Resilience, Perseverance, Determination

This is my Creed!
The line I draw in the sand
in every direction around me.
Built upon broken soul-bones
and irreversible mistakes…
fire-hardened to all
but my own purpose and vision.
I have done away with ballads,
I look backwards no more,
reminiscing and nostalgia
get in the way of action.
I break my fast
to the sound of battle drums…
snatch energy from negativity,
whilst discarding its true purpose.
I never ‘Arrive’ I keep ‘Seeking’
each tumble or defeat
makes me stronger and wiser,
each victory, I notch up,
then quickly move on through.
There is no room
for ‘Pause’ in ‘Purpose’
Momentum is the only grain
that I do not go against.
I will not fail, complain,
give up nor give in…
and my defiant hands
will remain
forever bloodied and cap-less.

Paul Tristram is a widely published Welsh writer who deals in the Lowlife, Outsider, and Outlaw genres.  He wrote his first poem as a teenager following his release from the (Infamous) Borstal ‘HMP Portland’, and he has been creating Literary Terrorism ever since. 

Green

birds pause cackling to flutter low close to the ground
javelins snuffle out of underbrush tusks
lowered towards the new noises
in canopying low-hung branches, a jaguar leaves
a rotting deer carcass bloating thirty feet above the ground

on the other side of the world, the quietly pious are stretched out
on the racks of the Spanish Inquisition,
silently-suffering, losing blood
en route to disease-ridden reservations
the children of the Bikini Island nuclear tests,
the survivors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
in the streets of Los Angeles and New York.

 

Holly Day’s poetry has recently appeared in Slipstream, Penumbric, and Maintenant. She is the co-author of the books, Music Theory for Dummies and Music Composition for Dummies and currently works as an instructor at The Richard Hugo Center in Seattle and at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis. 

Charlie Horse

Gambling everything: bank
book insurance policy
frame house. He bought
into the business.
 
Now he was superior could push
us around. Brag about being
management.  Wasn't I lucky
to have such a nice boss?
 
There's no wishing him away.
Charlie was something definite
like that charlie horse tearing
you out of sleep at 4 a.m.
 
He told some personal stories
making me feel all covered with slime.
How he'd never finished high school,
been a drunk, got divorced, beaten
up dogs, kicked his kids out.
 
Day after day, he hammered in ideas.
The old ways were best.  He never
made mistakes.  Nobody works anymore.
It had something to do with
America and obedience.
 
Malignant sweat grew through his
heart and became putrefied.  Charlie
dropped dead one day from a heart
attack and somebody buried that horse.

Joan McNerney’s poetry is published worldwide in over thirty-five countries in
numerous literary magazines. Four Best of the Net nominations have been
awarded to her. The Muse in Miniature, Love Poems for Michael, and At Work
are available on Amazon.com. A new title Light & Shadows has recently been
released.

The Creation of Fathers

One way, heaps of sawdust, baseball bats,
drive to Eastern Washington to see the lake,
a western myth, an empire of rental houses,
continental drift, drinking around the holidays,
family near then split, the state divide, then this
depart once and for all down evening driveway,
I went chasing after you and even sacrificed
real estate in my soul to give you eyes,
a condition impossible to hold for long,
liberty exploding as if morning were a cannon—
I circle back north to real clouds and here also
folding wind and off again to the mountains,
a disappearing act, air barely holding that shape
so I maybe catch a glimpse in the Lincoln rock
heading up the Entiat river toward the homestead,
an almost platonic idea of it shimmering,
touchpoint at Bear Hollow where dry lightning
hits the rocks under the owls in the junipers,
golfers marching the links under smoke—
lifetimes, lifetimes of begetting the mystery
games of campfire and night story, reaching
like Adam even as the God hand slips away.

Douglas Cole has published six poetry collections and the novel The White Field, winner of the American Fiction Award. His work has appeared in journals such as Beloit Poetry, Fiction International, Valpariaso, The Gallway Review and Two Hawks Quarterly; as well anthologies such as Bully Anthology (Hopewell), Bindweed Anthology, and Work (Unleash Press). He contributes a regular column, “Trading Fours,” to the magazine, Jerry Jazz Musician; edits the selections of American writers for Blue Citadel, a department of Read Carpet journal of international writing produced in Columbia. In addition to the American Fiction Award, his screenplay of The White Field won Best Unproduced Screenplay award in the Elegant Film Festival, and he has been awarded the Leslie Hunt Memorial prize in poetry, the Best of Poetry Award from Clapboard House, First Prize in the “Picture Worth 500 Words” from Tattoo Highway, and the Editors’ Choice Award in fiction by RiverSedge. He has been nominated five times for a Pushcart and seven times for Best of the Net. He lives and teaches in Seattle, Washington. His website is https://douglastcole.com/. 

WARM CALIFORNIAN NIGHTS (I dream of…)

The nights of late disappear in front of the
Cathode ray tube of death known as TV as I give
Up on out there
Out there in this goddamn town which has driven me to the edge
Out there where those only madder than me can have any kind of fun
As the bad and dangerous to know rule on a night like this as
Out there the rain soaks through however many layers I wear
And the cold bites any interloper hard as the unfamiliar grip
Of winter comes to make us wish for spring to hurry along
But I fear this year maybe a bad one as all signs of late point
To nothing but misery & the death of any kind of hope as all
I can do is lay around and dream of warm Californian nights
To help get me through.

Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton, UK.  Recent poems have appeared in River Dog Zine, Back Room Poetry ‘Rebel’ Anthology, Beatnik Cowboy and Dreich Magazine.  His most recent chapbook came out early 2023 from the mighty fine Alien Buddha Press.  He tweets occasionally @BradfordMiddle5.