They walk about the City Centre in the afternoons
getting in the road of every other decent cunt
who’s just trying to get to Cash Converter’s
and back to the Dealer’s door
without the entire world caving in, again.
Holding Argos sovereign-ringed hands,
sharing Poundland bags of ‘Haribo Mixes’
‘No, you have the heart one, my petal’
Move out of the way or I’ll punch you
right in the back of the fucking head, numpty!
Carrying bottles of Pepsi Max
around the place like it’s a pint of ale?
Filling McDonalds right up to the door
when you’re rushing in to get upstairs
with the beer-shits half hanging out of you.
(No one eats in there anyway…
except ‘Those People’, gangs of teenagers
who look too young to get into bars yet
and small children with stupid fucking parents!)
And bus queues… don’t even get me started…
Jesus Christ… Give Me Fucking Strength!!!
They’re always at the front and as slow as mildew,
they get there early with plenty of time to spare,
so they can index finger read the TV guide out loud
to their better half (Ha!) like it’s a fucking love sonnet.
Taking the piss is an understatement,
they were born and fucking bred to do it!
I’d pack up and move out to the Country,
but, I’ve already tried that, there’s nothing there,
except one pub to get ‘Barred For Life’ from
and lots of scenery until you’re fucking sick of it!
He couldn’t stay
in his beloved
and so he hitched
a ride to Texas
and was promptly hired
by EDS and rose up
the ranks of
that company and
and various members
of the Bush Family.
He was wildly
at company picnics!
(insert weapon onomatopoeia here)
and bought a house
on turtle creek.
he stuck a
“don’t mess with Texas”
sticker on his
(Texas don’t sell any other color)
and he got used to
but still Jesse missed
and his mother,
and he had sworn off
and cut back
on the whiskey
and so ol jesse-
he settled for
bud light beer
and he married
a former cheerleader
and just like
that the wild
Melanie Browne is a poet and fiction writer living in Texas. She has poetry at Madswirl, Bad Acid Poetry, In Between Hangovers and the now defunct Dead Snakes. She spends too much time looking at ghost photos on EBay, reading Wikipedia articles on old west Outlaws, and cataloging her fears for future generations.
I claim not to be attached to life
Each time something negative happens
I feel, bursting in me
Thousands and thousands
Ready to explode the world over
Ready to lament at their death
Ready to vent off their frustration!
Why, this life, have I learnt,
Of my motto
Have I made
To live as would a traveler
Enjoying myself as much as I can
While keeping in check with the codes and the laws
But then, I am also human
It becomes normal
To feel, to cry, to wish
To bite my lips
To swallow my gulps
To bear the wrenching of my heart
To exclaim in agony
To crease my forehead
And to pray for things to be as I want them to!
Implicates being made of fragility
Why, thankfully, I still have rails to grope on to
While I do walk my path!
Greetings from Mauritius. I am Anoucheka Gangabissoon, a Primary School Educator and a poet/author. My works have appeared both in print and in online blogs/anthologies.
4 reasons that I walk for three hours every day
1. Because otherwise, I might have to sit and think.
2. And if you sit and think, you think about dying.
3. And if you think about dying, then it might all seem pointless.
4. And if it all seems pointless then what would be the point in going for a walk.
4 reasons that writing is like walking three hours every day
1. Because keeping busy is keeping busy.
2. And if you’re keeping busy, then you’re not thinking about dying,
3. Because if you think about dying, then it might all seem pointless.
4. And if it all seems pointless then what would be the point in writing something like this?
If you give Jesus a cookie, will he stop crying?
Les Bohem has written a lot of movies and TV shows including Twenty Bucks, Daylight, Dante’s Peak, The Alamo and the mini-series, Taken which he wrote and executive produced with Steven Spielberg, and for which he won an Emmy award. He’s had songs recorded by Emmylou Harris, Randy Travis, Freddy Fender, Steve Gillette, Johnette Napolitano (of Concrete Blonde), and Alvin (of the Chipmunks.) His short novel, Flight 505, was published last year by UpperRubberBoot . His new album, “Moved to Duarte,” was just released on Jack Rabbit Day Records to much critical acclaim and no sales whatsoever.
