Even when Death inhabits a poem, he does not own it. He is a squatter. In fact, Death owns nothing. – Todd Moore
St. Patrick’s Day 2020 “I believe in the love, it is all that we have.” — Scott Wannberg It’s here, the virus that eats old people, and yesterday I hit 66. Never thought this old flesh could be so appealing. Continue reading St. Patrick’s Day 2020 by S.A. Griffin→
As we prepare to celebrate the Bukowski Centennial, I’d like to invite your fans to participate in the Lummox Press anthology Last Call, Chinaski. I your style has been influenced by Buk, I want to see it. Here are the Continue reading LAST CALL, CHINASKI par Lummox Press→
Flashing Red Next Door don’t you see? what? the red spots splashed on the ceiling coming and going and sticking splashed on the night from the drive next door no, it’s from farther down the road and no, I’m not Continue reading Flashing Red Next Door & 2 other new poems by Paul Sohar→
Yesterday In his city by the restless Nile, dust seeps, like a nosy ghost, through open windows underneath the door frame past the veils over his daughters’ faces, out grocery shopping at midnight with other veil-clad women, avoiding Cairo’s relentless Continue reading Yesterday & Westwind by Pris Campbell→
Rhett Butler Left and Isn’t Coming Back Full moon kisses. Kisses over late wine and morning coffee kisses. Sloppy kisses. Even Rhett Butler up the steps kisses. He held me captive in the web he wove, moon sighing, hoot owls Continue reading Rhett Butler Left and Isn’t Coming Back by Pris Campbell→
The Power of Performance (Patti Smith) Your pale lips are dry yet your hoarse voice is pulsing a staccato yell as the lights and the drumbeat form a pounding rhythm for sweating energy and the wide eyes that restrain dark Continue reading The Power of Performance (Patti Smith) and 2 other new poems by Henry Bladon→
SHADOW BURN gold on sunland at cemex covers where the rio grande goes or west texas sun owns southern new mexico and throws what’s left on the mountain and disappears on a local’s wall taken from CUTTING THE WIRE NAMED Continue reading Shadow burn by Lawrence Welsh→
The bend in the Old Levee Road (translation from frisian by L.J. DeVries) Under a wiped clean nightsky cruising in my sun chariot not drunk, no don’t ! but still speeding like a bullet along the narrow road from a Continue reading The bend in the Old Levee Road by Abe DeVries→
Poet fingernails draw fine lines lovingly revealed by the welshman ‘…understand death shall not have what death shall not understand…’ another poet wondered what it is love (about death he knew) and where and how much love does one really Continue reading Poet fingernails by L.J. DeVries→