Monday, May 30, 2016

David J. Thompson- A Photo

                                  "Tree And Telephone, Kansas"

Bruce Mundhenke- A Poem

Those Days

In those days,
Everything was new,
The smell of fresh cut grass,
And spearmint....
We sat outside,
Listening to AM radio,
Transistors, playing top 10 hits,
Or baseball games.
At night, we watched the stars
With wonder, wondering....
Death was far away,
And love was just
The way we lived.
Laughter all the time,
Embracing what was seen,
Never fearing what was not.
Anything could happen any day,
And in those days,
Something always did.
In those days,
We were living the dream....

DB Cox- A Poem

last chance motel

a rundown motel
clings to the shoulders
of a narrow highway
a blinking neon sign
shoots holes
through the middle
of a mississippi night
enfolded in the semidarkness
of a lamp lit room
a man leans over a table
etching straight-razor phrases
into the pages of a motel notepad

mind overturned
and burning
somewhere near kamdesh, afghanistan
can’t find his way home
past the possibility
of finding things to count on:
like the orbit of the earth around the sun
like moon-swung oceans guided by gravity’s hands
like a lucky star to steer his feet
past lonely streets
that lead to places
like this last chance motel
where he sits
with pen in hand
a pistol on the table &
a bible in every room.

Charles Rammelkamp- A Photo

                                   "Memorial Day Mannequin"

Sunday, May 29, 2016

David J. Thompson- A Photo

                                       "Central Detroit Glass"

Ramona Thompson- A Poem

Ramona Thompson has been writing for more then 20 years. Her past credits include Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, Blood Moon Rising, Infernal Ink, This Ain't No Rodeo and many more.

Readers/fans may stalk her on facebook or her e-mail

A Dead Snake's War

You can't keep on fighting
Leaving us behind
Just to get even with them
Your time and your energy are wasted
You've become
Just another tool
Just another mindless robot

It's a lost cause
It was lost long ago
What's the use in denying it?
Lie to yourself
No longer
Lay down your weapons
Make a fresh new start

We're here
We've always been here
For your return to sanity
And to the land of the living
Gotta face it sometime
Might as well be now
Some battles
You just can't win

So give up
And come on home
Don't you think?
It's way past time you should?
Time marches on
Now so must you
For it's sad but true
No one man can conquer
A dead snake's war

2016 Ramona Thompson

Paul Tristram- Three Poems

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography
published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids
instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet.
Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press)
‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at
And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope
You can also read his poems and stories here!

Winter Inside

There’s an angry river
within her twisted psyche
where brittle thought patterns
break and freezer burn.
An icicle instead of a heart,
North-westerly winds
ravine the empty trench
where a conscience should
Compassion is a sickness,
friendship a weakness.
Every Moral and Rule are Lies
layed down to subserviate,
break and cattle heard you.

© Paul Tristram 2016

Half A Minute Now
You come ‘round here tittle-tattling
with your guilty pointing fingers.
Casting stones and accusations
from the broken glass houses
of your own corrupt lives.
Your bedsheets are just as dirty
as the next persons.
You want something to gossip
and slander about?
Come here within clawing distance
I’ll have your sodding eyes out.
Mind your own business
and scuttle back
to where you slithered from.
Not one of you is innocent
or in any position to pass judgement.
She’s served her time
and is now back home
where she belongs.
If I have to call my ex-husband
you’ll rue the cowing day
that you found the strength
to crawl out of that abortion bucket.

© Paul Tristram 2016

They’ve Changed The Ironmonger’s In Town Into Another Funeral Parlour
(They’ll Be Importing Coffin Nails Next To Finally Bury This Dying Place!)
It was the Greengrocer’s first, see,
no more locally grown fresh fruit and veg,
you’ll have to walk to Lidl’s now.
Then the Banks started dropping off one by one
but the city centre’s only five mile away
and they have main branches down there.
There’s a terrible rumour about the Post Office,
that’ll be the heart gone, that will.
The top end Butcher’s is just hanging on
by the width of a sausage skin.
(They still call it the top end one
even though it’s the only one still there!)
You can really tell the economy in the area
is knackered when they stop serving
Sunday Roasts and introduce Happy Hour
in the Country Family Public Houses.
It’s sad to see the old place go to the dogs
but on the bright side they’ve opened
three more off licences, a Burger King
and soon we’ll have a second Cash Convertors.

© Paul Tristram 2016

Russ Cope- A Poem

Ancient Romans

Let us watch
them, the announcer
says, as the false
gladiators enter the cage

Pretending to be
ancient Rome
for just a few fleeting
hours of entertainment.

Lily Tierney- A Poem


Waking to a full moon on a clear night.
The stars shine and all is ablaze.

I embrace a shooting star as it takes me
to where you are.

The night is timeless
as my world evolves around
memories of you.

Jennifer Lagier- A Photo

                                        "Cannery Row mural"