c o n v e r g e n c e:
an online journal of poetry & art


by B.Z. Niditch

In an hour of America's
horror of war
when longing for peace
as your red badge
worn today as poppies
on your own Joseph's
coat of courage
in an open boat
traveling over the sea
as all cloudy day stars
were deeply etched
all over the map
in innocence
from a language of liberty
but who could now grasp
the Gulag.

THE FORGOTTEN (Ink) by Allen Forrest

THE FORGOTTEN (Ink) by Allen Forrest

by William S. Gainer

The year I was born
the rubble of war
the great machines
being tore down
sold for scrap
their DNA still pulsing
in the automobiles
trucks, tanks
the spoon
that dips
my evening soup.

FAC/DIS 3 by Kyle Hemmings

FAC/DIS 3 by Kyle Hemmings

by Laura Carter

War again. Or is it war? Or is it something different from the usual?
One polka-dot woman eschews sex because she can,
hording an automatic rifle for use with
those who arrive too much stoned.
Someone wants to expose her to the blue light,

the lilac-tinted hue of Madonnas
carrying babies on Christmas, Easter, and all holidays that
might remind you of the old Christian days.

It's not war. It's only the sound of the Alpine meadowlands' clacking needles,
making the Seine into a place of obstinacy
instead of a place where you might take a lover for a dirty night, or
eat red oysters
and lentils whimsically,
just for fun just for fun just for fun just for fun just for just for.

And then she meets someone. She used to be a river made of salt,
eating crumpets like any ordinary Civil War
reenactor's girlfriend might. But she meets someone.
The world is not a Georgia O'Keeffe painting, is it?

She used to eat honey with a blank spoon, a spoon with no markings, and
she used to bleed from her thigh when she was eating.
But there never was River
as an allegorical form of rivers.
And there never was Lake as an allegory.
And there never was a competitor, was there?
Maybe there were competitors, but she did not notice who they
were, and she did not care what they thought of her.

It's like kissing the Alpine meadowlands off into
the moonland where the unicorns all gather.
Someone would say this is the same thing as gentle.
She's suddenly less anxious.

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