Kill the President, Kiss the Cook by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

I am tired of many things –
of dogs dressed like people
and imitation crab
the victim card played forever
but I am most tired of hearing people
say they wish they were alive in the sixties,
nothing changed
and you’d be old enough now
to suffer from shingles.
And for those of you that were there,
how nice.
And all the king’s horses
and all the king’s men
couldn’t put Kennedy back


Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a happily unmarried proud father of none. His work can be found both in print and online. He has an affinity for dragonflies, discount tequila, and all things sarcastic.

Another Visit From The Muse by Howie Good

The grass was covered with the camp chairs and picnic blankets of the sort of spotty people who charge a fee just to read your poems. And I don’t need that. I thought of saying something, but there were so many youngsters running around, and more coming all the time, and most of them under the spell of happiness guaranteed. Days later, couples that had gone rowing on the pond were still feeling the effects of female Viagra in the water. Everyone has theories about who’s responsible. All I know is I couldn’t see where the light was coming in, I could only see it was, the green leaves almost too green.

Howie Good

Howie Good is the recipient of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry for his collection “Dangerous Acts Starring Unstable Elements”.

Castell-Nedd & Cymru by Paul Tristram

The way you sit back
within that green valley.
Tugging at my heartstrings
as I wander far and wide.
There is only one town
etched into my soul.
Every other place I go
I’m just a tourist visiting.
I miss her heartbeat
beneath my rover’s feet.
Her back alleys and footpaths
like arteries, alive
and pumping energy
back into this weary soul.
To have all your ancestry
and heritage contained
within one beautiful setting
is both magical
and overwhelming.
Your place of birth
is part of your DNA
and I’m riddled through
with Castell-Nedd & Cymru.

paul smoking - Copy

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories, sketches and photography published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight; this too may pass, yet. Buy his books ‘Scribblings Of A Madman’ (Lit Fest Press) ‘Poetry From The Nearest Barstool’ at And a split poetry book ‘The Raven And The Vagabond Heart’ with Bethany W Pope at You can also read his poems and stories here!



Basket Case by Vin Whitman

The news has folded inward
Has swept across the sky
Homes knocked like empty skulls
Together in a bruised neighborhood

Who has permission
To disappear from a loveless promise
To bypass the dead
Sex act of conjuring
A generational sinkhole
Raising daisies and babies
Without irony

Where did I learn to fear the laughter?
When I turned my back for
A moment, “art” was short for
While I slept words lost power
In so many mouths

Pottying in shallow rivulets
Trickles of intelligence leaked
From the main artery into the gulf
So full of petrol and profit
There’s no mistaking the groove
For anything but

Hell on Earth
Friends and neighbors deeply
While I invent the linear wheel
Rolling like a serpent looking for
The meat of its extremity

Vin Whitman

Vin Whitman is a writer, editor and radio programmer living in Sarasota, Florida. He likes needles, spiders and public speaking. His work can be found or is forthcoming at Yellow Chair, Rasputin, Section 8, Peeking Cat, Uut Poetry, and Crow Hollow.

Waging Peace by Mark Antony Rossi

My way of life
is under attack
By the enemies
Of Liberty.

I will find peace
On the other side
Of war.

Freedom is not free
It is purchased
With the blood
Of heroes.

Mark Antony Rossi’s poetry, criticism, fiction and photography have appeared in The Antigonish Review, Another Chicago Review, Bareback Magazine, Black Heart Review, Collages & Bricolages, Death Throes,  Ethical Spectacle, Gravel, Flash Fiction, Japanophile, On The Rusk, Purple Patch, Scrivener Creative Review, Sentiment Literary Journal, The Sacrificial ,Wild Quarterly and Yellow Chair Review.

The Last Child To Make It Out Alive by J.J. Campbell

save your bloody
tears for the few
left that actually
give a shit

broken bones and
lost dreams in the
eyes of the last
child to make it
out alive

someone is bound
to have the desire
to have another

who blinks first

someone always
loses the social

where is the movie
about the winner

the guy who always
gets the girl and then
raises the next nobel
prize winner while
discovering the cure
to whatever

and when they tell
you anything great
needs conflict you
can puff out your
chest and know you
are only a few steps
away from a magnificent

campbell bio


Abandonment by Gary Beck

Some of us moved
as far as possible
from nature,
surrounding ourselves
with illusory protection
of stone, concrete, steel,
until the occasional tree
is rarely noticed
in the daily pursuit
of livelihood.

Gary Beck

Gary Beck has 11 chapbooks. Poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press). Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways (Winter Goose Publishing), with 5 more accepted. His novels include: Extreme Change, Acts of Defiance and Flawed Connections. He currently lives in NYC.

