Poetry.

Watching ping pong by Doug Sylver

Watching ping pong

Level is level either way
but lever, given
the opportunity
quickly turns into a party.

While my 1991 Civic
works great
in drive or reverse.



Doug Sylver’s writing can be found in Drifting Sands, The Sun Magazine, The New York
Times and Fixator Press, among other publications. He is a recently retired public high 
school teacher and lives with his love, Monica, in Seattle.

The linguistic fall by Julian Thumm

The linguistic fall

Aurora Borealis
& its strange, new meaning.
Ionization in the
magnetospheric plasma
the sky’s open eyes
the goddess of the dawn subsumed
now a palimpsestic trace.

What’s the point of trying to
immortalise these thoughts
with words that aren’t my own?
We all dip from the same linguistic well,
& everything said
has been better said
by minds & souls
with more depth
& the ability
— uncanny & otherworldly —
to harness more precisely
that harmony between
meaning & saying.

Nothing sets one’s words apart
from those of any others
besides, perhaps, those deviations
from the “real”
— infidelities & lies,
delusions & denials,
blind spots & wilful obscurities —
but they anchor me
— with cams & carabiners
belay-rappel devices —
to the sheer face
perilously perched
above the catacombs
of the first Christians.

Cartesian consciousness
is a lonely & desperate thing.
We all dip from the same deep well
but we dip to slake a thirst
like no other,
& water flows
to fill each vessel
& match its shape.

In the beginning was the word
& the word ‘came flesh
but the flesh falls
& all ends
in silence.



Julian is a fledgling poet from Melbourne, Australia. He studied literature and professional writing and now works as a corporate shill, selling his corrupted pen to the highest bidder. His poetry is an attempt to make sense of a lifetime of bad choices. He has been published in A Thin Slice of AnxietyThe Rye Whiskey Review, and Horror Sleaze Trash.  

Malamutes in the Rain by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Malamutes in the Rain
 
MacLean dug the knife into Spanish
with one long thrust.
The hate drove him, like a minivan
to a child’s soccer practise. 
 
A fear of falling stars 
and rice bottom bowls from tuning fork heaven.
The sour patch kids of lemon juice librettos.
 
Clout chasing sprinters out of the blocks.
It’s malamutes in the rain.
That spiked porcupine of wet fur.
A roll ball throne for the king of dust.



Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Fixator Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.

Censor by CJ The Tall Poet

Censor

Derailed by unsympathetic deliveries
Mending my dull midpoint
That owned a snail-like level speed
Gratitude as a safeguard stung me
Below par verbal communication
Scrutiny took a nosedive
Elasticity and some emolument
Fleeting footing produced by past abrasion encounters
Rancorous thoughts were often frequent
Gawking at forged reinforcements
A Family jungle filled with irregular black oaks
Censor all success classifications
This emotional peroration experienced a beheading



CJ The Tall Poet is a poet, digital artist, and author based in Chula Vista, California who’s currently attending Cal State University San Marcos for a degree in Literature and Writing.Their writing has appeared in The Drabble, Shortkidstories.com, Bardics-Anonymous, Dadakuku, Coalition-works, Journal of Expressive Writing, and redrosethorns.

The Critical Act by Oz Hardwick

The Critical Act

All weekend he sorted his stack of newspapers: first by
date, and then by disasters, which he subdivided into fact
and fiction. There were more involving mineshafts than he
remembered, though surprisingly few that involved feisty
collies with a near-human capacity for communication.
Tragedy on the high seas was particularly well-represented,
with a remarkable proportion declared unaccountable, and
given the number of airborne calamities reported on a daily
basis – from melting wings of wax and feathers, to space
capsules ambushed by gravity or alien raiders – it was a
minor miracle that none had crashed through his ceiling.
Each pile grew like an ungrounded rumour until two towers
leaned over him, blocking out the light. By Monday
morning, his eyes ached with grief and his arms ached with
the unexpected weight of words, but he felt that, for the first
time in his life, he could separate truth from lies.



Oz Hardwick is a poet, photographer, occasional musician, and accidental academic, whose most recent chapbook is Retrofuturism for the Dispossessed (Hedgehog, 2024). When not writing, Oz is a long-time dabbler on the fringes of the UK space rock scene, and Professor of Creative Writing at Leeds Trinity University.

Alphabetical by Sanjeev Sethi

Alphabetical

The saponaceous trail washes away another year.
I have no aptitude for auditing, so I let it continue.
Computation is a coarse way to live, though it has
many votaries. Filigree of family bypasses my
prostoon. I await a switch-over till prehension
dawns: In my craps, the dice capitulates. When
celestial beings collogue, why employ chiffers?



Sanjeev Sethi has authored eight books of poetry. His poetry has been published in over thirty-five
countries and has appeared in more than 500 journals, anthologies, and online literary venues. He
edited Dreich Planet #1 India, an anthology for Hybriddreich, Scotland. He is the joint winner of

the Full Fat Collection Competition-Deux, organized by Hedgehog Poetry Press, UK. He lives in
Mumbai, India.

Smiles by Bruce Morton

Smiles

Sometimes it is hard to tell
If it is really a smile or if
Just a toothy splash of smug
Taping the mouth open. Or,
Perhaps, a grimace, clenched
To bear, to kill, or even to endear.
Or, it may be, simply simple
Resignation to, or from, what.
Be it a smirk, or merely a quirk
Of mirth or a tense, ironic sneer.
We cannot know, only suspect.
There is decay behind the enamel
Veneer. But we smile to ourself.
We know it. Tight lips, and all that.



Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. He is the author of two poetry collections: Planet Mort (2024) and Simple Arithmetic & Other Artifices (2014). His poems have appeared in numerous online and print venues. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library.

After Aristotle by Mark Young

After Aristotle

The food & drink
provided is com-
posed chiefly of
silicates of somewhat

complex constitution,
but the increased flow
of gastric juices is a
viable vehicle for the

new generation of
young Athenian theater
students who delight
in performances

of sensation & pain.



Mark Young’s most recent book is The Magritte Poems, published by Sandy Press in October, 2024
A collection of a long-running trope, The Complete Post Person Poems, will be published
in the next few months, also from Sandy Press.

the dancing pig by Jennifer Choi

the dancing pig

confess, every night
was it inevitable this time too?

write down your statement
& let’s run away.

on the black mirror,
spin around
one pig runs away
but the pigs in the mirror stay
curling, biting each other’s tails,
dancing to the rhythm,
constantly drawing circles.

the pig sentenced to death
takes its last shit & runs
but no one chases.

like a heartbeat,
perfectly regular & unceasing.

i don’t want to shake hands,
it’s like parallel lines.

no forgiveness is needed.
i’m inherently a clean animal.
when i face my own belly button.

sometimes i shudder
at myself,
rolling in the mud
at the closest spot.



Jennifer Choi is a passionate high school student. Her work has previously been published or is forthcoming in Incandescent Review, Altered Reality Magazine, Academy of Heart and Mind, and Culterate Magazine among others.