ROLES OF PROVOCATION – R.T. Castleberry

ROLES OF PROVOCATION Winded, I can barely raise my head. Grieving strains like gravity. I lean on my desk, keys twirling on one finger, slapping into my palm. The outer window previews carnival propulsion, the integrity of the Ferris Wheel distinct through a desert sky. Samaritans at a safe distance place 911 calls and side […]

Splash – Ryan Quinn Flanagan

standing

over the toilet

I make a splash

just two drops

one on the seat

of the toilet

and the other

on my foot

which I rub off

like smudging out

mistakes

then

back to bed

and dreams

that forget

themselves.

Knowing What You Want

It’s complicated,
helping somebody.

What am I after?
What do you want?
Who goes first?

Notes passed in school.
How to weed this garden?
What are the others like?
Can only try.

Have to dress for work,
and understand the garden
and get really dirty.

Have to be willing
to see flowers fail.

SUMMER AT 7,000 – LANCE GAMBRELL

SUMMER AT 7,000 Summer gets me drunk because I don’t think; I jump in, head-first. It’s like the folklore of the 60s and 70s; simplified America, beyond recognition. Mark U. says that I am a conosuer of characters. Cluckasourus agrees. All I want is to change a life, all I need is a dopamine release, […]

TERRY HERTZLER – NAPALM

NAPALM

The boy wears only a pale green shirt,
no pants or shorts or shoes–a six-year-old,
fat stick in hand, squatting in the dirt.

He glances up as our convoy passes,
eyes dark and blank, and shifts his weight
to favor his left leg, ridges of scar
from ankle to hip twisted and shiny as plastic.

Yellow dust, kicked up by our truck
hangs in the air, thick and choking.
But the boy, face calm as a cat, just stares,
only his eyelids moving, up and down
up and down. Finally, he looks away and
raising his club, resumes his task,
pounding ants.

This poem was originally published in Second Skin by Terry Hertzler (Caernarvon Press, 2003)

Chella Courington – I SPEND HOURS KILLING CHICKENS

I Spend Hours Killing Chickens

Not with my hands like mom
who swung the bird round
till the neck popped
My machine chops off the head
splatters blood every five seconds
fresh blood that tastes
salty & sweet
Pay is good
What disgusts me is the line chief
During break he tells me he knows
when a girl is on the rag
claims he smells her
says he dumped
his girlfriend
cause she bled too much
He makes me want to
wash with lye
Thursday he follows me to the car
says he dreams about me
eats me in his sleep
I don’t tell him my dream
where the hook curls
through his neck
rips the vessels
as he swings closer to me
operating the blade

Find Chella online.

PETER SCHIRESON – IN THE THICK

In the Thick

In the thick

of our holy quarrel,

she leans in

to whisper

the most important thing,

but is silent,

and I want to leave her

alone

across the table

on her device,

but I knock over our old vase

spilling the violets,

and she looks at me

as if before they fell,

she’d already

seen them

fallen.

Find Peter online here.

RIC MASTEN – THE ENLIGHTENED

THE ENLIGHTENED

when i was younger
i would shoot the rapids
on any subject
showboating in the shallows
and later on
enjoyed being in over my head
discussing the depth
of wider deeper places

however
having spent half my life
working both sides of this river
i feel i know the pools and eddies
fairly well
and when the conversation flows these days
i find it impossible
to wade right in

but don’t misunderstand
the silence
for i do enjoy being here with you
listening
to the things you have to say

and in some small way
comprehending perhaps
why the so-called enlightened
simply stand
by the water
smiling
vacantly

This poem was originally published in VOICE OF THE HIVE in 1978 by Smithmark Publications.

ZAC VAN PELT – 2 POEMS

Movie Theater

Stained seats from a plethora of spilt drinks,

that stain might even be melted butter,

surely the brown stuff is melted chocolate.

The floor squelches when you walk,

adhering to your shoe, trying to take it from you.

Faded movie posters promote the blockbusters

come and gone. Dust layers the counter where

butter and sugary sweets used to reside. Sugar to dust,

almost the same but different in color and taste.

Actors still smile where kids ran laughing

the happiness their movies brought still lingers here.

Coffee Shop Vignette

A bell rings softly as the door pushes inward,

outward pushes the smell of bittersweet coffee.

The typical soft jazz of a coffee shop wafts

through the air alongside smells of savory food.

Buzzing chatter underlines the music

with the soft whir of espresso machines adding to

the symphony of the cafe.

Voices talk from walls where no bodies sit

a collection of the conversations absorbed

like the coffee stains the barista hates.

The large glass windows reflect back the

faces of colleges students that haunted the tables.

Rusty circular stains mark the growth

of coffee groups that grew and shrank,

through the years.

DAVID SPICER – HATEFUL MAN

HATEFUL MAN

Oh hateful man what happened to you

with more money than some countries’ treasuries

the pick of beautiful women yachts the best beluga

golden faucets in resorts Scottish golf courses

why are you an angry sloth hateful man wearing

wispy ginger hair so fine a baby could coo

you have blonde children retinues of lackeys

waiting on the next word wave escaping

your thin lips hateful man what attracted

you to green and silver paper why do you need

to steal other people’s money why do you admire

Mussolini did you smile with your parents

what did they do wound your bilious psyche

when they favored your brother why did you throw

tantrums like rancid onions when friends didn’t remain

friends when your mother shipped you

to military school when you listened to bullies

who taught you platitudes when your father

gave you only a million to build empires

when you cavorted in that Moscow hotel

do you remember the time you told your first lie

and everybody believed it and you did too

and lied so much you forgot the lies

why don’t you love people pets your children

did you see your destination as bankruptcies

and successes battled like angry twins

hateful man what makes you happy

the Aurora Borealis on Christmas day

a herd of zebra galloping over the Serengeti plains

the rarest stamp or a ringer for the Mata Hari

what is it hateful man making you tell beauties

whose pussies you grab I want you hateful man

do you love anybody in the red depths of your heart’s

dark caves dear hateful man when you fire sycophants

do you feel better after crushing their souls

hateful man as you eat Big Macs on the airplane

watching Wall Street do you have a Manhattan

of revenge to soothe your throat crying

when you sleep in your elephant satin pajamas

in your dark tower and wake up after three hours

to stew on the toilet pressing the phone’s power

button stalking the internet where your tribe

reads your tweets and you spend hours thumbing

insults so you feel better for a Washington

second and don’t care what the pundits think

because you’ll show how lofty you

are but hateful man you know that’s not true

do you ever think yourself evil as a bus

of snakes destined for a Mexican village

hateful man you think you’re greater than Alexander

the Great more brilliant than Einstein than Madame

Curie than the mathematician with the highest IQ

in history do you believe it how long can you

deceive yourself but you’re aware as an anteater

do you believe you’ll escape Karma’s chokehold

dreaming of Hitler of Rasputin of Manson

don’t you worry your minions might see

the hateful man you are because you’ve forgotten

you’re not blessed yes you’ve eluded the Gorgon

dodged a lunatic’s bullets because madmen

don’t kill madmen hateful man loneliest man

on earth no the man who’ll destroy you

hateful man one you fear and despise

not the man with long legs distant gaze

and grey suit walking halls of justice

followed by other men no he’s not that man

collecting facts but you are hateful man you

Cacti Fur

a poetry high ground

Author: grandmamosespress