Birth of Death

blazing through the autumn leaves, the rain
falls and drinking commences; lost memories
of death and pain, struggling to maintain
whatever trace of sanity remains.

in some cruel kindergarten dreams are born to die,
familiar anguish in fresh faces.

desperate marauders arrive at the idyllic island,
trying to acclimate to the new rhythm of life—
too many perish before the momentum dissipates,

angels shed false tears for the unvanquished.

every glass births new worlds ripe for pillaging,
every drag of ice sires new universes to destroy.

in the autumn leaves, amid the ashes of summer,

strong bourbon is the only thing that remains, begetting
new storylines out of pathetic known tales.

George Gad Economou has a Master’s degree in Philosophy of Science, currently works as a freelance writer, and has published three novels and three poetry collections. His latest book is Smoking Rot Gut Drinking Junk (Anxiety Press). His work has appeared in various publications, including Spillwords Press, Ariel Chart, Cajun Mutt Press, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Outcast Press, The Piker Press, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Modern Drunkard Magazine.

Amore?

I love this life
with its sunshine
and smiles.

Birds awaken
mornings. The
breeze softly stirs.

The sky drips
colours like
orange juice.

I gather the beauty
with my senses
and turn off the
television news.

Mitali Chakravarty lives in a tropical island with her family. She has three books of poems and is widely published online and in anthologies. Her poems can be found in Dissident Voice, Pyssum Literaria, Daily Star (Bangladesh), Zest of Lemon (Volumes 3 & 4), Literary Yard among other places. 

Aceldama

Crusts of prophecy spoil
on leavened lips.
Standing water turns to sour wine.
Temple priests gorge and glut,
silver their need to own,
to crucify.

A lone, angel-nurtured tree,
stark against apocalyptic sky
has grown heavy with
devil-knotted limb,
lured the keeper of the coin,
kissed the traitorous bowels,
that twitch and gush about.

Flowers that were once white
are now magenta,
and bees suckling for honey,
now swoon and die.

A brick hardened soil,
in the barren potter’s field
refuses to absorb the blood,
viscera, intestines, and brains
bursting to frantic thunder,
pooling in serpent stench.

Craig Kirchner has been nominated three times for a Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, Roomful of Navels. He’s been published in Chiron Review, Main Street Rag and dozens of other journals. Craig can be found on Bluesky.

Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?

My 81-year-old mother
watches her favorite gameshow
while I write this poem
in the laundry room
after calling in sick
to the bookstore where I work
three days a week
for ten dollars an hour.

Not me—

That’s
for damn sure.

Ben Newell lives in Mississippi where he works as a freelance writer and bookseller. He dropped out of the Bennington Writing Seminars during his first semester, eventually resuming his studies at Spalding University where he earned an MFA. He taught high school English for one day. 

Incognito-Glide

Climbing a (brand-new) Steeple
… ‘Absconding’
to return to myself,
and abseiling back into Strut.
3 fingers missing on his left
hand… we’re in the right place.
Shoelace with knots in
is called a ‘Kill Count Band’
… and, there’s NOTHING
clever about getting Caught…
Stripes are ‘Earned’ in Darkness.

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”, collection of shorter fiction “Kicking Back Drunk ‘Round The Candletree Graves”, and full-length poetry collections “The Dark Side Of British Poetry”, “It Is Big And It Is Clever”, “South Wales Outlaw”, “Uncivil Disobedience Is My Forte” and “The Gutter Symposium” are all available by Close To The Bone Publishing.

A line from Shane MacGowan

Behind an old wooden door
is a hallway handmade from
reclaimed timber, denailed by
hand with the help of WD-40

& olive oil. The character of
the wood is its essence; the
presence of knots may decrease
the strength of the wood but in-

creases that essence, highlight-
ing those lines that run in differ-
ent directions to overwhelm the
faded pictures in the hallway.

Mark Young’s new book, synecdoche, will be published by Sandy Press in mid-April. Several
poems from the pages of Fixator Press are included.

 

Thirsty Bones

I count the beer bottles
into the cupboard

Even numbers as always

Two paracetamol
and tired eyes

Just swollen sentiment

The rain makes mirror pools 
where it lands

and mud

It’s not really a choice
but I write it like that anyway 

only bad marrow

and little puddles
of aftertaste

Daniel Cartwright-Chaouki is a gardener and writer from Birmingham, England. He writes about trees and plants (mostly) and people (sometimes) and other unimportant things. His work has featured widely both in print and online including The Lake, Pulp Poets Press, 100subtexts Magazine, Fixator Press and The Cannon’s Mouth.

STRATOCASTER

Tune the guitar too tight
and the strings will break.
Jesus, Krishna, and Buddha
are hard acts to follow.

String the Strat too loose
and it won’t play. Give up
drinking before imitating
the lives of the Saints.

Philip Ash enjoys basking in past glories as well as carving out a present niche. To paraphrase J.G. Ballard, “Write like a madman, but have bourgeois habits.” His work has appeared in Beatnik Cowboy.  He lives in San Diego.

before we were jobless

we were lazy on Sundays
always pancake days
we’d mix and beat the batter heat
pans with butter pats and swirl cream
over lava cakes of banana and nut
eaten in high stacks
go right back to sleep

sundays were the only days
we could do that
mondays through saturdays,
one or both’d be up and at ‘em
at six sometimes five
yes-bosses aimed to beat
our sunday rituals flat
we were exhausted
but not-quite whipped
we’d wake at seven
make feasts for fools
eat to burst
fall back asleep
re-wake around noon
begin the day proper
now in your dad’s car

Brennan Thomas has published poetry in engine(idling, Rue Scribe, and Right Hand Pointing.  She currently resides in Pennsylvania and teaches creative writing at Saint Francis University. 

LIFE WITH THE OBITS

My father morosely turns the newspapers
straight to the obituaries.
That could be the guy he went to school with
or the girl who worked at the Five and Ten
so many years ago.

And there he is
picking at the names of the dead
like they’re scabs
and beneath, red and raw,
are the wounds of his own life.

But then he cheers up
because he’s found himself a wake to go to.
He can catch up with some friends
who haven’t died yet.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Midnight Mind, Novus and Calliope. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Levitate, White Wall Review and Willow Review.