Daily Archives: August 14, 2011


“Neon Rain” by Robert Lyons

In all honesty,
I don't really know why I hit him.
It's all a blur,
Like some partially remembered past life.
I was swept up in the haze of the clubs bass,
My heart dropping with the beat
And burning away with every swift glance I took of her.
It was a lot like looking into the sun.
My eyes would collapse
And I knew if I kept looking
I would never see light again.
I would never see anything again.
Everyone is jumping and dancing,
Howling and shouting;
Using the noise to cover up everything inside them.
The rain of lights merged together in perfect harmony
With the thunder of the DJ
Neon flares coming down from the skies
To mask
And out glow the fires of our young hearts.
The strobe flashes as I fail to fight the urge to look back at her.
Her bony hand sliding across his hard abs:
Her golden hair brushing his face.
I'd seen it all before,
But how her eyes flashed in the light.
Blue,
Blue like the sea,
Blue like the sky,
Blue like me.
I could feel this gaping hole growing inside me.
I wanted to destroy every single canvas that lined the walls.
I wanted to destroy everything beautiful
I would never have.
Like a cancer,
It spread throughout my body.
My hair stood on end,
And my fist,
Perfect like a god,
Trembled.
I felt a hand reach out for my shoulder.
It felt so heavy.
I was sinking deeper and deeper into some kind of tar bog.
That moment could not be preserved.
It had to go.
Those feelings,
That hatred,
Could no longer contain itself in me,
And I'd be damned
To bury it any deeper in an already crowded grave.
So I snapped.
I only remember the sting of the punch,
The pain,
And feeling my heart in my knuckles.
Everything went black.
I finally came to with the sounds of silence.
The music had stopped.
The lights dialed down,
And greeted by fifty blank faces
Paler than a strobe.
Their mouths hung open
Like some kind of retarded in-bred baby.
I could feel something crawling on me.
It was moist and thick.
I looked down,
My head filled with cement,
And my eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.
Blood.
There was blood everywhere.
Thick
And far too black than it was supposed to be.
At my feet,
He laid,
Squirming like a fish on a hook.
I don't know his name,
Or anything about him.
I'd never met him before in my life.
He wasn't a stranger though.
There was something in him I recognized,
Something familiar,
But distant.
I wasn't sure what it was just quite yet.
I'm sorry,
Annabel,
But someone was going to get hurt.
It was inevitable.
There were too many bombs dropped.
Fragmentation
Spreads faster than a wildfire,
And there will be civilian casualties.
Pieces of you and I lodged into them forever:
A wound that would never stop bleeding.
The only mistake he ever made
Was being within the blast radius,
And he won't soon forget what pain feels like.
What love feels like.
Our diary
Written through the scars
He will wake up to every morning.
Our love will spread like a disease
Through our hatred.
Passing on to everyone we meet.
A chain being fused link by link.
That boy,
Bleeding and twitching at my feet,
Used to be me.
This is our immortality.
This is our love everlasting.

Poetry Gallery # 6 FULL! :-)

I’ve been so busy working on chapbooks and worrying about live events (more on that another day) that I’ve fallen quite behind on the online galleries’ submission queue. I was shocked to discover today that the Poetry 6 gallery had gone over 1000 pages!

The Poetry 7 gallery is now open and all new online poetry publications will be placed there. :-)


“Old Dan Barrington” by SE Still

Old Dan Barrington never married.
Struck by enlightenment, a glimpse,
he'd looked into his young beloved's sweet, warm
eyes, gentle smile just for him
and was reduced to tears
in a split, second look
into the future: marbled icy glare
with fuming furrowed brows become -
an ex-wife.
Now, Old Dan's seared, lonely soul mutters
through the years, "but what was in between?"

“Great Lost Night ” by Hunter Thomas

It was a strange night of empty feelings
Walls stained with fear and high ceilings
What became of the young man's dealings?
The dark, empty night faded into oblivion
The morning sun rose in the hazy distance
The man climbed out of his barren existence
Threw on his clothes without the slightest assistance
And walked out the door
Stricken by sin, marauded and miserable he fled
The war was fought and he was dead.

