Linda M. Crate- Two Poems

harsh reality

 

sometimes rainbows are just rainbows

there are no pots of gold on the other 

side, no get out of jail free cards -

reality is a callous queen that likes

to stick in her pins until we think

we can bleed no longer relenting only

for a brief reprieve before she stabs

us with all the the venom she can muster

just because she can abuse her authority

and no one can hold her accountable for it.

saved from myself

 

my bitterness used to paint me black yet

you caused it to rescind with your kind 

words and now winter's hold has released 

me no longer am I a rose blackened past 

the point of repair; I've been repainted into

a scarlet lily freckled with brow spots 

that nearly resemble obsidian like my eyes -

and if you'll only let me I'll bathe you in

my fragrance and save you like you have me.

Ali Znaidi- A Poem

Protrusion

 

Grapevines protrude

their leaves.

Giraffes protrude

their necks,

& snakes protrude

their tongues,

& the sun & the moon protrude

their lights.

“Protrude

protrude

protrude:”

What a beautiful verb!

 

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, The Rusty Nail, Yes,Poetry, 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.

Christopher Hivner- A Poem

The Black Tar Rides the Same for Everyone

 

Roadside lights reached

under my chin

with slender, luminous fingers

tickling my razor-burned skin,

leading me

down the highway.

I rode the white line hard,

playing with the edge

just like she hated.

My headlights were dim,

swallowing the asphalt

in their bluish-white pyramid,

spitting it back in place

behind me

so the next guy

could drive down

the same old road.

 

That’s the clarity,

the reveal,

we’re all the same

despite the story

the lights try to tell

as you glide by

wallowing in

your private reserve,

in spite of

the road

singing Robert Johnson

in your ears

like you’re the first

to ever hear it,

the black tar

rides the same

for everyone.

 

The lights shine

and beckon,

the yellow lines

lead you away

from the problem.

That’s the rub,

those are the facts,

we’re all the same.

One day,

we all

want to run.

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

Anthem for the Age

 

Two evenings a week

I go to Melissa’s,

to talk and to fuck.

 

We talk first,

we fuck later.

Summer, fall,

 

winter, spring,

nothing distracts us.

We are to each other now

 

what we were at the start:

someone to talk to,

someone to fuck.

Ross Vassilev- A Poem

so be it

 

if the end of the world
really is coming at the end of this year
then I'm looking forward to it
I'll try to ignore my own suffering
while enjoying everyone else's
now I am death
destroyer of worlds
or at least a voyeur of destruction
and if the world really is coming to its end
soon
then I guess the creation of art
is a total waste of time
or maybe it always has been
but if the Sun is gonna explode
then you might as well kill some time too
and write a fucking poem.

Robert Demaree- A Poem

INVENTORY OF UNUSED HAIKU AND TANKA LINES

Five-syllable lines:

Gulls on the buoy

Rain, wine-sweet evening

Halcyon day trips

Scent of linseed oil

Named rocks on the shore

Pantomime of joy.

These have seven syllables:

Ocean, lead-gray, almost flat

Concrete marked to look like brick

At two hundred bucks a night,

You’d think the plumbing would work

Canadian strawberries

Irremediable loss

Without further evidence,

He assumes they are in love.

More five-syllable:

White glow on the pond

Nineteen-fifty Ford

Refrigerator

Fading August light

A long way from Maine.

But then three:

Memory

Abandoned

Childhood dream

Their tree house.

“Inventory of Unused Haiku and Tanka Lines” appeared in Foliate Oak, November 2010

Robert Demaree is the author of four collections of poems, including Fathers and Teachers (2007) and Mileposts (2009), both published by Beech River Books. The winner of the 2007 Conway, N.H. Library Poetry Award, he is a retired school administrator with ties to North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Hampshire. He has had over 550 poems published or accepted by 125 periodicals in the U.S., Australia, Canada and U.K., including Bolts of Silk, Cold Mountain Review, Dead Snakes, MediaVirus, miller’s pond and Louisville Review, and in four anthologies including the 2008 and 2010 editions of Poet’s Guide to New Hampshire and Celebrating Poets over 70. For further information, see http://www.demareepoetry.blogspot.com

Sarah Edwards- A Poem

addicted

six rainbows
dancing
like
delicious memories
under your eyes

I
n
n
o
c
e
n
t
s
awakened
the final day
for you

sometimes
    a
voiceless
voice
wakes me up
in vain

------

Sarah Edwards

Bio: Sarah Edwards lives in Montreal for the time being. She likes words and likes to play with them. She is thankful for all the wonderful journals/magazines/people who published her work.

James Babbs- A Poem

My Brother’s Records

I kept my brother’s records

after he died and

his old Pioneer turntable

it still works and

I use it all the time

and I still listen to

some of those old records

like Highway to Hell

the last AC/DC album

with Bon Scott as their singer

or Heaven Tonight by Cheap Trick

that my nephew and I

used to put on and pretend

we were playing in the band

and a couple of

Tyrannosaurus Rex albums

that sounded kind of weird

but I like them more and more

the older that I get

and my brother’s been gone now

for 26 years

more than half my lifetime and

some days

when I think about it

it just doesn’t seem possible

Donal Mahoney- A Poem

The Corner of Wells and Madison

 

I know that if I ever

fall in the street

the way that man did,

in the middle of an intersection,

someone will mind.

But if unlike that man

I make it

to the other side,

scale the curb and

mount the sidewalk

and then fall,

no one will have to

drive around me.

There will be no extra noise.

There will be only the usual honking.

People walking by

will have to watch their step, true.

But this is Chicago:

No one can blame me for that.

 

---------------------------------------

Donal Mahoney spent most of his life living and working in Chicago.

Many a morning and evening he stood at the corner of Wells and Madison, the last intersection he had to navigate going to or coming from work. On a good day, he can still here the symphony of car horns and the cabbies yelling at pedestrians.