Two Poems by John Kross

                       Fire Hydrant



                                I
                               am
                             either
                        gushing out
                 waves of drowning
           deceit, drenching the people
                   who pass in front
of me, knocking them down, forcing them
                 away- or locked up
                 tight,   heavy   with
                 layers  of   colorful
                 cover   where  even
                your wrenching love
                is       not       enough
                to    pry     me    loose.



The Pining Ghost

I think he likes to sit out back
                          where he once sat
with all his yard in view
   his chair is gone but he is there
                                    he sits in mine
                                   I saw him once
                      while pacing through
the house at 3 am
                      I stopped and stared
                      and rapped the glass
to see if he’d respond
                                                instead ­
he looked away..

       he must have heard novenas
for the dead..

                          I saw his tired stare
                                          the thin hair
                         on his balding head
wispy with static electricity
   the liver spots across his brow
                         a prominent display
of reckless living
                                  his body lay flat
against the chair
              like a life-sized playing card
                        with hands and feet
from Alice in Wonderland

                                            I wonder
does he miss the rabbits?

                 I looked for him again
                                             last night
                           at quarter after 2
        I wanted to tell him its ok
   to use my chair to reminisce..

              nostalgia tends to look
                                            like love
to those who are without..

                perhaps another night
                         I’ll see him there
                            within my chair
and maybe we can talk
I’d do my best to comfort him
              and put his mind at ease
                              about the things
he’s now without
        like this old house he built
                                         I’d tell him
I will be there soon
                                   soon enough
from his perspective
                                           by grace
50 years from mine
               we’ll sit and talk about
                 the days we lived and
loved here..

                             I am not naïve
                 I know he is a ghost
but I am not afraid




John Kross is an aspiring poet living and working in Dallas,Texas.
He has never been published. You can read John's work
and interact with him as himself at www.hellopoetry.com.

A Poem by Sarah Edwards

Job

Inherit but function

                              genetic


containing known process
                                 in
     an

organism -- (orgasm)

  developing variety
of
     heads

as optimized
sperm /s/

exists

specific
holes.



Sarah Edwards currently lives in Montreal, Canada. She has poetry/visual poetry published in various online and print journals. Her visual poetry can also be found in the Avant Writing Collection at the Ohio State University Rare Books & MSS Library.

Three Poems by Felino A. Soriano

after—

            Walter Smith III

live, liven

accompanied language

past-tense, plural as grenade’s later opening

swift in sifting allegorical whispers

writing volume into

prose of the body’s

encapsulating

                                   harmonies

                                   hungry then

                                   appositional appearances

vow of the vowel

implementation I

organized entire fabrications of misused

collaborative renderings

relative to the clock’s impulsive

relegated images

concerned with legend and

arriving atop

tables of incessant

punctuality

after—

            Danny Gottlieb

serrate the chaos

serenade, searching the                       architect enables

vertical mirages as dance of the

diligent

                        unmasking

concerns self with selves’ ornamental              relaxation

                                                of noon

noon of orchestrated logos

located against etch of an hour’s incorporated

rhythms and meditating windows whose

clarity composes prose of an eye’s desire thus

driven occupation

after—

          Hein Van de Geyn

as does the hand-role

in(with) beginning corsage cultivation

delivering into taste of the eyes’ behaving smile

then does the saying of hands

building unbroken syllables or

string of silent verbs

reacting to a moment’s incorporated listening

listing embrace as elation circumference

warmth in the wave function of rise

step-descend sand miracle vanish,

presentment

Felino A. Soriano has authored 53 collections of poetry, including Quartet Dialogues (white sky ebooks, 2012) Of language|s| the rain speaks (quarter after press, 2012) and Of oscillating fathoms these nonverbal chants (Argotist Ebooks, 2012). He publishes the online endeavors Counterexample Poetics and Differentia Press. His work finds foundation in philosophical studies and connection to various idioms of jazz music. He lives in California with his wife and family and is a case manager and advocate for adults with developmental and physical disabilities. For further information, please visit www.felinoasoriano.info. 

A Poem by Ali Znaidi

against suffocation theory

 

the          garment                  is

 

        concealing           (the body

             and its        contours)

               the tie              is

                stifling    (the neck)

                  the neck       is

                    the locus    of

                        life    /tightening

                          the tie=

                        suffocation

                             the

                             ory/

                                o

                               tie

          be kind to               the neck

                o garment     don’t hide beauty

                     and/or             ugliness

                       just             walk

                        away        and let

                             the body

                               feel

                               free

at least at bath time           let the body be itself

let the body walk away     from the symptoms of

                               [suffocation]

 

            oh, body! don’t you feel better, now?

 

 

Ali Znaidi lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002. He teaches English at Tunisian public secondary schools. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translations. His work has appeared in The Bamboo Forest, The Camel Saloon, phantom kangaroo, BoySlut, fortunates.org, Otoliths, Dead Snakes, Speech Therapy Poetry Zine, streetcake magazine, The Rusty Nail, Yes,Poetry, The South Townsville micro poetry journal, Shot Glass Journal, the fib review, Ink Sweat and Tears, and Mad Swirl, and is upcoming in other ezines. He also writes flash fiction for the Six Sentence Social Network—http://sixsentences.ning.com/profile/AliZnaidi.

A Poem by Bill Jansen

7 or 8

slippery dots of light

copied headlights
that glide on the side
of my 94 mazda pickup
parked in a (question) zone
sw 14th & jefferson

another young actress
waits for the 17 bus
on the same corner
looking the look

7 or 8
slippery tears of light
shed by the traffic
that hums the hum
that cannot stop to cry

sun welding the west hills to something

bus shadow

the corner brown and empty
as 1946.




Bill lives in Forest Grove, Oregon. Some of his works has appeared
in The Centrifugal Eye, Cirque, and Asinine Poetry.

Two Poems by Joe Massingham

Pyramid Selling

Pyramid

selling has

nothing to do

with pyramids. It doesn’t

involve a pyramid and the

‘team’ shape is more like a

pagoda or a spire than a pyramid.

The point of the exercise is to enrol

as many sales people as possible, each bringing in

a small sum of money, most of which goes into

the pockets of those who set up the pyramid. It is

a ‘recruit and grow rich’ con, in which the originators are winners,

whilst everyone else is left digging the sand, wondering where their money’s gone.

Tom Price

Skeletal arm stretched out towards tomorrow, fist closed but sharp knuckles show.

The arm

lowers

from

the

shoulder,

its nails scrabble in the ground like a wanderer seeking water, grasping rusty dust, then

lifts,

swings, releases

it into

waiting

Magog’s giant dinky trucks.

And so from day to day the dust flows out

leaving scarred flesh to darken further

in the burning sun, waiting for the day

the ore is gone and brooding silence

regains its grip for another million years

or more.

Tom price is an outback iron ore mine in Western australia .

A Poem by Aaron What

Human Certification Exam

Section One.Please circle the one best answer.

1)Which of the following statements is true?

a.I plan to buy your product

b.Any of this matters

c.Television is alive

d.I studied

e.All of the above

 

 

Aaron What is a top-ranking agent of The Deception. His or her talents include insincerity and misdirection.