“Road of the Weary” by J.L. Pendall

Have you ever looked strange to yourself?
Sometimes I think that I'm deformed
A hideous creature that yearns
To be freed from this form

Have ever worried too much about a minor pain?
I do it myself, every single day
Every headache's a tumor
Every feeling's a delusion

Have you ever had a swinging mood?
I'm a different man each time I wake
My periods of darkness and light
Are patterns in this mind

There is a curse in my family
Passed down through the blood
Our brains can be consumed in fantasy
Paranoia, delusions, and gloom

This curse in me can be a blessing
I walk the crumbling edge between
Reason and insanity
Here I have found beauty

“The Medals” by Lawrence William Barrett

What is it a proud man brings
To America of praises in rings
Of bells wakening up the land
That studied Homer and the deeds of man?

A war tragedy then sorrow
For children are thoughts for tomorrow
Honor was won for many soldiers of men of pride
As when men fought side by side

Viet Nam was a war clashing
A world back home saw hope passing
Words to make a verified peace
From bodies alive bullets did not reach

America had known oh too well
Today in the world of diplomacy to dwell
A Memorial Wall of Viet Nam in our homeland
Having hoped we made a final stand

Honor us receiving Medals of Glory
Praised had in July Fourth awarded
As Presidents of the military were supported
Now torches once passed Peace to defend

What did these Medals bring?
Peace and Pride and Honor at last Praising

“The Public Opinion” by jklough

I am what is wrong with this country
Or so I thought until I had to die
To get medical insurance; after working
Four and a half decades, paying
Into the system, taxes and everything
Else, I was left to fend for my self;
With a pre-existing condition of heart
Disease, it did matter for all the thoughts
And knowledge I had in my mind, for all
The mornings of getting up and being
A follower of the zero median time
Schedule despite my natural biological
Functions trying to relate to the earth,
I may as well have been a vacant house
Or the soul of road killed deer or raccoon;
So soon my attitudes changed against
The ruling class of politicians, out
For themselves and not much the nation;
Everyone seems to have known how
It's been for years but the people still
Believe that maybe on a week day
With no particular reason or fate, some
One will say no more for them
And show them their predecessors' destiny,
Somewhere in hell or whatever is below it.

“Insignificant?” by Cody Keller

Bitter is the winter in which our tears stream to the heel
The haze shrouds even the rusted color tightening the room
Up above, sorrow and insignificance frenzy to the loud speaker
Constrict even the breath desiccated lungs leach from.
Escaping death past a clear needle hunting that crimson vain
Tick after tick, the unsettled screams form a cities gathered mouth
Day after day, my mind is tip toeing on an arctic fringe
Somewhere distant, yet close
Maybe above the towering phlegm stack rising to cotton seats
And when a caged hum slips from a bird, shrieking alleys clutter below.
Maybe everything shatters in the fog
Because thievery shows underneath the street
Not to walk on cracked bricks, and bricked cracks.
Set your wandered eye to the belly of machines
Deep with darkness,
And I have fallen into the abyss:
Tricky key in my pocket
Weathered eyelash falls off.

“Sunshine Soul” by Amy Hikel

I see the sun in nature
touching whole mountainsides,
lighting the dimmest of caverns
and warming the emptiest of caves.

But today I saw the sun;
I saw it in a pair of wide, golden eyes
searching the shadiest of souls.
Today, I saw the sunlight,
pouring out from a pair of lips,
entering the most hollow of humans.
Today, the sun shone through,
penetrating dense epithelial walls
from one lighted cavern to another;
I witnessed it reverberate
into the sullen atmosphere-
an atmosphere so prone to darkness,
darkness that peers from inside
and that pours outside.

I was shocked;
what's worse, I was confounded.
Beauty never shines quite so bright.
Love never shines like the sun.

“A Minute After Midnight” by Jake Rosendale

A plague blew up from Hollywood
masked in glitter and plastic,
swallowed readily by
them on the lines.

