Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Sammy's idea of

a down home get

together at the bar

surprised everyone

Not that a guy

who did twelve

different kinds

of pills, from

laughers, to downers

to in-betweeners,

with his beers

and red wine,

was known for some

spectacular surprises:

first, he placed

the box on the bar,

ordered a pint

for himself, and

a half for his

mother, who never

really was much

of a drinker, "Right,

Mom" he said

to the box.

Everyone just sat

there, quietly finishing

the sentence he had

left incomplete:

"When she was still

alive…" but no one

said anything out loud.

In fact, it was so

uncommonly quiet in

that bar, you could

almost hear the head

bubbles evaporating

on her beer.

Adult Education

I don't usually ride

the bus but my car was

in the shop so I sd.,

"What the hell.

CDTA practically stops

in front of our driveway,

like door to door service,

right?" Shows what I know.

So I'm on the bus

minding my own business,

trying to read this article

in GQ, you know, being cool

and dignified as I am,

and these two high school

girls, like 15 years old,

are sitting in front of me.

Cute little things.

But kind of sexy in a way,

sort of like daughters,

if you had kids. So I'm

thinking like, "Aren't they

adorable?" That is until

I hear what they're talking

about.  I thought guys

that age had toilet mouths,

but this conversation gave

a whole new meaning to

sewer systems.  They were

saying things like,

"You didn't have to let

him do that to you,

just give him a blow job,

that will keep him happy

and it’s a lot safer too---"

And it went way downhill

from there.  I don't think

I had any real idea what

oral sex was until I took

R&R in Vietnam. 

Kids just weren't like that

when we were growing up.

From now on, when my car

is in the shop, I'll just

take a cab and listen to

the hack piss and moan about

how much he lost at the track

or how his numbers haven’t

come in since the 17^th century.

That’s something I can understand

 

 

I was minding my

own business, waiting

for the bus by Pauly's

Hotel when this black

guy started an incredible

oration, defining his

girlfriend's sexual preferences

chugging from his pint

of Apricot Brandy between

graphic descriptions of

Kama Sutra position variations

I'd never heard of.

He even claimed she was

totally bummed during

the blizzard of '93 because

her vibrator batteries died

and there was nowhere to go

for new ones.  Well, he was

taking care of that for good

with a six pack of batteries

and a nine piece dildo to

go with it.  Showed me all

the attachments.  I wondered

if he sold dildos and batteries

for a living, he put on such

a good demonstration.  I almost

asked him, how much?

Holly Day- Three Poems

            How It Ends

my hands wrap

around the room, tie us together

with open palms filled with sharp teeth

and words that keep you here.

outside is nothing but streetlights and hunger

sleazy bars and one-night stands

I have made myself so heavy here

you won’t be able to make me leave.

 

            Necropolis

They break away from me as soon as they can and run

to adulthood. I catch their hair in my hands, am left clutching

blond trimmings wrapped in scotch tape,

labeled with dates: first haircut, five years old, 13.

Each tiny bundle of hair is darker than the one that came before

as if they come from different children, they could have.

He stops by sometimes, a man with light brown hair

and bright blue eyes, brings me birthday presents,

flowers for Mother’s Day, has children himself

a wife that regards me with distrust and shame.  I am always

the same pale woman

sitting beneath the apple tree out back

watching flowers bloom and die

with frightening speed.

            Wednesday Night

           

I’m washing  my daughter’s hair and she tells me there’s a boy

She likes in school, he’s nine years old, he says he doesn’t like her

He told her best friend he doesn’t like her, she’s upset now and I

Don’t know if I should laugh or cry. I carefully

Rinse the shampoo out of her hair and resist the urge

To wrap my arms around her tiny, bony chest and hold her

Like I did when she was tiny, she wants me to give her some sort of

Womanly, adult advice and I am not ready for this. 



