FOUR WAY REVIEW

An Electronic Literary Journal

Category: Poetry

  • THE NIGHT BEFORE THE NIGHT THAT SYLVIA PLATH LAYS HER HEAD IN THE OVEN by Hannah Matheson

    THE NIGHT BEFORE THE NIGHT THAT SYLVIA PLATH LAYS HER HEAD IN THE OVEN by Hannah Matheson

    Sometimes what kills me is serene as snowfall. Proliferating frozen, soft inundation, the ceaseless and so many ways of wanting to die. I can’t sleep for the 2 a.m. murmur of the plows, making their rounds for hours now, unseeing metal sweeping and salting. Rusted chrome in near collision, compelled by the Sisyphean labor of…

  • TWO POEMS by Katie Condon

    TWO POEMS by Katie Condon

    I’m a Kick-Ass Woman Ask anybody. This ass has never been kicked  to the curb. I do the kicking. I’m a nasty-ass woman  drinking chamomile tea at dusk. I know what I’ve got  & it’s a throne for an ass. Grab it. Kiss it. Pop  the pimple on that ass. See what happens when you…

  • THREE POEMS by Dilruba Ahmed

    THREE POEMS by Dilruba Ahmed

    THE CHILDREN   How each one is taken   with care from car  to school doorstep, each one  hand-in-hand with an adult.   How the mothers  and fathers kiss  their foreheads, first  pushing aside their bangs  or smoothing  a stray wisp.  One  parent straightens  her daughter’s velvet  headband; another wipes  dried oatmeal  from his son’s pink lips.  …

  • G-D POEM by Sass Brown

    G-D POEM by Sass Brown

    Oh the g-d in you.                                                     Thank you for what g-d you did today g-d as gold            g-d as gone                    You believe there’s g-d out there somewhere  among trash heaps that smell less these days                     …

  • TWO POEMS by Carlina Duan

    TWO POEMS by Carlina Duan

    WHAT IF my lips weren’t chapped. the candles: unburned. what if they’d stayed like that all year: whole, slender sticks, separate & shy. what if the ants didn’t run in slow lines across the table, didn’t crush to dark soot beneath a stray thumb.  if I hadn’t touched the cake: unghost the icing slipping through…

  • LIFT THE MORATORIUM ON ANGELS by Kristin Robertson

    in this poem one sec for Pearl Vision and an optometrist who looks exactly like an uncle who died two years ago. He’s saying quick puff of air and hot air balloon in the distance   look through here    see it      see it now?   and now? But this, this is the good part:…

  • BLAKE GRIFFIN DUNKS OVER A CAR by Matthew Olzmann

    BLAKE GRIFFIN DUNKS OVER A CAR by Matthew Olzmann

    with a full gospel choir crooning behind him, with twenty thousand spectators surging to their feet,  with an arena of flashbulbs flashing its approval,  and I’m spellbound, thinking it’s all so spectacular, until  the broadcast team weighs in,  and Charles Barkley says, “That wasn’t the greatest dunk,”  and Marv Albert says, “But the presentation was…

  • THREE POEMS by Christine Gosnay

    Grand Teton A limber pine wave gives way to woodsmoke. I am deeply interrogated and I am not understood.  The sun hits the logs  and plays with their legs and shoulders, pushing away their modesty. The man who boxes my firewood has eyes three blue meters deep.  His birthday has come with the snow in…

  • “MY DADDIES HAVE VOICES LIKE BACHELORS, LIKE CASTIGATORS & CROONERS…” by Tiana Clark

    “MY DADDIES HAVE VOICES LIKE BACHELORS, LIKE CASTIGATORS & CROONERS…” by Tiana Clark

    Daughter, you make me shudder, make music of my bones, don’t you?  Yes, like castanets. The best blood of my blood, soft blood, boiled  blood of not knowing, bright blood is still in you now, blushing  scarlet cells blossoming in your face, plasma rich as juicy figs, cut  open & gleaming. Muscling that dark abyss,…

  • TWO POEMS by Kendra DeColo

    Ode to When the Music Video Doesn’t Match the Song              After Ryan Burton and Noah Taitano What isn’t lovely  about a group of men  moshing to a slow song whose notes drip around their bodies like a halo of sweat the way I drive through suburbia blasting Beethoven’s 6th…

  • TWO POEMS by Anne Barngrover

    ELEGY FOR FALLEN PALMS               –after Hurricane Irma                           I learn the facts about what we’ve lost:              palm trees don’t form annual rings. You’d find their age in the Bible or Quran, old as Oil  …

  • AS THE FOG ROLLS IN, NIGHT FINDS ITS FOOTING by Luther Hughes

    What’s that story about the blackbird visiting a man, or, more accurately, his depression? Making him recognize it, I mean. It was often like that with birds, reminding you of your flightlessness. It was like that, then more so, then only that. I’m doing as much as I can these days despite thinking about what…