Latte Archives
Poetry

Fall 2010 Issue

Down on the Farm By Sally Yocom

It gets my goat to hear you lie.
We’ve hidden no black sheep.
So hold your horses, cut the corn.
Don’t make another peep…

Posted in Poetry | 1 Response

Igneous or “of fire” By Rosemary Royston

Winner, 2010 Literal Latte Food Verse Contest.
Magma undulates in the mantle, forming as the Earth’s plates collide.
      A man and woman collide
      in a café. He pays for the coffee…

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 3 Responses

Fritillary By W.F. Lantry

I half believe all wines exist at once
within this glass, I almost half believe
each can be tasted singly…

Posted in Poetry | 1 Response

Spring 2010 Issue

Prayer For The New Year By Marian Kaplun Shapiro

Be sweet, my soul,
be soft, my soul
go round the bend gently, gently[…]

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Please Submit A Brief Bio By Marian Kaplun Shapiro

Third Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
I have a who singing silently to your who singing
silently to my who, whoever and whomever

Posted in Poetry | 1 Response

Paperboy By Melanie McCabe

Second Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
At twelve, I could only see the seventeen-year-old boy
as a gift. A fluke from God […]

Posted in Poetry | Tagged , | 4 Responses

The Black Stones By Michael Shally-Jensen

First Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
I did that, and it didn’t go as expected.
For one, I’m not the person in the poem,
though I share certain affinities with her[…]

Posted in Poetry | 3 Responses

Note on the Translation By Michael Shally-Jensen

First Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
We have sought here to wrestle with the polished burl bowl of the author’s mind — its baroque excesses, its stark and stained language — as if taking on Grendel in the dark woods of indeterminacy…

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 1 Response

In case you came in late — By Melanie McCabe

Second Prize, 2009 Literal Latte Poetry Award.
It’s that scene in the thriller where the woman walks alone down
the rain-flashed city street in teetering, come-kill-me stilettos —

Posted in Poetry | 2 Responses

Fall 2009 Issue

Last Meal By Ellen Peckham

As a child, reading of “…the convict’s last meal…”
I devised — I thought — menu impossible:
late season’s fruits, corn…

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