The coat-hanger! he said, watch the coathanger!
Garments become it: become you.
The way you dangle your jacket. Drape
Your coiffure. Just you watch
The hat-rack! she said, watch the hatrack!
If it’s vacant the bandana accuses.
If not, what is it you hide? Is it distasteful?
There’s a quality here. Either way
Watch the two-sided coin.
The casket! they said, watch the casket!
Is it expensive? Is it humbling? Your
Manners seal the self. Watch
The splinters. Go! die directly on a Sunday.
Watch them love you for it –.
Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry, a novel & a libretto… tutored at The Institute of Modern Languages & worked with Arts Action for Peace. Of mixed ancestry [Irish/Italian/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was bourn in Queenslans, Australia. Her latest poetry title is “The Vanishing.”
She tries on shirts
at Old Navy
and I’m reminded of
banging his fist
indignant as a bluffing child
The world would be a far different place
if the Russkies hadn’t choked
in the 11th
A lot more marching,
a lot less McDonald’s.
I give her the thumbs up
with two shirts
and the thumbs down
with four others
and we head
Hoping the ladies of Russia
are buying shirts
that make their breasts look big
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.
His days no longer preoccupied
In search of prey
He hunches over chin to chest
Bony elbows rest atop arms
Of the iron chair
While wormy tubes
Feed body’s memory
Of a life spent
Once ambitious with testosterone
Houses muscle broken down
His skin waxy
Wraps fragile purple veins
Like white cellophane
Clogged with low-life living
The thorny weapon
Formally brandished to demean
In full retirement
Drains yellow waste
Into a bag
Between deadweight thighs
His once scheming leer
Imprisoned behind a catatonic trance
A drug induced slow dance
And unseeing eyes
That still refuse to blink
To those fallen too far
To find their way home
First published in 1997 by two important journals dealing with childhood sexual abuse, Cynthia Bryant has since been published in over 50 anthologies. Her poetry is on numerous websites, an e-book and she has recorded her poems for play on e-radio as well as community television. She served the community Pleasanton, CA as their poet laureate 2005-2007 and again in 2011-2013 Cynthia’s poetry books Sojourn, Pebbles in the Shoe as well as No Time to Shoot the Poets have recently been accepted in the new Ina Coolbrith Circle library section in Sacramento’s State Library’s Special Collections Reading Room.
will know, will do
what the ancient mountain tells
which spouts torrid waters, matching
with heavenly skies, yes only you
will wish that I was not born
into this cesspool of lies
as my face uncovers untruths, truths
of you, me and only you will decipher
how the snake hydra headed has a honeyed
accent of love, betrayal, as only you
can hold that mirror close to your heart.
Ananya S Guha ( 1957) lives in Shillong, in North East India. He has been writing poetry and publishing his poems over thirty years.
they need food just as much as I do
but for fuck sakes
I’m the one going out and buying the groceries
what’ve they ever done for me?
Jay Passer’s work has appeared online and in print since 1988. He lives and works in San Francisco, the city of his birth. His latest chap, Flower Omelette, co-authored with Misti Rainwater-Lites, is available from Lulu.
is it that easy
to second glance
and drop an invite
with room number
i will join you
on the bed
lay lady lay
and spread your legs
say goodbye to good sense
hello to STD
blow me a kiss from the bed
my fingers are poised
to flick it
as if a fly
back against the wall
sliding into my skirt
where did i put my phone
missing a shoe?
Katie Lewington is a UK based writer and has been drafting, editing and rewriting her bio since she started submitting to literary magazines and journals two years ago. It isn’t as if she doesn’t know who she is, she just isn’t sure what is relevant. Her creative writing can be read https://gumroad.com/katielewington She can be contacted through Twitter @idontwearahat