Monday, September 30, 2013

A Poem by Bill Jansen

Damnit, Roy

Would welding sparks hit the city
like tourists from the sun,
if not for Roy?

The city
a thought-pattern
of get-real blondes
dream drones
in handbags
balanced news
food carts
bike psychopaths
savvy suicides
radar glossy
Susan the weather girl:

Pole-dance tonight-
cloudy this morning.
Mammoth tusked Indians
as cigarette smoke
in dusty lobbies
playing backgammon
on a Turkish rug.

Lottery tickets
like cufflinks
on a stray dachshund
with 3 pieces
of photo ID.

Overpass noise
the thrill
rolling joints
on a diaper changing station
at your Mary's Dance & Dine
Broadway and Ankeny
girls girls girls
Visa Visa Visa
like soft wood rotating
on a lathe of Chuck Berry.

On the marquee:

A Pioneer of the Industry
We miss you Roy.

Yes, we miss you Roy
and no absolution
by rainbows on skateboards
with fractured wrists
can replace you,
though the mayor is a Samurai
with bee stung lips.

Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  Recent works has appeared in Gap-Toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.

Saturday, September 28, 2013

A Poem by John Pursch

Humpback Flash Gun

How far from heart-shaped taxis 
in uptown district squalor breath 
do grappling hugs smile in tonal 
happenstance construction, 
gone to flavored eczema 
in shingled reliance? 
Frozen to benefit hearings, 
cannonade umbrella chance pelts 
illusory myopic ethical pralines 
with dosage aspect infusion, 
ejecting blunt tracheas from 
mirrored forensic eyelet screws. 
Off to starlit monochrome ingredient birth, 
weaving engendered jelly roll plies, 
cantering poppies grow fairly well 
beneath the surfeit’s cooly enacted 
roaming fetters. 
Newbie janitorial stasis sinks 
ageless instruction pod brew, 
devolved to skinned chalk stirrups 
and prescient tonsils 
for graveyard dice cups. 
Used tarpaulins capture 
squid reagent lice in training burdens, 
smelting axial toxins for tundra hunters 
on ballpark delicacy parole, 
speaking terminal basis bowling tips 
to ashen hemp arrestor gents. 
She found a lasting long-legged laziness 
in futuristic waveform eyes 
and melted into loneliness with 
humpback flash gun syncopation alarms, 
replaced by temporal street closet doubt. 
John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His poetry and fiction has appeared in many literary journals. His most recent book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

A Poem by Darren C. Demaree

Adoration #4

for Cynthia at Beechwold Diner

If you sing, change
octaves with kids
dancing, booth-bound

& with bacon
in their hands, you
are glistening,

a separate
woman, joining
our frame, our shine.

Darren C. Demaree is living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children.  He is the author of "As We Refer to Our Bodies (September 29, 2013) and Not For Art Nor Prayer (2014), both are forthcoming from 8th House Publishing.  He is the recipient of two Pushcart Prize nominations and a Best of the Net nomination.

Monday, September 16, 2013

A Poem by Sarah Thursday


I do not have it
it did not come today
all my thoughts
are disconnected

how loud my cat is purring

I didn't sleep well

I had a crappy day

I miss all my friends
for a hundred different reasons

how unclear my future is

how teaching can be exhausting

I have too much love inside
but I won't give it away easy

there are too many tightropes
of going too far
of not going far enough

how I know what I need to do
but can't for the life of me
be the one who does it

I'm always questioning
my honesty

when I should fight
when I should let it all go

I can't stop biting my nails

I can't find a home
in someone else's heart

we are all compartmentalized
like a bento box
all on the same plate
but always on separate sides

I pulled all my anchors
or cut them or dragged them
either way I'm drifting

even though I own my house
and I have a steady job

I'm so damn independent
I want some more dependence

or a place to rest my head
and hear a heartbeat

that knows what I know

that will anchor me
and I can be home
Sarah Thursday was mostly raised in Long Beach, California.  She teaches 4th and 5th grade, is obsessed with music, and has only recently dove into poetry again. She has forthcoming or has been published in Stylus Magazine, The Long Beach Union (CSULB), The Atticus Review, Eunoia Review, East Jasmine Review, Yonic South, poeticdiversity, and a project called Please Judge: Short Stories Based on the Songs of Roky Erickson. She has also made five chapbooks over the years. Recently, she has become the editor of Cadence Collective: Long Beach Poets, almost by accident, but completely on purpose.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Two Poems by Les Merton

small press poetry library
Rusty staples, yellowing pages,
Inspired words live on
Poetry from passed-over names
A Positive Word Sadly Neglected In Poetry

Being creative: writing, publishing, editing, performing is a way of life for Cornishman Les Merton who lives in Redruth, Cornwall. He's just edited compiled and published Dialect Poetry an anthology of British regional dialect. He believes use it or lose it applies to all forms of dialect.


Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Three Poems by Les Merton

We are right up against it
There is nothing we can do
War has been declared
The war to end all wars
is being over quoted
by the media and informed individuals
A conglomerate of planetary missiles
is set to be launched towards us
if the people of Earth
don’t agree to evacuate
their beloved planet
Where can 7000,300000 people
of various nationalities, colours and races go
Yes a few - an elite few - will probably
be sent to various planetary outposts
some could even live on space stations
But, the majority
would have to stay put and just wait
There will be defences
The Powers That Be
have all missiles primed and ready
The end time
as been forecasted by many
over the centuries
Now it is a reality
Rather than wait for the destruction
The Powers That Be
have issued pills
the container they come in
is neatly labelled with the instruction
take three pills one of each colour
at hourly intervals
in the prescribed order
Take the Red Pill first
this ensures a feeling of well being
Next take the Blue Pill
it’s sole purpose is to create a desire
for another pill
Which will be
the only pill left which is the Black Pill
It is very doubtful that before anyone takes the Black Pill
 they will bother read the small print
which simply reads
morning observation
abandoned coat hangers
            create sculpture
on an art
            graffiti riverbank bench
                        a leaping salmon
catches the light
            and the moment

yoga                         love                         ahimsa             harmony
              bricks      in the wall
                                                  for world peace
            nonviolence             freedom             truth
spirituality                         pacifism             diplomacy
            understanding            co-operation

Les Merton is Cornish and proud of it. He lives in an historic heart of the tin mining area and he has become a prolific writer with 20 books to his credit, (many of which are available from Amazon and other online retailers.) Les has been published in magazines around the world and he is the founder editor of Poetry Cornwall which started in 2002.  In recent times his first play, The Last Cornishman, was performed and he appeared on ITV's That Sunday Night Show.


Monday, September 2, 2013

A Poem by Mike Cluff


Mike Cluff is a writer living in the inland section of Southern California. He is now finishing two books of poetry: "The Initial Napoleon" and "Bulleted Meat"-- both of which are scheduled for publication in late 2013/early 2014. He believes that individuality is the touchstone of his life and pursues that ideal with passion and dedication to help the world improve with each passing instance .He also hopes to take up abstract painting in the next several months.