Short bio: Holly Day was born in Hereford, Texas, “The Town Without a Toothache.” She and her family currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches writing classes at the Loft Literary Center. Her published books include the nonfiction books Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, and Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, and the poetry books “Late-Night Reading for Hardworking Construction Men” (The Moon Publishing) and “The Smell of Snow” (ELJ Publications). 

John Grochalski- Three Poems

summer fair people

there they are

the bored and the dull

they come out every year at this time

to suck on fried dough and undercooked italian sausage

to listen to terrible bands playing bad cover jams

the fat mothers and fat fathers munching kettle corn

their fat children bouncing around

in inflatable rooms that look ready to burst

teenage boys ready to pop the cherries of teenage girls

the dozens of happy young couples

eating dripping ice cream cones

pushing around wailing children in the humidity and heat

the old soldiers with their wwii and vietnam frocks

stumbling down the dirty block to drums that are off beat

the locals drunks coming out of local watering holes

leaning into corners to watch the action

they are all here sweating and dying

taking a respite from work and each other

watching the hot dog and pizza eating contests
that still bear witness to american gluttony

and the tepid might of our ever-dwindling spending dollar

laughing as their children vomit

from ancient spinning rides that look more

like torture devices than amusement

all of these slap-happy summer fair people

with this month’s catch phrase

plastered along their wide bellies and wide asses

the good citizens eating more shit that they

can shove in their faces

the good neighbors buying more shit

to sell to everyone at next year’s yard sale

the whole community walking around like grinning zombies

with balloon animals strapped to their heads

taking photos with corporate fast food mascots

and politicians who are just as swarthy and deceptive

be careful or you’ll end up just like them

waddling around drinking two gallon sodas

farting and burping and pissing the american dream

mad slow and stupid on fat sugar and salt

as the pigeons and rats and the homeless look on

waiting for it all to end again

so that they can finally feast

on all of this seasonal bounty.

thursday afternoon

there are five of them

waiting on the platform at 20^th avenue

two girls and three boys

when they get on the train, loud and vicious

they split up

the girls go toward one end

the boys sit next to me

they give the girls a chance to sit down

and then smallest one

(isn’t it always the smallest one)

starts

he cups his mouth

he shouts, ya’ll a bunch a pussies

ya’ll cunts

lydia….cunt

you too, maria

ya’ll a bunch a pussies, he repeats

so that only the deaf and the dead haven’t heard him

no one responds to the kid

not even the girls

maybe we’ve all grown too accustomed to this shit

or we just want to get the hell home

christ, he’s not even that old

leaning more toward thirteen than a young man

up with fellas

down with ugly bitches, he shouts

and it echoes through the train like a cannon shot

then the boys slap each other five and laugh

they are all dressed the same

in clothing telling them to OBEY

well, i guess they’re off to a great start in this country

i look down toward the girls

they are laughing and playing music

if the boys have gotten to them you’d never know

but girls have to learn early here

they have to learn to scrape indignity off with a smile

bitch whore cunt pussies

at 61^st street the little boy rises with me to leave

but not before getting in one more shot

ya’ll is ugly pussy bitch, he shouts

then he gets off the train laughing

but it doesn’t last too long

his face turns into a permanent smirk

i look at him

i wonder what it would take to grab him in the station

right here

right now

put the fear of god in the little punk

tell him if i ever catch you talking to women like that again….

this strutting piece of american privilege

on a thursday afternoon

he wouldn’t listen to me anyway

i’d be another pussy

so i let him go toward his connecting train

and i go off toward mine

doing my part to let the misogyny perpetuate

wondering what in the world  i’ll say about this

to my wife

our mothers

your sisters

to everyone’s daughter and niece.

