3 poems from Joey Nicoletti

Idiotpalooza My girlfriend wanted me to accept her influence as much                                                as she accepted mine, even going so far as slam dancing with me in a muddy mosh pit, despite her belief that the best way to enjoy music was listening to it alone in the comfort of her home. Then a muscular woman with […]

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2 poems by Erren Kelly

Treme, New Orleans ( Fish and Chips )

And a woman sits on her

Porch, and  you could see

All of New Orleans from it

And all her life has been Psalm

91, and Mogen David  wine and

And making wishes come true

On a Singer sewing machine

And she reaps what she sews

And James Brown reminds her 

That we won’t quit, until we get our

Share; that life may deliver the left

Hook that brings up down, but Jesus

Will give us the courage to get up again

And keep going

Fish and chips and gumbo and

The sounds of Treme from a

Sewing Macinine

Always find a way to keep going…

~~~

Listening To Neil Young After A Snowstorm

the sound flows through my ears

like hot chocolate, baptizing

the back of my throat

i see visions of old hippies

sitting in a circle, lost on

waves of melody

a cinnamon girl is a 

bell bottomed dream

i see her braless nipples

like bullets through her 

t-shirt, i smile at her

and she reciprocates

“we only have one country left”

says the bearded man

“let’s save it, while we still can”

we get high on the 70s as the

joint is passed around

you can always find freedom

in the sound

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Chris Daly ~ DANCER IN THE DARK

Dancer in the dark

It’s ten miles from my long beach apt

to the bros of st patrick in midway city.

On a bike there are two rough patches:

on Westminster a quarter mile sprint

from the market place in-road to the bridge

over the flood control near the power plant

(no bike lane by the curb, cars making the short

sprint to the freeway turn, old and

over-coffee’d citizens, me dialing long

distance to my legs without special

rates)

and the two open miles

further along the same easement

between parallel fences

of the naval station, exposed to

silos of eternity.

The childhood secret of peddling

is to take your time.

It’s also a good way to miss

the toe-dancing. The guinness

was gone, good thing I’d picked

up same at the viet liquor store.

The way back a zen coast or

walk under the influence

stepping out of headlights

casually as

a homeless fred astaire.

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2 poems by Alexandra Gilliam

QUARANTINE I bought the largest bag of pom poms, remembering mopping the floor each night after close, my dad waiting in the closed shop  while I washed the dishes, we waited and went to    Whataburger when I didn’t have a car after I broke off my first  engagement, the details they say, the yellow of […]

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