Saturday, December 2, 2017

From Volume 38: "Holiday" by Stephen Thomas Roberts

A croissant with a glass bowl of jam.


HOLIDAY
By Stephen Thomas Roberts

It seems indulgent
to eat outside
beneath an awning
and breakfast late.
The passersby
must be tardy—
late for work or school,
or else are idlers—
but either way
the thought amuses.

How pleasant to sip
the juice of exotic fruits
and nibble breadstuffs
daubed with jam,
and read the local paper
(or pretend to)
over steam rising from café au lait.

Friday, December 1, 2017

2017 Pushcart Nominees

Congratulations to this year's Pushcart Prize Nominees in the order in which they appear in this year's edition, Volume XXXVIII:


  • Polly Brown, "Richard and the Blue Boat"
  • Claire Mowbray Golding, "Nameless"
  • Nicholas McCarthy, "Paterfamilias"
  • Jennifer L. Freed, "Cleaning the Bathroom"
  • James K. Zimmerman, "Hart Island"
  • Michael R. Schrimper, "Chinese Dream"



Best of luck to all our nominees!

To order a copy of Volume XXXVIII, click the cover image on the right-hand side of the page.

Saturday, November 4, 2017

From Volume 38: "Skating on the edge of flesh" by Richard Fox




SKATING ON THE EDGE OF FLESH
By Richard Fox



One: on Dr. Paul Kalanithi ’s When Breath Becomes Air



The neurosurgeon.
            Cuts to cure.
            Midnight rounds/early call,
his wife waits for her consultation.

Ecstasy, saw slicing skull, a scalpel’s rivulet.
Danger in the drill,
thrill in the skill.
            Sensitive hands, eyes that see
            what only he can see,
hope for goners.

Lung cancer killed the neurosurgeon.
            I have malignancies in my lungs.
            We share the trinity:
diagnosis, treatment, death.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Volume 38 Cover Reveal!

Volume 38 of The Worcester Review is coming soon! 
Subscribers, expect for your copies to arrive in early November.


Cover Art "Mothership" by John Vo
Cover Design by Kirsty Walker, Hobblebush Books



We're so proud to bring you work by these talented poets and writers...




Monday, October 2, 2017

From Volume 37: A poem by Leone Scanlon



MY SEVENTY-SIXTH YEAR
By Leone Scanlon

In Chagall’s kitchen a red floor, a cake, and a cut melon on a red table,
pink roses for her birthday, her feet not quite touching the floor,
he, floating above and around, head curved like a swan’s for a kiss,
like the father in cummings’ poem swaying “deep like a rose”
over his mother to kiss, like a poet, as I imagined he would and did
when I was young, life transformed, the way Chagall
turned a kitchen with cake, knife, red floor into flying,
the way pain slices flesh and spirit crimson,
the way cut roses spill petals over a table filling the room,
the way the on-sale rose bush my daughter planted
blooms again and again even in late October, scenting the chill
as I descend the steps in slippers and robe to pick up the paper,
sky still starred, pink changing to blue, crows cawing from a tree-top
and turn, gathering my robe, breathing in roses, to start the day.

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

The Worcester Review -- Staff Openings

The Worcester Review seeks to fill several positions on our editorial board.   We invite you to click the links below to view the full position descriptions. If you are interested, please contact Managing Editor Diane Mulligan at editor.twr@gmail.com

Assistant Managing Editor

Poetry Reading Editor

Copy Editor


Monday, September 4, 2017

From Volume 37: A poem by Karen Sharpe


When Worlds Collide
By Karen Sharpe

after Edvard Munch’s painting, Girls Picking Apples, from the collection of Scofield Thayer


Innocence, you are but deceit twined in green
a shackle of softness in a girl’s thigh and chin
an obsession with a torrid itch
purity, you twist the empty tongue.
As ever, pleasure is a lie that defies your definition:
hunger kneels plainly before the blossom
ripens with lipless lust, desires the waxing bloom.
Above, the wild sky swirls its azure threads
its empty net casting for ruin. As ever,
the ocean lifts its stormy myths, it swells
with its legends, it lists with forgotten men.