We coughed and hacked,
sick and decrepit marred by sores,
on our palms, on our faces.
Varicose veins covered our legs and arms,
but still we demanded more.

The wind blew from
Seattle to St. Petersburg,
Bali to Bejing.
We became like stray dogs,
fawning over them who didn't care
we existed.

Soon those who could, stood
and departed
flew away on gold and power
with the promise that they
would make us a better life.

What remained of Tinseltown
came to realize that every soul that could
would still swallow.

The gilded wind never stopped.

Then from the ocean and the air
those who were cast off returned
to say few words.
They repelled the glitter air
with soft whispers and a pale mirror
that showed simple truths to those who could
still crawl.

Few could.

Now it's a minute after midnight.
All the graves have been
dug and the dirges all sung.
There's been a new birth,
with blood and pain but the profound
joy and sadness that comes with unbridled possibility.

Gone are Creamsicile Summers and Hot Chocolate winters.

This is a world where the constellations are
the space between the stars.

But Dawn carries agony and ecstasy
on her slender shoulders,
there are already flecks of gold in the air.

But no man alive can say there is a world
worth having except for this one,
now at a minute after midnight.

“When the Animals Cried” by SE Still

And the red-winged blackbirds, 5000 strong,
fell in the night, netted mid-air,
blanketing the earth.

Then the white fishes rose, rivers pushing up
their dead legions, like a coverlet pulled snug
over the face of the living waters.

Some men cried, "God's wrath!" Others re-called
old Chief Joseph, men of science reasoned – just fireworks
reoccurring nature; their disagreements all agreed: Man-"kind."

And then the echo of Old Chief Joseph, "What happens
to the animals, happens to man." Men watched in
awe-struck horror the oceans claim their own the world over.

“Innocence” by Lawrence William Barrett

A young bold boy of truth
Had answers held in his youth
Who listens and reads about age.
This, a mother's love shiningly made.

His innocence is dear to her heart
Though he suffers constant, never apart
Until the often held old American dream
Of sharing the passing of genes.

He was called by life to master,
The clever old stone sage's stature.
They as statues, speak without speaking
And say lose your virtue only in taking.
For children who grow after December,
That what in life is gained forever,
Is shared by sages as clever.

Newly born boy, this time
As teens grow older in life's climb,
Try to think it's never over,
Of innocence growing older.

“Richbourgh” by Darryl Davis

The sun strikes noon through the elms
and we repose beneath their parasol,
chewing reverend silence with our back teeth
daisies clutched, salting a boulder with our hides,
one small enough to conquer but colossal
enough that our toes blow raspberries
at the thirsting milkweed below.

As much boulders as we were explorers,
these chunked quartz and lime measures
in a requiem for a simpler time
when broad men cobbled fortune,
drifting in any direction they chose
and reinventing themselves.

Olive trees could be wrenched by the roots
and stamped anywhere, their leaves
no less stiff, blood and sweat no less
fertile even when imbibed by arid chalk.
One plus one equalled two for but an instant,
men were disposable, women were grainy
and structures were temporally eternal.

Before us, the wind taps cat tails in Introitus,
Kyrie whistles through doors never dreamt of,
the Agnus Dei grazes upon the broad grass
rolling out of trenches which now contain
rather than repel, only the frame remains.

From our perch, we let our petals scatter,
remembrance of a time which bore us and wilted,
our candle lit across the pebbled earth.

“Make A Wish” by Darryl Davis

Come here...

...right here.

Drag your chair next to mine
and let me fill your glass
with tempered Trappist
and the glow of a dying day.

Or is it rather a birth
we should be celebrating?

What time is it?
I left my watch in June.

Let's just say it's time
for a birth, shall we?

This calls for champagne...
...in a minute.

For now,
just cup me like you would
your glass, warm me,
erase my chill,
ignore my trembling hands
and eyes awash with the moment.

A birth makes everyone smile.

You may blow out the candle now.