Manoeuvre from the tangles

of the poppy fields

that wrap around you

like sea-weed

criss-crossing in between

your hands, your legs

swaying a childhood dream.

Your mouth is the opening of a cave

A cloud of bats circling as if possessed,

your tongue                                                                                                                   

a sea urchin guarding a burning secret,

your fingers knitting the clock backwards.

The ink runs dry on the paper scroll


like the dinner laid out on the table


Suddenly, I’m dying


-Gayatri Lakhiani Chawla

(The Beginning of the End)


the Morning after
gloomy and gray
Not much sleep
after the speech
of Sinking ship
or souls to save
moving on Together
toward a new day.

Mary Thompson Hardwick

Hardwick, a ModPo Alumni for 5 years and ModPo CTA for 3 years, lives in Conway SC  

Paktia Province, May, 2011

Green fields
poppies and wheat
Mountains towering
and steep
Could you even climb them?
Nomads on mountain plain
moving higher
as summer comes
Tents and camels and goats
for real
Not a painting
or old photograph
Real people
Near a river
full with spring runoff
Peaks still wrapped
in snow
But not too close
What do they know?

Virgil Huston




changes color

Blue if it's


Pale if it 

feels fear

Red if it's


They release 

Ink from—

Ancient ink—

when they feel 


Debra Josephson 

ModPo Week 10: Poem Talk episode 47

It's late afternoon dark.
My big-brimmed Aussie hat
and ancient denim jacket
are keeping out the rain.

The barn cat is sitting in her now usual spot
atop the hay bales.

She's getting older. Her companion is gone
and she now lets me come within three feet of her
before starting to get uncomfortable.

We talk.

Neither of us understands the other
but we go back and forth anyway.

I put food in her bowl and grab some flakes of hay for the sheep.

It's dark enough that the automatic lamp is on in the chicken coop. 

On bluetooth headphones kept dry beneath my big hat 
I'm listening to a podcast about a poem -

one of the final assignments for an online class.

Later, I'll log into a forum and discuss the poem
with students worldwide.

Somehow I, on a farm on a ridge in the middle of nowhere,
have dropped into the future.

The sheep do not berate me for being late.
They get down to the important business of eating hay
before it becomes sodden with rain.

Bob Zahniser

Zahniser lives on a farm in Yamhill, Oregon, USA with a flock of indolent sheep, three dogs, two goats, two cats, two horses, six chickens, and innumerable gophers. His work has appeared in Belleville Park Pages, Walk Write Up, Filling the Void (anthology), Perceptions, The Portland Alliance, Byline, Paper Gardens, Skylight 47, and the Ottawa Arts Review.

Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan

For Tamim Ansary

I whisper that this Khan was a whisker in the beard

of The Prophet, God bless his memory.

Khan copied The Prophet's life of Non-Violence

which The Prophet lived fourteen hundred years ago.

Khan saw in cold-stone, Kaaba terms that

all places shine in Mecca's crack of brilliance and

the Call-to-Prayer's source hides in echoes

like God’s tear dropping into the ear of the practitioner:

"God is the all merciful and the all compassionate."

The violent erect governments hidden in States

while wearing clothes of belief, which hides

true intent. Doers of love, do not say. They do!

Do not let those who say, kill in hate. Become

doers and not lying slayers. Submit to doing 

love for the rest of your Non-Violent life.


-Don Hagelberg

The Unknown Magic

Since ages, people have been thinking,
Keeping mind amazed & their eyes blinking.
We do have ever expanding universe, but ideas for it winking,
Since ages, people have been thinking.....

Beings are created for a reason unknown,
Without authenticity, people tend to make clones.
Is it really a big question, or a tragic?
If they cannot think over it, its Magic!

Beliefs become weak, if they don't have a strong sight,
Beyond a span,even the thread is unseen for a flying kite.
Why in the matter so dark, they have a sun shining so bright?

Their senses arouse for the feelings unseen,
Tricks they play through their hands so clean...
They still prick their heads for the auroras turning green!

Magic for them, changes from good to evil,
For some its God, for some its devil.

For this magic to be known, they tries hard....

Their eyes glared, when they saw the missing card!

May be enlightening self with magic is out of bound....

Because this same magic will make you roam round and round!!

Saket Penurkar

Get Your 1st Annual ModPo Anthology Print Edition

These 41 poems by this year's Modpo students collected in "chapbook" form

Price $5.00 first volume, $4.00 for additional copies. S&H $2.00 each volume (outside USA may add additional shipping costs)

Profits to go to Kelly Writers House

FREE “ModPo,” our 10-week course on modern & contemporary U.S. poetry.  (9-9-17/11-21-17)

(The ModPo site will be open all year but we convene a super-active 10-week “live” run-through of the course each September through November.)

1st opened ModPo in 2012 and has offered great fun of a community of people worldwide who care about poets and poetry. The original ModPo Teaching Assistants, whom you encounter in the video discussions, are still here! They are remarkable! And many ModPo students now join us as “Community TAs” (or “course mentors”). ModPo is more in fact than a course—it’s an ongoing symposium, a growing lively discussion, a true community. We sincerely welcome you!

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