Thursday, February 11, 2016

David J. Thompson- A Photo

                                              "New Mexico"

Douglas Polk- Three Poems

A New Century

the world on fire,
climate change,
softer on the ear,
hell spreads across the globe,
the water gone,
except when it storms,
Biblical floods,
Noah and the ark,
two by two,
its all legal now,
the century growing old before our eyes.

Warp Speed

Rome lasted centuries,
but technology condenses time,
lifetimes now,
contained in a day,
yesterday's news,
ancient history,
psychology and philosophy,
an old and weary nation,
people old beyond their years,
the future approaches,
the abyss ahead,
the car picks up speed,
the brakes old and rusty,
no mechanics to be found.

Security Sought

wealth not sought,
the knowledge ignored,
security does not exist,
never did,
an illusionary lie,
regardless of health,
or finances,
we will all one day die,
whether happy or sad,
the choice our own,
the government not Oz,
handing out brains,
or hearts.

Jay Passer- Three Poems


first I was a barista
then a dishwasher
I started prepping
then moved up to fry cook
then I led the line
I managed a pizza joint
I dated a waitress
then I cheated on my date with
a different waitress
then the owner of the place and I 
got into a fight
the ownership split apart
and I was on my own
I played pool 
and threw darts and wondered
as the old guys from the old haunts
started to overdose and die
I walked the streets and rode the buses
I made pizza 
at a different parlor
the night sky rained all manner of pornography
cloaked in philosophy
times changed through 20 years of wear and tear
technology rebuked the old-school manner
of posting a damn letter
of apology
say to Mom
or God
maybe a best friend
say to a waitress or 2


Mark drove like Al Unser
shot pool like Minnesota Fats
eagle eye, enjoyed chewing lemons, rind and all
side of jalapeno and a wink, say you’re a child
shy and enchanted

cocaine changed all that
and when he started to smoke it
Mark took up with dimensionless whores
a master printer, he hence defied all sense of pragmatism
took the whores in till one of them
remained awake long enough
to burn down the house
he worked 20 years for

Mark was in love
but with what or whom?
he shuffled about some, gangly and rough
got in a fist fight once in a while
eye wavering, until his cue was stolen
and driver’s license expired


we played backgammon in the balcony
the windows iridescent with sleaze
the chatter of chicks just off work
being secretaries
we traded wins and losses
lined up lines and smoked incessantly
blue trails of vitriol
best friends in the iconoclasm of serfdom
me and Crazy Mike
Mike decked in pink denims stolen from
Garfield High’s lost and found
moon eyes roving, unblinking over
the underage schoolyard populace
here we are on the seamier side of Paradise
cheap pitchers of Rainier beer
and Romance
here comes Rainy
“you know my last name is Daze”
wince and ouch
in ambles Sally
the floozie with the 3-fingered left hand
who got an autograph of Patti Smith’s
tattooed to her left tit
in struts Maria
Mike woulda stuck a knife in Kevin’s abdomen for her
women like flowers 
in a garbage dump 
of requiem
it’s a long story
we never grow tired of repeating
over the balcony shadows and King Gammon

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

Interloper at the Red Feeder

The Downy is the smallest flicker
but his arrival is uninvited and
disturbs the hummingbirds 
circling in fury
while he with bravado
takes over the red feeder 
dangling from the arbor. 

The hummers at times
dive close to the Downy, 
then retreat and watch him 
swig what they need to sip, 
their babies circling 
slowly behind them.

The Downy stays on,
takes swigs between laughs
at the unarmed squadron, 
dipping his beak 
where it doesn’t belong, 
another Putin in
a different Ukraine.

Old People

These are old people
retired and driving slowly
from small apartments
in economy cars 
getting out on canes 
and walkers with
hearing aids you can see
attired in the best 
Goodwill has to offer
arriving between 1 and 3 
weekday afternoons
at Mid-America Buffet
eating their fill for $5.00 off
piling their plates with
chicken, meat loaf
salads galore, veggies
from childhood
green beans, carrots 
eaten in a rush as kids
listening to Fibber McGee
and Molly on the radio
eaten slowly now 
by folks who make it
on crackers and snacks
and one meal a day
this one for $5.00 off
at Mid-America Buffet.

