Dotted Line Dotted Line

Poetry Summer 2021    fiction    all issues

Cover of Poetry Summer 2021


Diana Akhmetianova

Monique Jonath
& other poems

Alix Christofides Lowenthal
Before and After
& other poems

Rebbekah Vega-Romero
La Persona Que Quiero Ser
& other poems

Oak Morse
Incandescent Light That Peeks Through Secrets
& other poems

George Kramer
The Last Aspen Stand
& other poems

Elizabeth Sutterlin
Meditations on Mars
& other poems

Holly Marie Roland
& other poems

Devon Bohm
A Bouquet of Cherry Blossoms
& other poems

Ana Reisens
In praise of an everyday object
& other poems

Maxi Wardcantori
The Understory
& other poems

William A. Greenfield
& other poems

Karen L Kilcup
The Sky Is Just About to Fall
& other poems

Pamela Wax
He dreams of birds
& other poems

Mary Jane Panke
& other poems

a mykl herdklotz
Mouettes et Mastodontes
& other poems

Claudia Maurino
Good Pilgrim
& other poems

Mary Pacifico Curtis
One Mystical Day
& other poems

Tess Cooper
Airport Poem
& other poems

Peter Kent
Congress of Ravens
& other poems

Kimberly Sailor
White Women Running
& other poems

Bill Cushing
Creating a Corpse
& other poems

Everett Roberts
& other poems

Susan Marie Powers
Canada Geese
& other poems

Peter Kent

Congress of Ravens

Flock of crooked bones, pasted

in feather, thrown into a wind

filled with knives, they rise

against dwindling day’s darker blue,

an armada in black, wings trimming

light from the air. And, now, convened

on bare branches like a corruption

of foliage, they debate with staccato

strains in a land bereft of melody.

Orphan Tale

Millions of miles away a cosmic-pinprick furnace

belches an acid flare that threatens to tear apart

a small, blue planet’s electromagnetic veil.

Fragile marble, spinning in this great dark room,

has someone left the quantum deadbolt open?

Offer your prayers to whatever dealer

turns over the cards that define one’s fate.

May your mindless waltz continue unimpeded

during our brief tenure of consciousness.

Masons Mend the Custom House Tower

A pair of peregrines

who’ve colonized the tower’s heights

dive at these intruders emerging

from granite pores, wrapped in rope

and harness to defy gravity’s insistence.

They work the afternoon in singular focus

with mortar and trowel, to craft a practical

artistry. Where the great stone blocks intersect,

the worms of climate will find their passage

repulsed. The falcons finally settle

upon the tower’s pinnacle, recognizing

that those who build such monuments

rarely choose to approach its apogee.

In such small acts of balance rests

the security that every creature seeks.


The exuberant waving of flags

and tree branches signals the shift

in wind from polar to equatorial.

Heaven-starved faces lift toward

radiant cumulus blossoming against

cerulean. Days brightened by a prophecy

of unrestrained bounty. Optimism’s

raw wonder restored. Nature’s

subtle hallelujahs tempt spirits

sealed in skyscrapers to wonder

if even their tombs might be inverted

by light’s irrepressible ascension.


I worry for the swans outside Swampscott.

Ice must be a foot thick now in the reeds

and narrow stretches of water that

they made their home. Have they gone

from this white desolation? Or,

do they endure with stoic acceptance

what follows the days of contentment

allotted for drift and nonchalance. Is this

where the sublime’s crown comes to rest?

Peter Kent’s poems have appeared in Cagibi, Cimarron Review, Lullwater Review, New Millennium Writings, The Opiate, Subprimal Poetry Art and other journals. He lives in Boston, Massachusetts.

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