FOUR WAY REVIEW

An Electronic Literary Journal

Category: Poetry

  • HOLLYWOOD FOREVER CEMETERY by Hannah V Warren

    HOLLYWOOD FOREVER CEMETERY by Hannah V Warren

    Los Angeles, CA   dear hollywood                                                          Snapshot        Paint me       indian Peafowl                        …

  • SELF-PORTRAIT AS THE LAST LINGERING PETAL ON A CHERRY BLOSSOM by Anthony Thomas Lombardi

    SELF-PORTRAIT AS THE LAST LINGERING PETAL ON A CHERRY BLOSSOM by Anthony Thomas Lombardi

      more than the millions of unsung buried in the potter’s field off pelham bay, more than the estuary where tides fold freshwater into saltwater & spit their bones into a knot of krill, mackerel, menhaden, pale glow like a stray moon wandered to the wrong side of the cosmos, slunk in a lost shark’s…

  • TWO POEMS by Sebastian Paramo

    TWO POEMS by Sebastian Paramo

    Extinction Economy, or The Grapefruit Orchards of South Texas I didn’t listen. When you said it’d be bad. I learned the hard way. It was stupid. A garden once grew. Then there was a tree. It bore grapefruit. Someone said, eat it. Learn something you didn’t before. A snake oil salesman said it. He asks…

  • TWO POEMS by Rajiv Mohabir

    TWO POEMS by Rajiv Mohabir

    In Sixteen Bridal Adornments You Come,             opening to another. What cannot be              carried from room to room?           You line eyes in burned ghee           cured under the full moon,          …

  • TWO POEMS by Caitlyn Klum

    TWO POEMS by Caitlyn Klum

      Heaven What I call Sissy Spacek time of day. Like an ink stain looming behind the live oaks. I was draping laundry over the porch railing to dry and pretty much thinking a wild piece of laundry in the sky. What about you? It disappears so quick in this heat or folds over. Otherwise…

  • OCTOBER INTERVIEW with EDWARD SALEM

    OCTOBER INTERVIEW with EDWARD SALEM

    Edward Salem is a poet who hasn’t lost his sense of humor. “Palestinians,” he shares in our interview, “are insanely funny.” It’s this sense of humor that jumps off the page of Salem’s debut poetry collection, Monk Fruit, surprising readers, even as he’s tackling topics like the occupation of Palestine, American imperialism, torture, and genocide.…

  • SEPTEMBER INTERVIEW with LIZA HUDOCK

    SEPTEMBER INTERVIEW with LIZA HUDOCK

    Addiction, death, and loss are everywhere in Liza Hudock’s debut collection, Reveille (released by Flood Editions in August), but they are not its actual subject. Instead, the poems wrestle—as near as it can be stated—with the world the speaker inhabits. Whether she turns her attention to a moth, the comparison between a pumpkin and a…

  • THE BABIES by Dara Yen Elerath

    THE BABIES by Dara Yen Elerath

    I am watching the babies. The gray one in sticky pants who keeps picking his nose. The pale one with headlice, scabies and fleas. I am watching the babies. This one choking on a plastic bottle. This one talking to itself in the dark. I am hauling the babies to the park, to the library,…

  • YESTERDAY AUSTIN TOLD ME TWO SWANS by Arro Mandell

    YESTERDAY AUSTIN TOLD ME TWO SWANS by Arro Mandell

      drowned a local man for coming too close and   Thomas and I laughed but  I still think if I don’t count my teeth   they’ll be taken, can’t be careful enough out here.   Last night I stepped onto a stage heaped with dead   fish. I was looking for the right earrings…

  • PASSTHROUGH by Haley Lee

    PASSTHROUGH by Haley Lee

    After the play we talk while we wait for the C with our shoes  touching on the platform. Say,  when the magician unrolled  the sea, an old tunnel in us  burst open. Lights off, all  air – with you I believe  in water wrung from paper.  They didn’t need to use names  to make us…

  • GOLD by Kunjana Parashar

    GOLD by Kunjana Parashar

    Lately, I’ve been yearning for things: car keys, houseplants, dhurries, cubes of ice, petals, but really for something skin-deep. I keep  addressing myself as we; like I am the bull  & I am the matador. I am the prayer and  the devotee. We are prying open our mouths to sing. We are the ear and…

  • BLUE PERIOD by James O’Leary

    BLUE PERIOD by James O’Leary

      It’s 9:31 PM where the end of the city tinges the sea. An empty   spiderweb hangs motionless between the blinds & the closed window leaking   the street’s neon onto the unmade bed. No moon. Not even the comfort of wine,   bottles shaped like the body I want, & will never have.…