Poems for Persons of Interest

Born and raised in Plymouth, England, Jan is a father of three, a child of two, and a husband of one. He writes poetry and short fiction, mostly for adults.

J-T Kelly  is an innkeeper in Indianapolis. He lives in a brick house with his wife and six children, his two parents, and a dog. Candy she goes carefully, she does this one picks between with more deciding than the grown-ups imagine to let in the joy particular only the correct fits what comes out of the mouth she understands what’s in taste like the soul has no position the self itself yes me the being among larger beings mercy defenseless violet and across the heights to see hawk-sharply the slick

Felicity Teague features regularly in The HyperTexts, Snakeskin, and elsewhere. Her second collection, Interruptus: A Poetry Year, is forthcoming in 2025. The Koala Machine Click the red switch and it all starts to whirr, duh-duh-duh duhhh on repeat; plastic forms whizz by in grey–whit e– brown blur, spurs on their hands and their feet…   We are the koalas who climb and then slide, Dusty and Snowy and Alf, scaling the tree for our yellow ramp ride, routine is good for our health…   All through the season, we sit and we stare, under a strange Christmas spell, watching the koalas speed down with such flair, after ascending so well…   We are the koalas who climb and then slide, Dusty and Snowy and Alf, scaling the tree for our yellow ramp ride, routine is good for our health…   Poor Alfie’s arm breaks; the batteries die – off to ACE Hardwares we go. Superglue gets us a little bit high! K-dudes resume their slick show… ...

Danny Fitzpatrick   is the author of a few books.  He lives in New Orleans and  edits a journal called  Joie de Vivre. The Comedy's Hallows Some of my dreams have subsided, While some of my wakings have stayed, And all of the promises muttered Have died on my lips as I prayed. Heaven and hell and the mountain between Have sweetened our angers, tra la! No, none of the dead will consume you, Though none of the dead will be gone When the blood that you swore had receded Has crept up at last in the dawn. Hell and the mountain and heaven above Have feasted our madness, ha ha! The silence can no longer summon The promise of deafening sleep As leaves down the walk rush and rattle And stricken hounds fawn on the deep. The mountain and heaven and hell down below Still linger beside us, la la! The morning is mounting to fever To scream the night’s sickness away While the candles and liquors and curses Are crowding the lips of the day. Still heaven, hell, and the mountain of sh...

Coleman Glenn lives in Bryn Athyn, PA with his wife and their six kids. His poems have appeared in  Light ,  Autumn Sky Poetry Daily ,  Blue Unicorn ,  THINK , and other publications. Starsong Our grandfathers’ grandfathers sang of the light Of a star that would rise with a King; They turned their eyes heavenward night after night — But none ever saw a thing. Now most of the world has forgotten their word And although we remember, we feared That neither would we see, for all we had heard, That star. Then the star appeared.   What infant rests under its silvery gleam? Who waits for our incense and gold? The Light to Whom kings and all nations shall stream, The Sunrise so long foretold.   We followed it here to Jerusalem’s throne, But the Sovereign we seek can’t be found. They say, “Search in Bethlehem”; no more is known. Where is He, this King uncrowned? The palace is dim. We step into the night. Have we journeyed for no...