[tabby title="Poem"] Smoky thunderhead’s anvilrisen to broker lightning.I sit rapt, night blind, waitingfor forked crescendoto illuminate delicateedges of clouds.All around horizonrumble presagescommunicationof sky with sky,earth, eau d’ ozone,each one enoughto power the gridbut we can’t capturethis mad parade of power....

[tabby title="Poem"] Isn’t it just the damned truththat when you startpointing fingersat othersyou mightjust as welllook in a mirrorpoint that same finger there. [tabby title="Poet Bio"] Celia Turner is a Loveland published poet in Northern Colorado Writers and Columbine Poets...

[tabby title="Poem"] Sweet flesh we are born with, malleable, small sponges. Little elephants tethered to a stake, when we grow, we forget we can just pull free with our adult size and strength, our must. Like a fish we erupt...

[tabby title="Poem"] A susurration of voices,all women speakingin a multitude of languages Some stuck yetrepeating onlywhat men want of us— the impossible,leaving usforever in lack. Other womenwhispering, a vortexshouting, spiraling us up, up. We are we are we arewe are...

[tabby title="Poem"] The shadow of the moonwill cross Mexicoat one thousand five hundred mph,shoot up toward Niagara Falls,at pretty near two thousand.Millions will standcraning heads skywardenduring each otherin a close proximitythey would not otherwisetolerate, spending moneythey did not havefor a...