Monday, July 16, 2012

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

Grapevines protrude
their leaves.
Giraffes protrude
their necks,
& snakes protrude
their tongues,
& the sun & the moon protrude
their lights.
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,, 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—

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.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

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.

Friday, July 13, 2012

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
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.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Robert Demaree- A Poem


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
Fading August light
A long way from Maine.
But then three:
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

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Sarah Edwards- A Poem


six rainbows
delicious memories
under your eyes

the final day
for you

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.

Monday, July 2, 2012

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

Sunday, July 1, 2012

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.