when old friends become devoutly religious

at first there is some shock

or it is like watching a bad horror film

or there is no shock and it was always inevitable

but there is a hollow sadness

not unlike standing around someone’s wake

and you wonder if there was anything

that you could’ve done to save them

maybe called more

invited them out for a beer and some conversation

been the one to lend an ear and offer advice

instead of spending years stuck in your own malaise

looking for the kind of answers

that only come through bathing in fire

still you can’t believe that this is the guy

yes, that one posting photos of church breakfasts online

telling everyone that his favorite book is the bible

was once the dude who screwed everything that walked

behind his wife’s back

or how that one is now this foreign specimen

who enjoys christian rock and no longer drinks alcohol

was the one who used to beat his woman for no reason

or he was the one who always went to strip clubs with you

the one who got drunk in bars

and then made you spend hours casing downtown

looking for whores

it’s hard to look at these transformed hypocrites

dressed in their sunday best with their lifeless families

praising jesus, jesus, always jesus

hating gays and immigrants and all other enemies of the state

when you were once with them

swinging baseball bats at senior citizens

on snowy highways caught in a sweaty speed pill fervor

stealing tip money and dumping beer

on drunk girls in even drunker bars

listening with jealous glee as they told you blow job stories

done in church parking lots on the cheap

or how you sat idly in parks on humid summer nights

as they molested underage girls on clay tennis courts

you wonder what it was that caused them to fall so badly

to take up such a fragile and transparent yoke as organized religion

age or boredom or both?

and what kind of seething, perverted rage

still exists deep within the well of them

when it could come out to shine anew

you hope to hell that this is just temporary

but deep down you know that the religion trap lasts forever

and that there is nothing else to do for these lost souls

but close the internet browser on them

don’t answer the emails and never pick up the phone

when they call

mourn their memory until the pain no longer exists

get on with the living

instead of becoming as they have

just another one

of the walking dead

waiting on the afterlife.

Douglas Polk- Two Poems

The Con

lies told,

the hope and belief,

no one will care,

weight the bet,

with misery and suffering,

but place the blame else where,

governing the ignorant,

such an easy thing to do,

America,

a shill's paradise.

The Assault

the people of the plains,

in the land of the Great Pawnee,

hardworking,

proud and free,

once protected by distance,

and hills of sand,

the same as the Pawnee,

technology a new weapon,

monitored and regulated,

the hand of tyranny reaches out in text and tweet,

demanding taxes and obedience,

while ordinary citizens struggle through their daily lives,

in a land harsh and bare,

no longer free,

or even their own,

the same as the Great Pawnee.

Tim Gardiner- Three Haiku

Dusk till Dawn

silent sunrise -

a churring choir

sings by moonlight

the nightingale trills -

sleepless songs

of a midnight muse

sonic booming -

an illusion

in the reeds

Tim Gardiner has poems published in Camel Saloon, Country-Side, Dead Snakes, 50 Haikus, Haiku Journal, Poetry Haiku, Poetry Nook, Salopeot, Three Line Poetry, UFO Gigolo, VerseWrights and War Poetry UK. His first collection of full-length poetry 'Wilderness' is due to be published by Brambleby Books in 2014. He is also an ecologist who has published numerous scientific papers and several books on natural history. He regularly tweets haiku on @TimGardiner3

Donal Mahoney- Two Poems

The Widow Next Door

Every Saturday 

when the sun is out

and it's hotter than Hades

Monica next door 

raises her garage door

early in the morning 

and leaves it up 

long past noon as if 

Herm will walk out

at any minute 

oily and greasy

needing to clean up  

the way he used to 

every Saturday

for 30 years until 

liquor ate his liver.

At night Monica

can still hear  

the tall Marine

fingering Taps 

over Herman's grave.

First Day on Parole

Sometimes a person

can go too far,

Mickey said,

two stools over

downing another beer,

his first day on parole.

Someone like that 

cops can find dead,

he said, after 

newspapers start

littering the lawn.

A bullet in the temple

that no one hears

because of a silencer,

he pointed out,

is sometimes 

the culprit.

Such a good person,

the neighbors say

about the deceased,

and that may be true,

Mickey admitted,

but sometimes a person,

even a nice person, 

can go too far,

say the wrong thing

to the wrong person

at the wrong time

and take a bullet

in the temple,

Mickey said,

because it's hard  

to put a cobra 

under a bed.  

