Yet another beautifully produced offering of short poems from Noon. Among the many familiar names, pride of place goes to John Parsons–a new name for me–for this untitled poem that smacks a little of Samuel Menashe:

two
buzzards
grappling
spiral
down
together
he stops
to stoop
retrieves
her
falling
feather.

I think I would have changed “her” to “a,” to maintain the objective feeling of the piece. Parson’s use of a strategic rhyme takes this poem to another level of structure and complexity compared to the faux haiku that comprises the majority of the work featured in this issue. The sly allusion to Whitman is nice too.

Lots of other interesting work. Contact noonpress[at]mac.com for information about subscriptions and submissions.