A Poem by ayaz daryl nielsen

turtle oneness

a woman and her cat
are one as
a man and his dog
are one
and they stand upon
a turtle
standing upon
another turtle
standing upon
another turtle
an infinite descent
of turtleness
and a woman and her cat
and a man and his dog
and turtles
all
the
way
down . . .
are one.

ayaz daryl nielsen, husband, father, veteran, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs) and hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (24+ years/116+ issues), poetry's homes include Lilliput Review, Yellow Mama, Verse Wisconsin, Shamrock, Kind of a Hurricane Press, and Shemom, has earned cherished awards and participated in worthy anthologies -- poetry ensembles include Concentric Penumbra's of the Heart and Tumbleweeds Still Tumbling, and, in 2013, released an anthology The Poet's of Bear Creek -- beloved wife/poet Judith Partin-Nielsen, assistant Frosty, and! bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com (translate as joie de vivre)

A Poem by Ken L. Jones

Last Call

Night descends like a billboard
Travis Bickle spreads his wings
This century has become a window
Opening onto Warhol's Last Supper
An empty soccer stadium
Has come to represent me
After a day when the summer sun
Reminded me of before the Beatles first arrived
And of days spent on a succulent
Violet Mecca of a beach
Back when four drops of Edgar Allan Poe
Could cancel the very laws of physics themselves
As all about me pummeled my aluminum foiled senses
While Lois Lane drenched in champagne

Ken L. Jones has written everything from Donald Duck comic books to dialogue for the Freddy Krueger movies for the past thirty plus years.  In the last three years he has gained great notice for his vast publication of horror poetry which has appeared in many anthology books, blogs, magazines and websites and especially in his first solo book of poetry Bad Harvest and Other Poems.  He is also publishing recently in the many fine anthology poetry books that Kind of a Hurricane Press is putting out.

 

A Poem by Bill Jansen

Chinese Take-Away Sky

Muttering something from Shakespeare,
perhaps "Woe, alas, time calls upon us!"
the nuthatch pokes sunflower seeds
into a cranny of the psychiatrist's palm.

The shrink asks him again how many followers
he has on Twitter...

--Over a million, he replies,
including the Boston symphony Orchestra.

--and how does that make you..

--feel?

_ I don't feel, Doc, I fly..

The psychiatrist makes a cage with her fingers,
and starts over:

--in our last session you were checking the pulse
of a Hawthorne
in the 12 thousand block of Martinazzi Avenue..

--that's right.

--tell me again exactly what happened or did not happen.

-- well, Doc, there were these two hearts
carved into the bark, old hearts,
stuffed with micro jitter and boneless parades,
twerking mites smarter than Pascal,
but unintentionally funny like Sid Caesar..

--and how does that make you..

But the nuthatch had hidden himself
in a Bonsai tree
on the left edge of her enormous desk.

When his hour is up
the psychiatrist takes a carton of Chinese takeaway sky
out of her backpack
and stares at the sun inside.

 

Bill Jansen lives in Forest Grove, Oregon.  His stuff  has appeared recently in Gap-toothed Madness and Asinine Poetry.