Daily Archives: December 24, 2016


“My Chest X-ray” by Joe Bisicchia

What constellation,
what stardust fireworks,
what dying star, black hole,
what light travels
deep to my soul?

 

Come see and be lost in me.

 

Find space where we may share
a breath of universe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared spiritual dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in Sheepshead Review, Balloons Lit Journal, The Inflectionist Review, Black Heart Magazine, Dark Matter Journal, Poets Collectives Anthologies, and others. The current public affairs professional in New Jersey is a former award winning television host who also taught high school English. He also co-invented an award winning family card game.  www.widewide.world


“Q&A With a Sleeping Monster” by Holly Day

reclining in his midnight coffin
satin forms his favorite
pillow, elvin frail and pale
as death—”what’s happened to my son?” she

 

screams and tries to look behind the smile
the eyes, so tightly closed she pulls the
lids apart in hopes of finding answers
to questions she should never ask.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Holly Day has taught writing classes at the Loft Literary Center in Minnesota since 2000. Her published books include Music Theory for Dummies, Music Composition for Dummies, Guitar All-in-One for Dummies, Piano All-in-One for Dummies, Walking Twin Cities, Insider’s Guide to the Twin Cities, Nordeast Minneapolis: A History, and The Book Of, while her poetry has recently appeared in Oyez Review, SLAB, and Gargoyle. Her newest poetry book, Ugly Girl, just came out from Shoe Music Press.


“Flour, Water, Love” by Daniel Lombardi

Water.
A lake upon a fire.
This lake lies undisturbed.
The still begins to boil.
A bubbling cauldron;
Now its time for pasta.

 

The swirling, knotted shapes,
Cascading into warmth.
Each piece is kissed by time,
Made soft by water’s hold.
A spoon dips in, for taste.
Perfect.

 

Drained.
Wisps of steam escaping,
Unfurling up with haste,
Eager to float away.
Fragrance wafts through senses,
Back from an older time.

 

Smells to thoughts to mem’ries:
Back in a house in Queens,
Another pot was boiled,
By Nana’s caring hands.
Moving with tasked purpose,
Sprinkling crystals of salt,
Soon.

 

Ready.
The tender butter melts,
Fusing in love and care.
The bowl is lowered down,
A smile on her face.

 

And suddenly I’m back.
And mom hands me the bowl.
As when I was a boy,
Delish’ and meaningful
Yum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daniel Lombardi is an aspiring graphic designer and guitarist from Morristown, NJ.


“Renoir’s Women” by John Grey

Renoir’s women,
fulsome and draped in pink,
their nakedness, less undraped
than lifted out of
the clothing-slighted body

 

Unlike the older masters,
the pores are done away with,
no veins, no sinews beneath the skin,
just light.

 

Reflection is swathed in a blanket.
Exuberance bathes in the sea.
Gentleness fixes its hair.
Innocence lifts the whitest of legs
over the edge of a tub.

 

I’m as close as the stillness
around their lips and breasts.
I could almost… but I can never…
my favorite situation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in New Plains Review, Perceptions, and the anthology No Achilles, with work upcoming in Big Muddy Review, Gargoyle, Coal City Review, and Nebo.


