Saturday, June 29, 2013

A Poem by Maureen Kingston

sym-bi-otico: a notorious liberal bastion prepares for the fall semester
(when god closes a door he opens a window)
beverage trucks back up to the student union
(is it coke or pepsi school?)
bookstore clerks stockpile knapsacks
(discover-visa-mastercard inserts inserted)
rope lines are staked for the frosh free phone pick-up
(unlimited data mining access)
all-faculty memos flutter in mailboxes
(re: the budget: no travel money this year
unless you’re attending a conference
that teaches you how to raise money)
old signs are taken down / new ones put up
(English Department / Humanities /
Language Arts / Mass Communications /
Business School)
Maureen Kingston is an assistant editor at The Centrifugal Eye. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Camel Saloon, Dead Snakes, Gone Lawn, Gutter Eloquence Magazine, Red River Review, Rufous City Review, Stone Highway Review,, and Wild Orphan.

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Three Poems by John Pursch

Elevated Napes
Precariously poached peccaries fulminate over easterly woven conundrums, flitting above deckhand stipend domiciles, pretending to capsize in trebled mischief canary milk. Puppets fly off toboggan veils, half interred between moustache dings, popping tooth carnage for flippant iota berths. Entangled plainclothes pterodactyls imbue lice scans with erstwhile periodontal knapsack dreams, serrating farewell jeremiads per dominant ogre pinnacle speech palms, grossing southern hayseed pabulum. Twice begotten periwinkle brows imply an archaic trump slot, mocking inborn derby wafers, singing of angled gumshoe quarts in Samoan foxtrot eaves. Circumnavigated cloves defy steeping dove mutations, catalyzing treed limb posers with impetus ferocity, blanking into elevated napes. Lioness umbrella darts reseal bucolic crab tree licks, fluttering wisely into flashing credibility maws, speckled beyond solidity urchins. Easing her canoe through wallowing shutters, the grotto’s faux heretical nouveau scooter blends her ambit with puritanical chokehold coos, filming nightly waistband motifs for ankle shams.

Shadow Oxen
Gaslight depilatories impose shoveled emigrants on emissary effluvia, wafting alluvial handstands past aching slivers of collared torpor, flicked in statutory tremolos by looming igneous troglodytes, yearning to speak of intravenous whaling bubbles. Phantasms deduct steroidal naphthene from horological stepping colons, mossy in tiered dishrag arteries, queried to oblivion by puerile space bats in shapely toss-ups. Pushing sectarian sidearms for hauntingly belated grist, dweebs easily weave through cemetery whistle stops, crafting cello smirks from chafed clef pajama tops. Blotches swelter amid saffron contrail grifters, salivating at pint-blank tracer angst, cropping shared crowbars just behind an aural telethon’s pellucid grappling snip. Perched epidurals elucidate till drowsy calendars curl up in jangled juice surmise, pressing gonged tarantula slogans into thirsty bell peppers, depriving a paprika junkie of alligator chaff detergent. Termagant floss gloats headlong and fanciful in freed laundry tolls, piecing gathered menses into collaboration spew police. Galoshes encumber frozen stamens, bet on dusty maunderers for blowhole stings, and steer akashic corridors beneath an irrigated jellyfish tantrum, copping to scream blues in wily tweezer action. Fearsome hearsay obeys sobriety’s luminal biscuit proxy, fulminating at octal arbitrage. Spindrift aisles grin ably, counting gorilla enclaves far from enabled zephyr cones, spilling numb ownership below the shuffled and specious whinny. Toucans seize unwinding pheasants, beckoning decanted ambits, predicated on goose parades. Sapient artisans defy trick artichoke tears, adoring agility’s tumid potato breath. Listening to hatched defusers, thatched kumquats sail for Qumran at providential clapboard siding’s feisty yawn, jangling encoded rooster ale into bedeviled frenzy’s holster. Hefting shipped static, particulates deploy heirloom caricatures, soaking an elbow in porous poodle stink, retrenching an alien pursuance for heinous whiners. Plaudits land in flexible crates of carotid quail, dumping vegetables in brotherly callings, furnished by midtown lariat seers. Nocturnes cloud the urinals with piebald electronics, defraying amniotic sunlight through spider web intrusion felt. Po-boy triage revolves in shadow oxen, mouthing battered affluence at irreligious octogenarians, sheltering the crawling pestilence in blazing casement cheese. 


Yo-yo Quartets

Swimming through busty deadlock straits of annual hideout jangle mist, interlopers kill off hours in licentious unlimited credo breath, flimsily denying nominal upstart comical anger, smoking a headless seamstress behind closet towers, inching neck-deep before panned altimeters read negotiated heresy’s nearby pathway rebuttal ploy, stammering under tightwad locomotion’s impassioned embrace, groaning out of awkward tonic hallway grease, spoken in wheelbase carrion flecks of tendonitis chrism, piebald and soapy when earfuls cake the nozzle. Metallic unguent speeds down corridors of human zeal, washing off embodied egg drop sloops, doffing canned inferno mold to fructify cephalic ductile means. Tamely wounded cellar fish meander coyly, plod beside torrential work crew mastiffs, and ease to dalliance in commissary cacti, neutered for belief patrol incipience, leasing sapiential apiaries to fortnight windage. Traceries pend in afterimage cloth, drenching retinal undercarriages with lacquered haystacks, cobbled to cauterized weal from thermal idioms of plangent ancillary gravy yard steam. Towing mouth pipe garbage on barking lineal cribbage blurbs, oarsmen cavil till daybreak freezes oaken tenterhooks, wigging over canonical anise spouts, flushed from pluralistic yo-yo quartets. Squeezing trackballs harken buckled tomahawk reducers back to molting lackadaisical tolerance, enabling knuckleballs to spawn recital plumes before cellophane docks can immolate reminder gunnels. While eateries claw three whales, bucking brinkmen tally hotly truncated service ululators, quenching oxygenated devil’s feet with kegger fries.
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.

Friday, June 7, 2013

Three Poems by Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia

And Tracked

Dusk settled in ,
                                stayed away
                from shore
And the pewter
                is die-cast
                                where the new
                awaits its turn
                                to wax
Steps same as earlier
                seem different,
                                                on tiptoe
                through puddles
                                idling at corners.
                and highway dividers
are the wrinkles
                                of America
                where the micro-expressions
                                come to reveal
                                                the tells
                of bluffs made
                                about upward
And the eye
                                riding coastline
                                                has been
since leaving Spain –
                                                the one still standing conquistador
given new names
and tracked.

To Pursue

Neither laughter nor tears
                in the drought
as the prostitutes work each corner
                with no other task.
The air is followed
                and lead
                                until cracking brings
drops from ice
                in need of a buck.
The mug is filled for no more
                                and a winner
                is not declared.
Where is where one is going
                of course
                                with no business
to pursue.

Fading Comes Easily

Light is aloof
even with its need
to drag shadow
with it
                it takes a moment
                to shine
How detached
are you?
So fast as yet to be beaten
And easily shattered
with a prism
into living secrets
And taking time
each year to become
                less and less
Then of course,
fading comes

Kenyatta Jean-Paul Garcia is the author of This Sentimental Education and Enter the After-Garde along with two other collections of poetry. He was raised in Brooklyn, NY and has a degree in Linguistics.  He has studied several living and dead languages in addition to philosophy and poetry at SUNY Albany and Hudson Valley Community College.  He spent over ten years working in restaurants – cooking, washing dishes, etc.  Currently, he works overnights putting boxes on shelves.  By day, he runs kjpgarcia.wordpress and