A Loose Pendulum

a fear of flying
through windows
the human dream
pushing & yelling
through bloody feathers
& groggy slow birds
at the foot
of the bed
dreaming
one in a million
one in a million
in hundreds of ghosts
i am left with heaven
i am my hands
in the winged mountains
half fire
half draft dodger
i can translate
the dream
the dark part
of the leaf
the port authority is gone
my blue jacket resting
the poor are sound asleep
against each other.

John Dorsey is the former Poet Laureate of Belle, MO. He is the author of several collections of
poetry, including Which Way to the River: Selected Poems: 2016-2020 (OAC Books, 2020),
Sundown at the Redneck Carnival, (Spartan Press, 2022, Pocatello Wildflower, (Crisis
Chronicles Press, 2023) and Dead Photographs, (Stubborn Mule Press, 2024). He may be
reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.

Stephen Jarrell Williams is always ready to write at any moment, always ready to let the words speak as they will.

OLD ROCKS

my vanity
remembers me,
sitting with introspection
on old rocks
that blocked
the sea-
choking insurrection.
i had bought claret wine,
but had to save it, for another time
that never came to me-
after nerves and mischief,
conspired with those divine
to hide the corkscrew
in a drawer’s cemetery.
at the bottom of belief,
our compound, compromised and withdrew
back into what it knew-
with old rocks,
and the tick-tock sound
of two invisible clocks,
sitting on the ground,
together,
but apart-
forever
in the same, silent, wishsongs heart.

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, 
England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, and nominated for both the Pushcart Prize x4 and Best of the Net x3, his five published books of poetry  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

A Fundamental Pause

Trenches, teeth, and jagged witch’s hats march
In a red neon ribbon across the EKG screen.
Puffs of air ruffle the mustache
Grey lips open past a silent scream

I silence the beeping.
My thumb rests on the plunger’s plastic ridges.
I raise my eyebrows; he nods.

I press the plunger to the hilt,
Unscrew the empty, screw in the flush, press again.
Medicine courses from vein to liver to heart.

On screen
Trenches fill, teeth grind flat
Line from left to right

This is the moment God shows up

Then I let the monitor sound again

Krista Puttler has called many places home including the Philippines, Guam, Hawaii, Japan, and a stateroom on an aircraft carrier. Her writing has appeared in Under the Gum Tree, Cagibi, and Fixator Press, among others. She lives outside Naples, Italy with her husband and three daughters. More at kristaputtler.com