Thank you for making our celebration of National Poetry Month a smashing success! Going into April, I hadn't written a poem in well over a year. But the talented writers, photographers and artists who submitted their work inspired me to the point that I began to write poems again - with a fury.The result? Apotheosis, a chapbook of seven poems. Order your copy today!

Grateful to the artists of the world,

Tamryn Spruill

By Jesi Bender

As I lay me down to sleep

Perfumed

With a voice that burns off like smoke

In the dark, under grey-blue sheets

I look at the outline,

How your face cuts the air

I pray the Lord my soul to keep

All I see is the pink, fleshy insides of your eyes

And the memories projecting from therein

The corners from where every tear was torn

Veins pressed against the white, like hollow/hallowed reeds

Sick and tired from this modern discontent

And if I should die before I wake

Retract into youth

As I fall asleep

Originality/A purity escaping, gasps and grasps

Sometimes I feel carved out

Like a silhouette, skin over air

I pray the Lord my soul to take

An artist from Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Jesi Bender graduated with a B.A. in English and Fine Arts from Cornell University in 2007. Her first book, entitled Oppressed by the Notion of Beauty, will be released by December 2009.

Contact: Jesi Bender * Email: jesibender@gmail.com.

By Tamryn Spruill

Click here for audio version!

Little Nobodies wing past

In the wee hours of morn

On way from Bardo to

Rebirth. Awaiting a host to

Implant life, orgasms galore.

With ova and seed, they’ll mate –

Gestate, and then be born.

But no being lolls here, for

My glands are immoderately worn –

Unused, yet terribly shorn.

Contact: Tamryn Spruill * Website: www.wordnerdeditorial.com

Email: info@wordnerdeditorial.com

By Stacey Lee

These photographs tell a story of discovery of self and innocence of youth. Eighteen months old, Noble's curiosity leads him into a world of exploration. In these photos, I combine the element of simplicity with the raw curiosity of a child.

Story of a Little Boy 1Story of a Little Boy 2Story of a Little Boy 3Contact: Stacey Lee * Email: sgirl777@hotmail.com

By Cedric Tillman

I am

missing you a bit,

More than I thought,

and more than I should.

But your spirit hovers over me.

Impish.

You must stop playing with my halo.

I should stop letting you.

Shoo, gone now.

You know me well.

It was the melanin, I’m afraid

It was watery,

It leaked all over you.

No mixing, no adulterating.

Grain alcohol blackness

saturated even the tangled,

sovereign curls

you idly twisted in daydreams

It simmered on your cheeks,

a veiled emotion.

It seeped onto your breasts,

where it burst at their conclusions.

It dove into your lips, where...

Those lips.

Your lips were grey.

They were like black after pink lost out.

They were softly corrugated and nice.

Your tongue was neon

against night’s background

It was easy to see between teeth.

You were better for shadow

like poems for solitude

The bad lighting to finish good novels to,

There were secrets in your stare

that made it worth the strain to see you

I could you make you out

in basements with no light.

I could feel for the warmth

that had blown out the bulbs,

and follow the heat of an urge

that could rip out a pull string

Or you would usher me down,

slowly

compelling exploration

until I could not stay

the night.

Cedric Tillman received a BA in English from UNC Charlotte and an MFA in Creative Writing from American University. He lives in Charlotte.

Contact: Cedric Tillman * Email: juggsmurf@yahoo.com