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

Josh Marshall- A Poem

 

"Sweetheart" 

There's an iron tree 
lying in the middle of the street. 
There's a lovely boy up the road,
waiting for me to rub his feet. 

It's a little dusty 
crying in a private shoe store. 
But there's nothing better 
than having a sweetheart that
you truly adore. 

You keep the cherry 
trying to reach that pot of gold. 
The kid in the jail cell 
keeps getting arrested because 
he's very bold.

Jonathan Beale- A Poem

War

They’re taught to play the games

Without their real names

Yet with names or without

You can always hear them shout

They echo invisible around every place

With style, charm, and grace

Whimsically dancing

You think there’re enhancing

Yet beneath the skin

You’ll never feel the pierce of the pin

Of the tattoos mythical ink

 Marked out. A sitting duck must sink

And  so ask, “What is, and why?”

Until we meet again. It is goodbye.

Holly Day- Two Poems

            First

holding you down

my arms wrapped tight around your body

like plastic wrap, like cocoon silk

my fingers over your eyes, in your ears

smearing my lipstick all over

your body, my lips

bright red bloody streaks

in the dark, marking my territory

marking you mine.

 

            Turbulence

you are a deep blue ocean

and I have spent too much time trying to patch up

this slow leak.

put your fingers back on me, the one thing

I don’t understand

I don’t know what might have been.

all this thinking. 

Short bio: Holly Day was born in Hereford, Texas, “The Town Without a Toothache.” She and her family currently live in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she teaches writing classes at the Loft Literary Center. Her published books include the nonfiction books Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, and Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, and the poetry books “Late-Night Reading for Hardworking Construction Men” (The Moon Publishing) and “The Smell of Snow” (ELJ Publications). 

James Babbs- Three Poems

I Didn’t Want Anything From Her

it was after the big snowstorm

when I saw her

out there in the parking lot

trying to start her car

but she was having trouble

so I went over and asked her

if she could use some help

she was a really beautiful woman and

I’d been attracted to her

ever since the first time we met

but she always told me no

whenever I asked her out

I wasn’t angry with her

just kind of disappointed

but I wasn’t going to leave her stranded

because

I wasn’t that kind of guy

so after several failed attempts

to get her car running

I offered to drive her home

she glanced at her phone

then I saw her smile

before she looked at me and

told me okay

she asked me

how everything was going

after we were in  my car and

heading down the road

I told her

everything was pretty much the same

I couldn’t help thinking

she looked as beautiful as ever

her hair hanging loose around her face

when we got to her house and

I pulled into the driveway

she asked me

if I wanted to come inside

I told her no

it was okay

I didn’t want anything from her

I wasn’t trying to be mean

maybe I was just dumb

I don’t know

I guess

I’ve never been very good

at those kinds of things

In Your Room

I wonder what you’re

doing in your room

right now

saw the light on

when I drove past

in my mind

I can see you in there

long hair hanging down

lying half-naked

across your unmade bed

and

I wish I were

lying there beside you

listening to you breathe

we wouldn’t have to

do anything

my body touching yours

our hearts

singing us to sleep

The Smallest of Things

I just came here

because

I wanted to write

and I really like

the atmosphere of this place

sitting here

at this table in the back corner

because

I like watching the people

coming and going

and there’s a woman with three kids

walking past the window

she’s a good-looking woman

with her hair a little disheveled

in a sexy sort of way and

a few minutes later

she comes inside and

asks the girl behind the counter

if she can use the phone

I can hear her

saying something about

locking her keys in her car

and she has two little girls

and she’s carrying a little boy

he’s not wearing any shoes

and he looks to me

like he might have been sleeping

I think

maybe

she’ll want to sit down

at one of the tables and wait

but she doesn’t

when she’s finished talking

she just thanks the girl behind the counter

then turns around and leaves