the rotary dial

best new poetry in form

Weeds are not supposed to grow
but by degrees
some achieve a flower, although
no one sees.

From the February Issue


Sandy Ridge Church

No church was near. Folks met in barns before

the hay was stacked and gave to have one built.

Hewers ripped by the shin, and gorged on chores,

till winter flew blankets and kept the wilt.

Singing through fields, they gathered by the brook.

Fast trout shied at their feet

as reverends plunged them till their bodies shook.

The church was walled from rocks that snagged

the plows in fields of wheat.

Bread drove the hands, in spurts of power roped,

to mix the lime and last the days to chisel.

From scaffold-planks, the valley’s backing scope

flew over grains and made the barnsides little.


Kevin O’Shea is currently completing Western Colorado State University’s MFA in poetry with an emphasis on versecraft. Since graduating from The College of New Jersey in 2007, he has studied poetry at New York’s 92nd Street Y Unterberg Poetry Center and at the West Chester Poetry Conference. His work has appeared in The New Criterion. He lives in Lambertville, New Jersey.