covered by snow.


Mini Landscape 11

- anon


Mini Landscape 12

- anon

end of issue 21. go back to issues page.

the poetry juicebox
an international poetry & art publication
the poetry juicebox