Stefanie Bennett- Two Poems

MORTIFICATION

Since there's the scarcity
Of timbre to it - what
Is it that's
Been fleeced
From me... ?

Separate tables!
A bogus
Wine waiter... and
The tuning-fork
Of a sub-let
Indefinable
Symphonic score.

Best be quick.
Either way
The minions play,
And Brahms -
In the wings
                   Has
Grown horns.

 

STEAM AND GOSPELS 

So much to answer for -.
No-one to answer to.
Maybe
... Add a lobster
With
Intent
And
Put a lid

On it.

 

 

Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry and appeared online with Boston Poetry Magazine, Mind(less) Muse, Illya's Honey, The Camel Saloon and others. Of mixed ancestry [Italian/Irish/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Townsville, Queensland, Australia in 1945. Her latest poetry title The Vanishing is due at year's end. Publisher: Walleah Press.
 

J.D. DeHart- Three Poems

Glib

the mouth does not

move, the sound

does not follow.

the answer does not 

come.  though waiting,

though watching, no word

is uttered.

if it were to come forth,

it would split the universe

and life would never

be the same.

then they would know

what was really rolling

in the wheel of mind.

so the sitting is silent.

Source

the power streams

down

the face lit up,

an advertisement from

years ago.

we live beneath its

wings,

leaning on its promise

of a better life 

through product.

we rush away,

turning all into endless

commercial space.

Dreams of the Bear

the creature moved

at the fence line

in my dream,

but a force kept it away.

its breath was miles

away

yet splayed before me,

its words distant

and hollow, yet whispered

in my ear closely.

in the dream,

movement is slow, 

labored, impossible,

until the relief of waking.

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal- 3 Poems

 

NO CONTRACT

 

I made no contract with death.

Still I’m immersed in it.

The day I was born it knew my name.

 

It does not forgive a soul.

It is imposing and

always calling twenty-four seven.

 

You make no bargains with death.

It comes in autumn and

becomes part of the wind that takes you. 

 

When the wind stops death stops.

Clouds burst with rain in

the direction of your resting place.

 

 

 

APPROACHING SILENCE

 

I approach silence

with my shoes off.

I give it respect.

I don’t walk hard.

 

There is a time in

the day when I

don’t feel like walking

softly.  Silence 

 

has to understand

that life goes on.

There will always be

a place for it.

 

Sometimes you need to

raise your voice, shout,

sing, even cry out.

Or one goes mad.

 

 

TEQUILA

 

Tequila brought me down this road.

The accident, the fall, was all about

the tequila.  The wife gone missing

with the children too was all tequila.

 

The gouged out eye was just a bar

fight after too much tequila.  Things

get out of hand when you drink too

much.  Tequila kicks your rear end.

 

The empty bank account was all

about the tequila.  The job gone

fishing and drowning in a sea

of tequila.  The nights behind bars

 

and in bars are because of

the tequila.  The memory

problems and failing health

are all about me and tequila.

Bradford Middleton- A Poem

 STUPID KIDS SHUT UP (I’M GROWING OLD)

The night is growing old and so am I

The kids next door seem to be warming up

For a party of never-ending suffering

For all their neighbours

A young man who seems drunk on life

Maybe he’s been spending the afternoon

Doing the dreaded white-on-white

Is caterwauling like a banshee

A young woman who seems to enjoy his company

Is laughing without a care for the hour

At the top of her voice whilst I for once

Pity the foolish rich guy who lives downstairs

I sit here, Saturday night and sober

Working on my routine to keep me sane

Football on the radio and laptop open

Words flowing freely just wishing the neighbours would shut up.

Linda M. Crate- Three Poems

tired of being misunderstood

i am the girl that no one
understands,
an ancient soul in a world
so young;
a glimpse of light in a
dark ethos —
i am the girl that always
laughed,
and they told me to be quiet
they could not understand
joy flowed through
me like a river;
when i told them i wanted to write
they told me there was no
money it,
but it's what my heart desires
more than anything—
i have no desire
to work retail anymore and i'm
so tired of having to deal
with people
that feel entitled to everything
when the world owes you
nothing;
so tired of those who are all too
willing to rain down on my
spark
to thrust me down into the
dark for it's the only
thing they've ever
known.


 
different

i am the soul
that feels
everything
so deeply
both a blessing and
a curse
in a world that feels
so cold and indifferent
loneliness
comes in the heartbeat
of happy couples
and gaggles of
friends,
and sometimes i wish
i could just fit in;
but why should i when i
was born to stand out?
sometimes i am
very grateful
that i am not the same as all of them
conforming to the heartbeat
of the world
all with the same zombie glances
glazed over faces
unthinking brains that
know nothing
more than small talk and drama;
no, i'm grateful that i am me
different than all of them
vulnerable by their
need of others
incapable of being alone.


 
a dreamer i will always be

i was always told to pull my head
from the clouds,
but my imagination wanted to
soar and i let it
because i couldn't imagine
only being tethered
to reality;
i've always appreciated art and music
for they give me wings,
and my writing
gives me the voice they always
wish to take away
drown out in the wind so they can tell
me all the things i ought to do—
no one can understand or appreciate me
for who or what i am,
and that used to hurt me but i've
come to expect that now;
i know what they say
that i am strange and weird and different
but is that really the worst thing
in the world i could be?
no, i could be them:
judgment, cruel, always finding fault,
unsympathetic, and unimaginative;
everyone wants me to
settle down and have children
but no one seems to see that i need more than
that!
i need to dream—
they always want to take my dreams away,
but like my dreams i will soar because
like a gypsy i don't well
inside stone walls for they try to inhibit me
all the movement of my wild heart
incapable of being caged.

