Down and Out

A skinny little path
through piles of trash

around broken-down buildings
and a park full of homeless tents

back along the railroad tracks
the horizon still showing a way

where dreams at night
still ignite the hope of change

tears running down
into little streams full of peace.

Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on (X) Twitter @papapoet...  Write what you have to write, while we still have the right.

A Museum of Farm Dogs

the sun displays their bones
fine & long
torn & tattered
a land of
wagging tails
that roam across the grass
like a tumbleweed on fire
you say a prayer
to the ghosts
while the bluster of a strong wind
reminds you of a dead friend
who is no longer there
to scratch
at the door.

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, and Pocatello Wildflower, (Crisis
Chronicles Press, 2023). He may be reached at archerevans@yahoo.com.

Dissimulations

Never have comebacks weaponized concepts
as sharply as recent conversations with self.
We cozen ourselves better than all the con
artists on the mean streets of urban sprawls.
Indentations on maple leaves of malefactions
emphasize their impact on the itinerary. One
is plugged in and perceptive enough to keep
away from the scree of flagitious intent: short-
lived slip-ups are constituents of the construct.
As yurt of prolificacy anchors itself in the desert
of reason, cloudbursts elect to desert me.

Sanjeev Sethi has authored seven books of poetry. Published in over thirty-five countries, he is the joint winner of the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. Highly commended in erbacce-prize 2024 for poetry, UK, with over 9000 submissions worldwide; Sethi lives in Mumbai, India.

Dark Familiarity

My suit still fits.
It hangs in the dark closet
next to an old white shirt
and tired gray silk tie.

Two hours past my bed time,
the wine bottle dribbles
a bit more than a sip
into the fingerprint stained glass.

Getting up slowly,
I open the squeaky cabinet door.
I take a vitamin B Plus and an Aleve
with that last sip of wine.

Turning off the lights,
I feel my way to the stairs.
This is a different darkness –
Now, it has no end.

R. Gerry Fabian is a published poet from Doylestown, PA. He has published five books of poetry: Parallels, 
Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts,  Wildflower Women as well as his poetry baseball book,
Ball On The Mound. 

Convocation mountain

The school of forest medicine has
a thing for strumpfhose & those
initiation rituals of the medieval
guilds such as a slew of bobble heads
or zany ukulele ephemera. Its origins
are unclear. Some scholars theorize
long-term synergistic relationships;
others hold up ink-riddled feeds that
brim with the hashtag #QTTR & claim
itinerant tattooers are the points of ori-
gin. The regents call for calm, adhering
to their belief that all will be revealed
when the time capsule tucked behind a
plaque in the Cathedral is opened in 73
years. Until then, the only diktat is that
any & all balloons are to be prohibited.

Mark Young was born in Aotearoa New Zealand but now lives in a small town on traditional Juru
land in North Queensland, Australia. His most recent book is One Hundred Titles From Tom
Beckett, with paintings by Thomas Fink, published by Otoliths in June, 2024. His The Magritte
Poems will be coming out from Sandy Press later this year.

Vagabond Blues

The peninsula strangles the neck of hope
believing nothing will remain unchanged.
Removed are the scattered triangular prisms.
Along with the blue tarps and poisoned refuse.
Ferns, crushed underfoot, leave a sad scent.

That immaculate squalor. Those parking lot swear
fests with the word still hanging in the empty air.
Invitations to the event are ripped into acrid confetti.
Tables of smoke are set. Utensils drown in the river.
So, what will be served for that going away party?

Philip Venzke grew up on a dairy farm in Wisconsin.  His poetry is widely published in magazines throughout the U.S. and Europe.  His chapbook “Chant to Save the World” was a winner of The James Tate International 2021 Poetry Prize (published July 2022 by SurVision Books, Ireland).  His second chapbook “Rules to Change the World” was published by Finishing Line Press in November 2023.  His poems also appear in “Contemporary Surrealist and Magical Realist Poetry (an International Anthology)” edited by Jonas Zdanys, Lamar University Press, 2022.

THE SUN STINGS MY EYES

I stumble from the sanctuary of
My room & out,
Out into the light that stings my
Eyes, hurting
Like a cigarette to my retina &
Forcing me
To hide behind a recently discovered
Pair of sunglasses
That turn everything a cool iridescent
Green just how
The smoke does to my mind.

Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton, England.  Recent poems have appeared at Mad Swirl, Cacti Fur, Beatnik Cowboy, Dear Booze and in the new issue of the Horror Sleaze Trash Quarterly.

Feathering The Nest

To fish with lies,
to hunt through insincere smiles,
and to trap
with Sociopathic exactness.

The base of the nest
is all busted backbones.
The insides, I feather,
delicately, with broken hearts…
see how they stay
soft and pliable,
they retain an echo
of the tenderness
which once inhabited them.

I stick, cement, and paste
it all together
with scoops and dollops
of stolen pride,
and butchered dignity…
of course, not mine, silly,
for I was nothing
but an empty husk to start with.

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. His novel ‘Crazy Like Emotion’ is now available by Close To The Bone Publishing.

One Life at a Time

Life provides a small space to fill
A space that stays open, until full
The prior open life, now closed
Begins as a new life, ready to fill
Life’s first few fillers, the smallest
Have the most to fill, and fit best
The following so many fillers fall
Somewhat less graded, but fall in.
Then come some big bulky ones
Finding loose lodging somehow
Leaving spaces for smaller fillers
Some enormous ones bounce off
Life gets shaken, jiggled thumped
The fillers settle and pack down
Then along comes that final filler,
The Closer.

Michael Theroux writes from Northern California. He is presently shifting from decades of developing and publishing science-based socio-political works toward publication of his deep cache of poetry and prose, a challenge indeed at 73 but much more satisfying.

Alice’s Dolls

She undressed the intruders down to their brittle alibis. Ultimately, they refused to confess to the silencing of the mute-color despair, the cries of the second hand dolls. One intruder stared down at Alice’s favorite doll, the one with the feather boa and a missing foot. When Alice questioned him, his eyes, tiny dark planets shifting away from light, remained obtuse. Was he a serial monster? she thought. Or a reborn one? The other man, perhaps blinded by drought and dead heat, complained of bee stings everywhere. Alice disappeared and returned with two glasses of ice water. They both reached but she stepped back. “Tell me, she said, “who tore off her foot.” The first man pleaded for clemency, begged to be hung in a noose made of feathers. That tickled Alice. Then, it made her cry.

Kyle Hemmings has had work in Otoliths, Ink in Thirds, and elsewhere. He loves garage bands of the 60s.