by Barry North
In a gray dawn,
on the edge of the gulf,
as upon the edge of time
by Sandra Bounds
the hospitality state
where folks are warm
as Spring’s genial sun
by H.D. Whatley
From Charleston we drove south on I-95
Through the state of Georgia, where Mr. Allman ate a peach.
And just past the Florida border
Is a little place called Fernandina Beach
by Mike Harrell
You go on ahead, General.
The river is swift and I’m unsure
of those shadows. I’d like to lay down
my arms but I’ve developed a taste
by Chris Wood
Take the corn by the ear
the way Mommy does yours.
Grasp its ripe green skin,
wrap the tanned strap round your wrist
Poet Shanna Conway Dixon talks to Judson Mitcham about his role as poet laureate and notions of Southern harmony in his work (poem included).
by Shanna Conway Dixon
I collected spare change from jars and buckets
in case I chose to rid myself of you.
I was afraid that you’d fall from my secrets
I barely know the song. My fingers feel
Like fuzzy okra pods as Jon asserts
His snare into the bridge. Then Flip reveals
His family genes and belts aloud those notes
by Janell Oliver
The crazy lady in number Four
climbed onto the roof today.
Three stories up, she called the cops
from her cell phone and told them
by Patricia Lewis Speir
Eerie shadows spread across the narrow, twisty river,
reflections, perhaps, of a Calusa Indian's spirit
lingering in the dense cypress and palmetto hammocks
readying his canoe of yellow pine