Not the Same as Bangladesh 

It’s not the same as seeing the poor 
in Bangladesh on PBS and hearing 
Gwen or Judy tell us about them because 
the poor in Bangladesh scream in silence, 
brown and gaunt and hollow-eyed.
Many of them have jobs that feed few
even when the factory isn’t burning. 

But in time you begin to think that’s what poor is, 
living in Bangladesh, until you find out someone 
you’ve known for years and thought still lived down 
the street and was worried about his crabgrass 
but had enough to eat and pay his mortgage 
only to find out that’s no longer the case

and hasn’t been since he lost his job and wife 
and kids and sleeps where they take him in when 
the weather’s bad, and has to thumb a ride 
to a part-time job at the midnight shift at QuikTrip 
because he hasn’t got the bus fare.

Then you see the guy early Saturday morning 
on your way to the Farmer’s Market and he waves 
from across the street and looks the same and you 
realize you don’t have to be brown and gaunt and 
hollow-eyed in Bangladesh to need help in America, 

home of the hidden poor who look as though 
they’re doing as well as you think you are and you 
wonder if maybe you should at least listen to the 
gray-haired man who needs a comb and yells like 
he’s hawking a Rolex in the Bronx and doesn’t live 
in Vermont but wants to change everything because 
if the man is right, the guillotine may fall on you.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri,
and is completely confused by the folks
aspiring to president of the United States.
He doesn’t know what to think.
By now he should have some idea
who he might like to vote for. 

Jennifer Lagier- A Photo

                                          "Whole Enchilada"

Bruce Mundhenke- A Poem

Mountain Stream

Feeling weightless,
Using stepping stones
To reach midstream,
Clear cold water
Ripples; gurgling,
Sings its way
Around my feet.
Aware of Spirit,
I cup my hands
And bend to drink...
One with the blue sky,
The aspens,
And the mountain stream.

Bruce Mundhenke has published poems in Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, UFO Gigolo, and Plum Tree Tavern. He lives in Illinois with his wife and their dog and cat.

Jennifer Lagier- A Photo

                                          "Fountain of Woof"

Wednesday, February 10, 2016

Stefanie Bennett- Two Poems

Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry, a novel, and a libretto. Her
poems have appeared Carcinogenic Poetry, VerseWrights, Provo Canyon Review,
The Galway Review, Illya’s Honey, The Fib Review, Shot Glass Journal, Snow
Monkey, Ink, Sweat & Tears, The Lake, Poetry Pacific and others. Of mixed
ancestry [Italian/Irish/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Townsville, Qld.,
Australia. Stefanie’s latest poetry title ‘The Vanishing’ was published in 2015
by Walleah Press and is available from Walleah, Amazon and Fishpond Books.
... You remained the same
For 40 years:
You – put the cat out
Of the milk money –.
The squatter’s chair –.
The imaginary Diva
From next door –.
The Pilot light,
And a picture
Of Pompeii.
Always, you strayed
My way
As before...
Grand Elysium Fields
And more
Back then
It was ‘we’
Who were
The living.
From my perpendicular
Comes rushing
Towards me.

David J. Thompson- A Photo


Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Michael Marrotti- A Poem

Agoraphobic Media

Remove the banality
of people's lives
along with their
pretentious proclivities
and Facebook
would be faceless
Forbid the use
of nipples and ass
which supersede
the use of words
and Twitter
wouldn't tweet
Prohibit the need
to connect with others
through the sound
of music and Google+
would fall on deaf ears
Eradicate all
social media options
and the general public
would be forced
to get off the couch
in the comfort
of their own awkward world
Put on a pair of pants
Take a breathe of fresh air
and engage in a real life
face to face conversation
No more carpal tunnel
No more tough guys
with delicate fingers
pushing keys
as they attempt
to make a fascist point
No more artificial
profile pictures
Nothing but authenticity
apprehension and xanax
by the dozen
for a generation
obsessed with seclusion
and a life that's all about them

© Michael Marrotti

I'm a writer from Pittsburgh using words instead of violence to express myself in a callous world of redundancy. What's beneficial to me has the ability to benefit others, and that's what its all about. We're all here to help other people. The world needs a bandaid, I'm using poetry as a antidote.
These poems are from my blog: thoughtsofapoeticmind.blogspot