J.J. CAMPBELL – Five Poem Series

Posted: June 18, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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2

lost and found

 

an old man got

arrested the other

day

 

a ring he claimed

was lost was found

in the panties of a

3 year old little girl

 

i was hoping he was

going to tell the cops

it was a magic trick

gone awry

 

but he confessed to

some touching down

there

 

which made me wonder

how many other times

did he play lost and

found with the kids

—————————————————————————————————–

waitress

 

all the curves

where i like

them

 

i can’t help but

think about you

sitting on my

face within

thirty seconds

of meeting you

 

it tends to make

hello a little odd

 

while pretending

i’m listening

and getting lost

in your eyes

 

i’m actually

picturing

sliding your

panties to the

side and working

my tongue like a

version of me

twenty years

younger

 

yes, i’ll have

another drink

 

it’s not often

i eat chicken

wings with a

boner

—————————————————————————————————-

countless years of just taking it

 

broken

forgotten and

left for dead

 

the real reason

i hate myself

is i allowed

the pain to

become

constant

 

it’s incredibly

hard to stand

up for oneself

after countless

years of just

taking it

 

wanting change

is a myth

 

we want others

to change

 

leave my utopia

as it is

 

violence, murder

manipulation

and deceit

 

you want change

 

sometimes you

have to dance with

the devil to get it

 

and i don’t mind

playing with evil

under a full moon

 

all my other choices

got me here

————————————————————————————————–

the silence you desperately need

 

harrowing nightmares

 

fucked up secrets

that no child should

have to bear for

any length of time

 

let alone an entire life

 

you can smell the

guilt in the air

 

hiding behind cheap

perfume and whatever

douchebag body spray

is hot at the moment

 

try to find an awkward

pause where you can

fake a laugh

 

or a cry

 

or whatever emotion

you need to drive

the demons away

 

seek out the silence

you desperately need

 

grab your favorite book

and pretend that reading

in the dark gives you

special powers that the

rest of the world should

be very worried about

——————————————————————————————————-

flawed

 

a hearty chuckle when

you think back to the

innocence of your youth

 

how it was robbed from

you in your grandmother’s

bathroom by a curious

cousin

 

you can’t help but think

she wasn’t fully aware

 

but you’re more

comfortable being

a victim than an

understanding

adult

 

rational thought never

found a home in your

abused mind

 

and there is never

enough alcohol when

you really need to kill

the pain

 

yet you know at the

heart of the matter

 

you wouldn’t change

a thing

 

this is who you are

 

change is for those who

are not comfortable being

flawed

TOM HATCH – One Poem

Posted: June 13, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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0

Cry

 

 

I have found that I cry

Very easily in the morning

Not sure why this is when I

Do most of my writing I listened

To Jim Morrison sing The End

I cried

yesterday morning I read my bio

I cried because my life is in

A nut shell

 

 

Someone I just noticed

drew a heart on the smeared

Window of the train I am crying again

It is a heart left for me to cry over

If it wasn’t the heart it would

Have been something else

Then I realize the heart

Was not meant for me

So I cried

PHILIP WARDLOW – One Poem

Posted: June 11, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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2

Different Tastes

 

I dip my dick

into a wine flute

filled with Pinot Grigio

 

Now,

Taste.

What does your tongue tell you?

 

Are you a connoisseur?

Tell me the year.

I will pour you anything you prefer.

 

Now.

Spread your legs and let my

fingers linger until a raging

wetness ensues.

 

Now,

You must choose.

Grape or strawberry?

 

Pop Rocks go in and

mingle inside your moistness

 

Crackle…Crackle…Pop!

Mmmmmm…

Strawberry…good choice.

 

Now,

Remove the ice cold Coca Cola

from the fridge,

Pop the cap, pour it out and

plunge it in your pussy deep.

 

Your body shudders as you

exhale slowly.

 

Now,

Bottle removed

I enter with all the warmth of the sun.

 

Your body shudders again

as you exhale.

 

Now,

Time for the grape.

 

By Philip Wardlow 2013

SéAMAS CARRAHER – One Poem

Posted: June 10, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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0

 

 

Dub(h)lin(n), a Poem, (9)

Bring out your Dead

for pip kane, in Cavan

Bring out your dead

bring out your dead,

surly song of the city

ghost song of a dead people,

money can’t bring you back to life,

“whores, bourgeois whores”,

bring out your dead

bring out your dead

“there’s only a few of us left”

with my grief this ocean i sail,

my song this sold city soiled

my children from Chernobyl,

they’re building orphanages in my mind,

my life’s become a charity case

“there’s no welfare no more”,

my friends are cardboard cut-outs

middleclass middleclass

like the kids of my crippling

crying spa spa spastic.