Looking Forward by JD DeHart

Waiting for the toes
to dry.  Waiting
for the balding exterminator
to get my house
sprayed down in the sun.
Waiting for the dog to stop
barking, start speaking,
act for himself for once.
Waiting for the world to
(choke) become a better
place (something like that).
I realize I will wait a while,
then just return to my same
old activity of smarting off,
constructing metaphors
for ennui, waiting for a
heroic trumpet of insight.


JD DeHart is a writer and teacher. He has recently been nominated for Best of the Net, and his chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available on Amazon.

A Ten Question Interview With The Artist… John Hartley

Why do you write?

The information that triggered the Big Bang was encoded in all the matter that was subsequently created; if you write, sing, dance, paint, or simply pass on your genes you are communicating that bit of the information you have.  Stanislaw Lem said this a lot better than me in ‘His Master’s Voice’.  Alternatively, when aged nine years old in primary school I discovered I could write a bit I thought it might be an easy way to earn a living.  Writing never has earned me a living by the way.

What books do you read?

Right now a lot of literary theory and the novels of Hugh Walpole for a PhD; he wrote over thirty books, I’ve read quite a few of them but I’ve still a way to go.

What inspires you?

Art inspires me a lot and seeing stuff about the 1960s; I was too young to participate in what still seems to have been an outpouring of creativity at that time but old enough to be aware of it.

How did you know you wanted to be a writer and when?

At primary school I wrote a story that got a lot of attention and even a bit of preferential treatment I’m guessing that had something to do with it.

How do you deal with rejection?

I sulk.  To be honest I’m never completely happy with stuff I’ve written so I can totally understand if an editor feels that way too.

Who are some writers you admire?

I went through phases of latching onto writers and reading as much of their stuff as I could.  Science Fiction in my early teens, all the usual suspects, Asimov, Heinlein, Andre Norton was a favourite then too.  Then Alistair Maclean and Anthony Burgess in my mid-teens.  I was unemployed for a bit at the end of the 70s and used to work my way through the mobile library.  Stanislaw Lem and Milan Kundera around that time too, I read pretty much everything J G Ballard brought out.  My favourite books of all time are Moorcock’s ‘Jerry Cornelius’ fables, and Hunter S Thompson’s ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’.  I read a lot of non-fiction now, I quite like biographies.  When I was writing a lot in the 80s I followed writers I shared space with in the small press, like Steve Sneyd and Andy Darlington.  I pretty much admire anyone who can get published within genres I admire.

Is writing the only artistic medium you do?

Yes.  I’d love to be able to paint or play an instrument but I’ve no patience and I’m notoriously lazy.  I used to create collage but that period of my life seems to have been tied up with recreational drug use, and when that stopped so did that particular form of inspiration.

What would be some advice you would give to your younger self?

Don’t down that optics cocktail.

Do you have any advice for other writers?

I’m the last person to give anyone any advice, except for the preceding question, that would have been good advice.

What is your writing process?

It doesn’t come as easily as it used to.  I worked as a postman and the ideas used to crowd in while I did my delivery.  I dried up for a long time after my kids were born; no act of artistic creation seemed to quite match that one.  I hoped I might discover a ‘mature’ style but it doesn’t appear to have happened yet.  I wrestle with stuff then cast it aside and then maybe come back and try to make it appear less forced.

John Hartley

John Hartley published quite a bit of Science Fiction themed poetry and prose throughout the 80s and 90s, and still has the magazines and the unsold collections to prove it. For the poetry he writes now he stares at people on trains and dredges up embarrassing incidents from his own youth.



Fractal Identity, Mandelbrot Set and William Blake by Sudeep Adhikari

Last night I dreamt of a serpent
folded at its half and stitched together
the tail nearly touching its mouth
almost an Ouroboros,
an eternity, yet to be realized
I am.
when Unthought breathes
my mind dreams in the language
of archaic myths, and symbols
which are made of Buddha
and Christ’s bones.

and there was a beautiful Mandelbrot set
in a dark bluish shade
I kept zooming in
to find the same pattern,
self-reflecting, self-aware.
I am the infinity
bounded by the finite contours
One, without time
yet multiple shades of

When a unitary soul
weaves multiple manifold
Godhead seamlessly coincides
with the most ordinary
you are the infinity when you dream
and a fraction when you act;
an inexact space of
Coincidentia Oppositorium
where darkness is as real as the Light.

And that
what I call, The  Fractal Identity
a fragment reflecting the entire whole
And I remember Blake,
seeing the world in a grain of sand
when his Eternity and an hour
became a singular One.

Sudeep Adhikari

Sudeep Adhikari, from Kathmandu Nepal, considers poetry to be an impersonal act, largely deriving its content from unconscious psychic undergrounds. His works have recently been featured in Verse-Virtual, Arlington Literary Journal, Zombie Logic Review, DEAD SNAKES, UFO Gigolo, Literary Yard, The Peregrine Muse and Soul-Lit Magazine.