Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
Bike Ride In my menopausal middle age I have taken up bike riding, great exercise, easy on the knees, and it’s so lovely to be outdoors, journeying along the trails, as if swimming through nature. My husband joins me sometimes. Continue reading Five poems by Charles Rammelkamp→
A Quarter Rat’s Dream Dirty streets Sticky floors A Quarter Rat’s Dream Living in the underbelly Of the Big Easy Dark smoky bars Good stiff drinks Old whore bartenders Musicians Artists Poets Story after story Drunken memories Some happy Some Continue reading A Quarter Rat’s Dream by James Dennis Casey IV→
Little Feces Heart A little feces heart Clinging to the bottom Of a porcelain throne Nothing a little more whiskey Can’t take care of Go away little heart I want feelings no more Flush away Be gone I care not Continue reading Little Feces Heart by James Dennis Casey IV→
It was cheating … when he played the polyamory card from the middle of the deck on top of her monogamy card and they both knew what this would end up doing to them … but later in their relationship Continue reading It was cheating … by D.A. Pratt→
disco is king when i was 7 they shot my president we were sent home from military school fear that our uniform might insight retaliation a haze of anger riots races reductions reproductions voices variances violence vengeance vietnam someone killed Continue reading disco is king by Mike Klumpp→
SLIPPING INTO THE MIST OF WHAT MIGHT BE A HEAVEN The dirty gods never need a bath or haircut. The dirty gods never learn to shave. The dirty gods have perfect pearls for teeth, clean underwear and clean fingernails The Continue reading Slipping into the mist of what might be a heaven plus 2 other new poems by Michael H. Brownstein→
How many? It’s a question … how many voices of ignorance does it take to make a chorus? Let’s ponder for a moment or two: very provincial politicians seem to be stumbling over themselves to be among the loudest voices Continue reading How many? by D.A. Pratt→
Stuffed Animals They closed the last toy store. The world had seemingly lost all its charm and every little bedwetter played with a tablet instead. The landscape was becoming dull as its newest inhabitants. There is nothing more strange than Continue reading Stuffed Animals by John Patrick Robbins→
THE POET NEAR THE GRAVEYARD ONLY HAS ONE DESIRE LEFT He’s hunched over a small table. Air conditioner thrums. Cat sleeps on couch. Dishes in sink. He’s exhausted from working as a gardener for the rich in the heat. What Continue reading THE POET NEAR THE GRAVEYARD ONLY HAS ONE DESIRE LEFT by Rich Quatrone→
Everyone is … afraid of his ignorance and his ignorance is no laughing matter … it isn’t “black humour” since “black humour” serves a better purpose … but everyone really wants to laugh loudly — his ignorance will be legendary Continue reading Everyone is… by D.A. Pratt→