 

In the old days the whores sold relief

for a pound a go,

bad as it was back then

they didn’t buy cities or lives

or dreams,

now it’s all Hollywood

and no one’s on the dole,

we’re all a pound of flesh

and the whores wear suits.

 

O, my sad sad friend,

and still the grim reality,

this grim reaper at dawn

in my mind

bring out your dead

 

bring

 out

your

fucking

dead!

PAUL TRISTRAM – One Poem/One Flash

Posted: June 7, 2013 in Fiction, Flash, Poetry
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0

 

 

Headfuck Luck

 

I’m eating magpie soup again,

been walking under ladders,

passing people on stairs.

Ended up with the smallest

half of the wish-bone.

Had a tarot reading

and pulled The Tower,

Death and the 3, 8 and 10

of Swords, Fuck!

Didn’t catch my girlfriend cheating,

so I’m stuck with her for now.

Been disowned by everyone

that I used to know

but that is exactly what I needed.

Nothing is going right

and nothing is going wrong

I am walking through the middle

ground somewhere, for now.

With all of the signs pointing

to positive or negative outcomes

which do not appear?

I guess that right now I am lucky

at not having good or bad luck

respectively.

What a curious foreign limbo this is?

 

© Paul Tristram 2012

 

Super Size My Love, Innit!

 

It started running down her left leg, then it started running

down her right arm, it filled her left shoe while it ran over

and off her right fingers, it was hatred.

It bubbled upon the back of her neck, spreading up and through

her hair, it went down her left arm, then her right leg, all of

a sudden there was a splash and it ran down her back, through

her arse and then crashing to the floor.

Then it started at the front, gaining momentum as it rose up

the curve of each breast, creating a gushing waterfall straight

down through her pubic hair and down onto the floor around

her feet.

She was now totally and utterly consumed in hatred, she started

shaking and swaying, for a few seconds it looked as if she

might lose her balance and topple over but she didn’t, she

started to scream instead.

Then she lunged at her boyfriend and started to scratch at

his terror struck face.

“You Bastard!” she yelled.

“You fucking insensitive, selfish, thoughtless Bastard, you

know that I asked for a Chicken McSandwich, you know I

never have fucking Chicken McNuggets but what have you

fucking bought me again, you stupid Bastard?”

With this she grabbed the box of Chicken McNuggets off

the table and started to ram them into his bruised and bloody

mouth.

Then she tried ramming one up his left nostril, it wouldn’t

fit, well she’d just have to make the fucker fit wouldn’t she.

She managed to get a corner up, then with the same hand she

pushed his forehead back, then while his head was tilted back

and with the use of great force she banged the Chicken

McNugget right up into his nostril with the palm of her hand.

He let out a sickly little moan and breathed heavily out of

the one nostril

“Thou Bithitch!” he groaned.

 Well, that was the final straw, she went for the strawberry

milkshake and leapt into his unprotected lap, she then tried

to drown the poor motherfucker with the afore mentioned

strawberry milkshake.

It was at this point that I stepped in, I had been sitting

quietly in the corner (No, not the corner by the fucking

toilets, what do you think I am for Christ Sake? I was

sitting in the corner on the other side of McDonalds!) just

musing over the state which I had again let my life get into.

When I suddenly thought to myself ‘Hey that’s enough God

Damn it’ I stood up upon my sturdy feet and shouted across

of McDonalds,

“Yo, ginger motherfucker, yeah you with your knees in that

poor Bastards scrotum, enough’s enough, now climb on down

off of him!”

But she did not even hear me; she was too busy shouting abuse

at the poor Bastard while still trying to drown the poor

motherfucker with the strawberry milkshake, she was shouting,

“You God Damned fucking faggot, you can’t even get it up

anymore and you never go down on me, you selfish Bastard,

what’s the matter with my pussy, most men would love to

have my pussy!”

She was still kneeling on him, but she managed to turn to one

side, lift up her skirt, pull her knickers to one side and shout

to an old man on the table opposite,

“What do you think of my pussy eh, you’d go down on it if

it slept with you every night, wouldn’t you, you old fuck?”

The old guy just turned red then purple then looked at his

wife, his wife was playing with a cold French fry, pretending

that nothing was happening.

It was then that I lassoed her, YEEHAAA!

I pulled that psycho bitch right off the guy’s whose bollocks

now resembled pork paste, and dragged her insane arse right

up the aisle and out through the main doors.

