Ali Znaidi- A Poem

A New Summer

 

this is the beginning:

the day starts to extend

his hands

 

the day stretches like rubber

 

an ongoing headache

 

the incandescent sunlight

thunderstrikes my eyes

 

a new summer, sirocco,

mirage, illusion

 

what you can’t h/ear

ants shaking the ground

 

 

 

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.

April Salzano- A Poem

Euthanasia

She put him right

out of his misery,

shoved the whole couch

he was always sleeping

on right into the middle

of a busy intersection

in front of their house in suburbia.

Semi’s coming off I-80 blew

air horns in disgust and engaged

ordinance-forbidden jake brakes,

able to swerve and miss him

altogether. He slept through it all,

the crashing Amish buggy,

the near death by minivan, the whizz

of many a motorcycle veering

onto the berm. A speeding car

with a less skilled college student

texting while driving did the trick,

snuffed him out. Cushions lay

in tatters on the road

while his wife sat in the empty space

in the living room, eating popcorn

in front of the window.

Bio: April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Rainbow Rose, The Camel Saloon, The Applicant, The Mindful Word, Napalm and Novocain, The Second Hump, Jellyfish Whispers, The South Townsville Micro Poetry Journal, The Weekender Magazine, and is forthcoming in Inclement , Poetry Quarterly, Decompression, and Daily Love.  She is working on her first collection of poetry and an autobiographical novel on raising a child with Autism. 

Dane Karnick- 3 Poems

Mercado de Sante Fe

After the painting by Amado Pe͂na, 1983

 

Dry pores of mesa skin

surround the plaza

nearly erased by

New Mexico glare

that permits only

timid shadows from

pottery offered at

the market place

by native faces

bartering for time

in their monolith

of attention as

stillness reckons

with each posture

a few knees bend

toward a long earth.

 

 

Levitation

 

A juvenile mood

has taken over

my feet skipping

a trail through

an alder grove

that scatters

the watercolor

of midday

as my stride

scuffs dirt past

nettles and

horsetails

through sunlight

prancing

its blemishes

along the face

of sturdiness

under trees

foolhardy

in gesture

their white trunks

standing

like teenagers

baring tattoos

that flaunt

which gang

dominates

this side

of the forest.

 

 

Patriotic Sky

 

Twilight’s last gleaming

a penetration of color

forms a perfect union

for voyeurs to watch

indivisible with liberty

splash a drop of moon

of thee I sing

celestial erotica

with amber waves of grain.

caressing our heaven

I pledge allegiance

to orgasmic hue

for which it stands

the rhythm of dusk

so help me God.

 

 

Dane Karnick grew up by the Colorado “Rockies” and lives in Seattle.  His poetry has recently appeared in Subliminal Interiors, Carcinogenic Poetry, Orion headless and The Rainbow Rose.  Visit him at www.danekarnick.com.

Bryan Murphy- A Poem

Inner City Courtyard

Balcony-vegetation colours offer updates

on the hit-and-miss diversity of changing seasons,

my neighbours’ plants shaming my own wrought rust.

Today, for Monday is still wash day,

synthetic rainbows flap, a rare windstorm

covers the hotel garden’s bush with witches’ knickers,

drowns the drone of marketing conventioners on its mikes

against the steady soundtrack of domestic discord,

heard above the traffic,

carpeted by thick walls.

Warm winter clouds of global pink

cross a sample of sky, deep smog-filtered blue,

challenging rooftop labourers, aiding suicidal cats

as evening drops and tiered lights synch on,

and shutters fall from ground-level up

in search of shelter from one hundred years

of lack of solitude.

Bryan Murphy is a retired translator and editor who now concentrates on his own words as a writer and an actor. His e-book, Linehan's Trip, is available from http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/178686, while Goodbye, Padania is available from his website: www.bryanmurphy.eu .

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