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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-17 00:44:39 EDT

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South Sioux City Isn't Real

now look
I get it

you can point to roads
and buildings
and articles of incorporation
to name me liar

but come on
you're by a river

Nebraskans are not river people

we prefer the cycle
and steadiness
of earth and corn

which assuredly is why
Sioux City has many
while Nebraskans consider

then blush
and look away

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen night and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.

BLACK PETALS Issue #117 cover art by Bernice Holtzman features a bat, a smiling jack-o-lantern, av ery yellow full moon, and what looks like a purple moth against a black and blue night sky.

"Facts Are Facts" poem and song graphic by Bill Kochman showing author photo, quills and link to billkochman.com/Poetry

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Poem on a broadside with an image of northern lights in the background. Northern lights are reflecting on the sea.

Nobel Prize-winning poet Louise Glück (1943–2023) is captured in this contemplative portrait, set against a rich, saturated forest-green background. A master of the "austere beauty" that made her one of America's most celebrated literary figures, Glück is shown in a three-quarter view, seated on a wooden chair. Her expression is one of quiet, penetrating observation—a look that mirrors the candid, often stark nature of her Pulitzer Prize-winning work like The Wild Iris. She is dressed simply in a black tank top paired with a matching black cardigan. Her silver-grey bob is neatly styled, framing a face that conveys a lifetime of intellectual rigor and creative reinvention. Her pose is thoughtful: her right arm rests on the chair's back, while her left hand is tucked under her chin. The composition is asymmetrical, with Glück positioned on the right, leaving a wide expanse of deep green to the left that heightens the image's sense of stillness and interiority. The mood is intimate and dignified, fitting for a woman who served as the U.S. Poet Laureate and whose legacy remains a cornerstone of contemporary literature.

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Young woman speaking confidently at a wooden podium with a microphone, against a red and white abstract mural background.

A playful poem about breaking the unwritten rules of adulthood by eating dessert before dinner. Beneath the humor is a reminder that we don't always have to postpone happiness in the name of responsibility.
Dessert First
I ate the cake before my dinner.
Nobody died. The sun still rose.
The vegetables sat there judging me,
but carrots have no right to vote.
I've spent my life being responsible,
saving the good things until the end.
Tonight I licked the frosting knife
and didn't offer to share with anyone.
The dishes waited in the kitchen.
The laundry staged its usual protest.
For once, I let the world be disappointed.
I took another bite of chocolate cake.
If joy is going to be this temporary,
I'm having mine while it's still warm.

Pic of poem

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