Brittany Zedalis- Two Poems

Pieces of You

a memory of

beginnings,

candlelit smiles

and flowing music,

slow dancing

in your arms and

tear-filled golden

eyes overwhelmed

with joy, your warmth

replacing the chill

of autumn, bit by bit,

pieces of you drifting

into my world,

finding their home

amongst my books

and dreams

Twilight Stars

my thoughts drift away

to the soft brown hues

of your hair beneath sunlight,

times

when your best friend

was down the hall to the right,

and those

nights

full of laughter

as campfire sparks

singed my hair, secret

moments

where the rumble of your voice

sung in my ear and

your intoxicated bedroom eyes-

I touch your scar and remember

not all scars can be seen, but

the beat of your heart

against my bare skin reminds me

we are not broken souls beneath

twilight stars, but

one soul beating with a singular heart

awaiting the oncoming dawn

Brittany Zedalis is a 22 year old college senior who is studying to be an elementary teacher. She has been writing poetry for 7 years. She has a poetry blog at: https://brittanyzedalispoetry.wordpress.com/

Ayaz Daryl Nielsen- A Poem

 

 adventures with scarecrow

garden scarecrow

underneath the coveralls

grandma’s corset

early morning light

scarecrow 

isn’t back yet

somebody has given 

scarecrow

an adult diaper

late autumn wind

giving scarecrow my 

old winter jacket

and just what nationality

do you think you are?

more padding 

for skinny legs

pants down

scattered about

used prophylactics

always has been

grandfather crow’s

best friend

ayaz daryl nielsen, husband, father, veteran, x-roughneck (as on oil rigs)/hospice nurse, editor of bear creek haiku (25+ years/120+ issues), homes include Lilliput Review, Jellyfish Whispers, Boston Literary Magazine, UFO Gigolo, Shamrock, and! bearcreekhaiku.blogspot.com (translates as joie de vivre)

Donal Mahoney- Three Poems

 

Helping a Blind Lady 

"Sometimes I want to sit down 

and never get up," she confided,

tapping her cane as we crossed

the street, her Shepherd 

towing us on its leash, 

the light ready to go red. 

“But then I have to pee, 

and I'm thankful I can  

make it to the bathroom."

Folks You Can’t Forget

There are people

I hope to see

lolling on a cloud 

in Heaven some day

but hope never to see 

on Earth again

when I go out to buy

a cherry Coke 

at a drugstore counter

with silver stools 

and red seats

and a girl 

named Norma Jean 

on one of them

legs crossed

but not a blonde yet.

These are people who 

have been a problem 

in my life

nice people 

I hope to see

lolling on a cloud 

in Heaven some day

but hope never to see 

on Earth again.

Too many homicides 

as it is.

Young Man on a Bad Trip

The stench came first,

the young man remembers.

It was as if someone had

grabbed him by the ankles, 

turned him upside down

and dunked him in a latrine.

Not good, he says.

Then all the hissing 

and the forked tongues

only he could see, 

flickering as if vipers were 

slithering around him.

Very bad.

A nurse told him 

he was out of it for days,

yelling and cursing

jumping out of bed 

running around.

It took three orderlies

to hold him down.

All he remembers is 

the stench and hissing.

When he came out of it

he thanked a priest

his parents had called 

when doctors said they

could only sedate him. 

The priest came back 

the next day and asked 

if he wanted to pray.

He told the priest 

he didn't believe in God

never mind Satan. 

The young man said

the problem was a guy 

had sold him bad stuff.

Simple as that.

But if it happens again,

he hoped the priest 

would come back,

light his candles

and work his magic.

He’d appreciate the help.

Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.

Joe Brennand- Three Poems

 

bouquet of roses

sounds from a violin

dinner date

swans on the lake

we celebrate our

golden wedding

dinner date

we learn the rumba

after dessert

Bio;

Small poems can be found at The Camel Saloon

Richard Schnap- A Poem

WASTELAND

It was as wretched as an old homeless man
With parched lips, bloodshot eyes, half his teeth,

A neighborhood filled with abandoned schools,
Garbage-strewn lots, boarded-up stores,

But it was there that I had my first phone job
Where I was fired one day and rehired the next

And lived in an apartment with my first wife
In a marriage that collapsed like a burning building

It was as cursed a place as a giant web
Where a bloodthirsty spider caught helpless flies

And I sometimes wonder whose fate it is now
To find their way home there alone in the dark