JD DeHart reviews Evelyn Blohm’s poetry collection Central Park Rhapsody and Oasis
Poetry from Rick Hartwell
False Spring
False spring’s soft rain subsides to
snow flurries and icy winds
annihilate too-early growth; buds
blush and drop without blooms.
Raucous tempest buffets pairs of birds,
challenging them to seek safe
nesting sites for mating as sapphire
skies turn first opal then ebony.
* * *
Approaching death the higher castes
in feudal Japan entered religious
orders seeking to die as monks or nuns
expiated of sins from former lives.
Winter cleanses only what is no longer
fecund; that which would otherwise
fester, ferment, accumulate detritus.
Death exists as the herald of birth.
Poetry from Allison Grayhurst
Poetry from Alyssa Trivett
Tuesday Afternoon
Cheese-grated my two-bit soles
on strainer sewers.
A man, nighthawk coat,
cigarette for a beak,
stopped in front of me
to ignite his habit.
‘Designated Smoking Area’ sign chain-gain hangs,
on a rusted work area fence.
I play I Spy, since it isn’t my habit.
So I’m scrawling within those rusted
divided fence lines.
As trains squeak by again.
Poetry from JD DeHart
Bear House
They tire of the too small,
too big conversations, the constant
comparisons; at least Snow White
had the courtesy to sleep a while
and Cinderella disappeared in her pumpkin
for a carriage ride into the night.
This girl just sits on the couch, whining,
threatening teenage pregnancy,
smearing on acne medicine,
then takes the car out late without permission,
eats all the porridge – cold, hot, she does not care
“Eating for two,” she teases, and they roll
their eyes, thinking: Where did we go wrong,
Was it the late bed-time, too many video games?
When is she going to get a job?
Essay from Michael Robinson
“Don’t hurt me!” I said, sitting in the corner of a tiny room with pillows on the floor for my bed.
It was an August night and it was cold.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
Mary would spend the next two decades telling me that she wasn’t going to hurt me. I’d get to hear this a lot, as I went through all the mental hospitals and ECT (Electroconvulsive Therapy) treatments. The darkness of the nights was plentiful in my marriage of thirteen years.





