A Poem by John Pursch

Pistachio Operands

 

Punch cards saunter to the neutered tune 

of tenacious anthill soap dish trauma, 

streaming scorned pejoratives 

beneath feisty cube steak siege. 

 

Darkrooms reload, threatening 

entombed Choctaw cruft with traitor fluid, 

itching seepage for artless biplane scuffles. 

 

Swing shift depilatories staple hammocks 

to masticating shanty dwellers before 

chiral onset instigates crepuscular lung landfill. 

Heat almost shames a nearby connubial silo 

to sled down awning feathers, putting up with 

bogus stint mutation chews in steady offal’s 

scintilla of asymptotic nods.

 

Boarding the sweaty seminarians, 

a distant birch tree barks at striplings, 

trending to bubbling serrations 

of equestrian cork. 

 

Bumblebees beget ethereal favoritism, 

deputizing the Queeg of Phalanx in situ, 

flooding keyed thespians 

with cue ball cuneiform.

 

 

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has appeared in many literary journals and was recently nominated for the Sundress Best of the Net 2012 Anthology. His first book, Intunesia, is available in paperback from White Sky Books at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

A Poem by Les Merton

convergence

 

headstones

crosses                    epitaphs

dates                          names

broken urns

praying hands

abandonment

rushes - ferns - brambles – gorse – leaves – nettles

lichen - butterflies – winged angels - snails - weeds

passed over

 generations

 

rest in peace

 

in-a-grave-above-a

soak-away-of-bones

 

 

 

Inspired by Jackson Pollock’s Convergence

 

 

 

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.

A Poem by Les Merton

O.K.

if you can accept   the treble space

as

            a line break

and the lowercase i 

                        as someone emphasising

                                                this is me

[u cud b red ee 4 unconventional txt]

                                                and understand

UPPERCASE LETTERS in a sentence that

            SCREAM TO THE POINT OF DISTRACTION

And be quoted as thinking ART is a ----

---- diverse range of human activities

            !!!! stop right now !!!!

concentrate I’ll be asking

            ????????????

for $$$$$ * ££££ prizes

O.K.

 

 

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.

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
piss
in handbags
concealed
spin
abortions
balanced news
food carts
bike psychopaths
savvy suicides
radar glossy
Susan the weather girl:

Pole-dance tonight-
cloudy this morning.
Mammoth tusked Indians
quiet
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
dispensed
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.

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 http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks . He's @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

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.

 

A Poem by Sarah Thursday

Ramble

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.