As we disappeared out of the doors the people still sitting in

McDonalds started cheering, as soon as we got outside I tied

her up and threw her over my motherfucking saddle, leapt up

onto Geronimo (My horse!) and rode on out of Dodge.

I’ve still got her at my place, well when I say at my place,

I mean the fucking shed, she still screams like a banshee, it

keeps the chickens awake at night but I’m normally too drunk

to even notice.

Anyway, I’m even starting to fancy the psycho bitch myself,

I don’t know what it is; maybe it’s the way the moonlight

bounces off her spittle, but anyway I’ll let you know how I

get on with her, alright?

© Paul Tristram 2013

BENJAMIN JOSEPH BIESEK – One Poem

Posted: June 4, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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1

 

 

MARKET CONFUSION

 

 

Market confusion occurs daily:

People having sex in the bread aisle;

Money burning holes in pockets; and

Cock murdered by burghers.

 

(Scour the world for protein sources;

Then go home and hug your husband.)

 

(Avoid finding your daughter’s

Panties in the dryer, Mister.)

 

Market confusion occurs daily:

People have problems at the office;

Kids get high;

Cocks fight in rings called chain businesses.

 

(Scour the world for millions and for millionaires;

Then go home and hug your husband.)

 

Back in the days of dino and rock,

Bread was synonymous with big cock.

 

Tom loved Daisy and she hated Jay;

Nick was quick but fair, but hey:

 

If market confusion occurs,

Go on a hunger strike and give up

White meat and white bread –

Only…

 

When can I truly be a poet, America?

 

 

CHRIS CRITTENDEN – Five Poem Series

Posted: June 2, 2013 in Fiction, Poetry
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0

Flower In Diary

 

fingers accost

mildewed bliss,

a derelict text

 

of must and grime,

 

hopscotching

like sad sandpipers

through shrouds of frogeye,

 

clinging

 

to zests of X,

elations of O,

avoiding shapes like bell jars,

 

or The Cross.

 

they pause on a flat insect,

its bluebottle

cerulean guess,

 

and then six flips later

a trumpet

blares its mane–

 

petal roaring

on the disintegrative

line:

 

delicate

yet timeless

touch-me-not,

 

do not

for i dwell in the desert

of the crucified.

 

 

Porn

 

she’s buoyant like a mermaid

shedding gowns of water.

 

promises that breathe deep,

paradise without fruit.

 

our kiss shares a one-sided mouth,

no duet, stuck

 

between sunray and wet dream.

illusions of slave and pixel.

 

i shudder together,

pretend to know

 

nipple, thigh and cleft,

pelvis and thrust.

 

but only one pulse bares

the tempest of the ache,

 

no blush fading gentle

on the other side.

 

Standoff

 

he lived in a niche of

dusty books next to a vein

of stress-herded cars.

 

the quiet of his garret

throbbed from the arrhythmia

of stoplight and jump.

 

for all intents

his studious grind

was an ignored itch,

 

a tip of pencil lead

broken off from lost times,

faint in the body

 

of the Pace.

 

doves lived in

the chimney, lullabied

the hearth.

 

the desk kept stacks

of outdated words

no one had time to believe.

 

he would die–someday–

of a heart attack in the same

way that the Pace–someday–

 

would fail to go on.

side by side, neither

could ever admit

 

the other mattered.

 

 

Ghost Orgy

 

the fast rage

has shucked off our flesh,

counts our bones to hang them

on a hallelujah sway

of cowed pines.

 

centrifugal church

that cuts hope with frost,

revelation thick with shrieks,

and guilt that breeds battles

to feast in whirls,

 

as if sins were snowflakes

whipping each other.

serpent jerks in chains.

 

outliers of the phantasms

of the gone.

 

our prayers

jackknife like wishes off broken crystal,

cinders of a lost moon

fierce across a weeping arabesque.

 

our beseech faceless,

steadily drowned by the hurl

of each others’ plucked fangs.

dethroned.

 

False Apathy

 

 

dust

 

on chocolate shrubs,

sinks of cracked ocean behind.

the land paralytic,

roils of blur in venomous broth.

any twitch births a chew

of photonic ants.

 

vultures

 

like the wrath of hurt pupils,

stalking what they need to despise.

victims lie down anyway,

lulled by a wealth of tricks:

seductive sheens of wet silver,

and honey that beads on straw,

impossible to taste.

 

clouds

 

lunge from the blue trapdoor,

as oatmeal dunes blister with petals.

the sun slurps it all down, swift

as Saturn ecstatic, eating his kids.

the ichor bathes sharp hornfels,

pools into sandy quilts,

the fabric restive,

 

shambling.

 

 

 

 

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