Disgust Even-Keeled My Compassion 

When you Shoot that (Vile) ‘Spite’
out into the World at large
… it becomes an Energy Bullet.
It often takes quite some time
to realize… that it passed right
through your very own foot first.
Salt-lined windows and doors
or ‘Protection Spells’
will not save you from Karma…
you’re like a child, blindfolded,
juggling spiritual Stanley knives…
with an insolent smirk upon a face
heading for Life’s Dunce’s Corner.
When that ‘Justice’ card falls…
and eventually it always does
… the ‘Plotters’ and ‘Schemers’
reveal themselves as the weakest
… and when those chickens
finally come back home to roost,
they arrive bearing EXPLOSIVES!

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.

Coolie

Liquid waves of concrete heat
stop solar plexus high –
knowing knees, callused feet
keep rhythm as battered wheels,
grind gravel on gritted teeth.

Bent and thinned, equinely poised,
the rickshaw stammers empty,
with an invisible foreign weight –
strong, tightened, sun-soaked slits,
like greedy huckster eyes,
dart fiercely through chaotic void
in quest of next pedestrian fares.

Far into the cool damp night
the journey never ceases,
predestined destination,
speaking to the street –
the constant dream is he as seated,
the jitney pulls itself,
the pilgrimage of every tourist’s night
illuminates, becomes his own.

Craig thinks of poetry as Hobo art. He loves story telling and the aesthetics of paper and pen. He has had two poems nominated for the Pushcart, and has a book of poetry, A Roomful of Navels. After a writing hiatus, he was recently published in Decadent Review, Chiron Review and several dozen other journals.

Lost

you still love me
this I know

possibly wearing tiger’s eye and onyx swiped from nocturnal transcendent carnal wandering
crashing into dawn mid-morning meditations

maybe a certain skull and crossbones scarf paired with an obnoxious trademark beanie

perhaps skimming books left behind

regardless of insight gained
it’s not a tragedy until someone cries and it’s most definitely not a comedy until somebody dies

meanwhile…
just here
removing
most the traces of you
bagged in a closet
to keep my sanity intact

Mike Zone is the Editor in Chief of Dumpster Fire Press, co-founder of Deadstar:Control,
manager of the band Tail From the Crypt and producer for the record label Paranormal Vinyl
Cassettes & Hair Xtensions. He is the author of: Wonderful Turbulence, Fuck You: A Fucking
Poetry Chap, & The Earth Was Shaking For Days and Shedding Dark Places (almost) along
with being the co-author of The Grind and Razorville. A frequent contributor to: Alien Buddha
Press and Mad Swirl. His work has been featured in: A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Horror Sleaze
Trash, Better Than Starbucks, Piker Press, Punk Noir Magazine, Synchronized Chaos and Cult
Culture Magazine.

Post C-19

Vanitases on the facade
bring to light
a familiarity that befogs me.
I look inward
to read a restlessness
I’m not accustomed to it.
Calm underwrites
the offshoot of uncertainty.
I see ciphers at the intersection.
A little further
the guerdon at gloaming.

(This poem originally appeared in Dreich Home poetry journal)

Sanjeev Sethi has authored seven books of poetry. His latest: Wrappings in Bespoke (The Hedgehog Poetry
Press, UK, 2022). He is published in over thirty countries. His poems are in more than 400 journals/
anthologies. He was recently conferred the 2023 Setu Award for Excellence. He lives in Mumbai, India.

Different Point of View

Picking at his wounds
wiping with his cash

all the hundred dollar bills
mean nothing anymore

living like a nomad
with a homemade fishing pole

river
pond
sea

free
from the dread of dying alone

living without a castle
like cowards in their tombs

he cracks his knuckles
and ties his hair back
polishing his front teeth
with his forefingers

grinning like a madman
but smarter than he’s ever been

he’s free
the wars are over

even in his head.

Stephen Jarrell Williams often starts a poem with his fist, and slowly opens it to the sky.  He is on (X) Twitter @papapoet.

this long road

mud and muck
our feet pull themselves
into next steps so many
sharp curves, cliffs paths
leading nowhere but
decay and sorrow

the wrecked poor working
out ways to eke out a living
fighting over nickels and dimes
showing off their latest purchase

why did we dream up fine
endings as we spun our days?
how could we ever believe
that delusion? listening to
cats howling at night, seeing
flowers die at first frost

there is only constant hunger
that stabbing pain in our bellies
which makes us join long lines
for this bitter harvest of our lives

Joan McNerney has been the recipient of three scholarships. She has recited
her work at the National Arts Club, New York City, State University of New York,
Oneonta, McNay Art Institute, San Antonio and the University of Houston,
Texas, Published worldwide in over thirty five countries, her work has appeared
in literary publications too numerous to mention. 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 release entitled Light
& Shadow explores the recent historic COVID pandemic.

Living in a fantasy

In awe at the bespoke process
itself, I am simulating a simple
boost converter by crocheting
a ripple afghan for my uncle —
ah, the struggles of the modern
working-class poor. Painted on

reloved wood our needs go un-
met even though the arches
have an aesthetic elegance to
them. Perhaps I should crochet
a border in navy. Will a too tight
fitting gig bag hurt my ukulele?

Mark Young was born in Aotearoa / New Zealand but now lives in a small town in North
Queensland in Australia. He has been publishing poetry for almost sixty-five years, & is the
author of more than sixty books, primarily text poetry but also including speculative fiction,
vispo, memoir, & art history. His most recent books are a free downloadable chapbook of
visuals & poems, Mercator Projected, published by Half Day Moon Press in August 2023 &
Ley Lines II, recently published by Sandy Press & available through Amazon.

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.