“The College Caravan” by E.V. Wyler

Last night we loaded the minivan with her
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chest of plastic drawers
stuffed with clothing, toiletries, school supplies, and posters.
While our vehicle is tightly packed, her room stands hollow;
drained of stuff and spirit, except for the furniture she left behind
like the last icicle melting unnoticed in the spring thaw.
Morning’s excitement, today’s foreseen guest, found her passkey
so early, she displaced the alarm clock, announcing her presence.
On the verge of adventure, our cramped van vacates the driveway,
eager to meet the other jammed vehicles joining our journey.
Sporadic chatter splinters moments of spurned monotony,
spanning the miles amassing in our rearview mirror until…
A hatchback hauling a heavy load leads our line exiting for the rest
stop, where the parking lot hosts vehicle after vehicle stuffed with
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, and chests of plastic drawers…
Our re-entry acceleration runs smoothly, courtesy of a
clamshell-covered car graciously slowing to permit our advance.
From sedans to SUVs, the right lane is flush with fenders and
families, forming a cohesive chain whose links approach “The Exit”
signaling for the deceleration lane.  The college caravan, flowing
onto the exit ramp and through the green light, turns and winds
along Main Street.  As the minivans, hatchbacks, clamshell-covered
cars, and SUVs pour onto college campus USA, they’re carrying
suitcases, Rubbermaid vats, chests of plastic drawers,
and, of course, the proud, nervous parents…
escorting the Freshman Class of 2015.

 

 

 

 

 

E.V. “Beth” Wyler is a middle-aged homemaker and poet who lives in New Jersey with 3 children, 3 cats, 2 beta fish, and her husband, Richard. Her poems have been featured in The Storyteller, WestWard Quarterly, Feelings of the Heart, Nuthouse, The Pine Times, The Pink Chameleon, and The Rotary Dial.


“Individualism” by Gary Beck

The Information Age
allows us to march
to the beat of a different drum,
as long as we purchase
the same goods and services
as everyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director, and as an art dealer when he couldn’t make a living in theater. His poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press); Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press); Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines and Tremors (Winter Goose Publishing); and Conditioned Response (Nazar Look). His published novels include: Extreme Change (Cogwheel Press), Acts of Defiance (Artema Press), and Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing), as well as his short story collection, A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications). His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes, and Sophocles have been produced off Broadway. His poetry, fiction, and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.


“Some Call It Passion” by Scott Thomas Outlar

Bleed for me
a dying wish
of life that will never be
while I comfort you
as best I can
and pretend
that your madness is beautiful

 

Sleep beside me
in broken dreams
that haunt and linger with chaos
while I stay awake
for days on end
and laugh
as each neuron snaps in turn

 

Scream at me
with vicious tongue
your anger and your sadness
while I drift softly
through the shadows
and crawl
into the next wave of entropy

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scott Thomas Outlar spends the hours flowing and fluxing with the ever-changing currents of the Tao River while laughing at and/or weeping over life’s existential nature. His chapbook Songs of a Dissident is available from Transcendent Zero Press, and his words have appeared recently in venues such as Words Surfacing, Yellow Chair Review, Dissident Voice, Section 8 Magazine, and Void Magazine17numa.wordpress.com


“Second Hand Chance” by Colleen Redman

I’ve written this poem before
It’s like a movie I saw when I was young
that I can’t remember the end to

 

There’s a worn pathway that’s easy to find
but there’s also amnesia
and I can’t take my eyes off
the point of remembering
as it is happening again

 

I flip TV channels
while the monarch butterflies
fly 3,000 miles fighting weather
and songbirds raise their pitch
to be heard above the human chatter

 

Second movies are like second teeth
We call second round children grand
because they bring a second wind
to the lucid dream of life

 

Some of us will have second childhoods
Our car keys will be taken away
We’ll eat too much sugar
and walk around in one slipper

 

I’ve written this poem before
I’ve written this poem before
But I can’t remember the end

 

 

 

 

 

 

Colleen Redman writes and provides photography for The Floyd Press newspaper in Virginia. Her poems have appeared in Mothering Magazine, We’moon Journal, Floyd County Moonshine, and Artemis Journal. Online publications that have featured her poetry include Della Donna, Poetry24, and Clutching at Straws. She blogs daily at looseleafnotes.com. “Dear Abby, How can I get rid of freckles?” was her first published piece at the age of 11.


“Beyond this Cancer” by Joe Bisicchia

Beyond this cancer

 

You love me.

 

All of me.
Despite the parts that are not me.

 

Erase
all that was and find what is
always ready to be made.

 

Soon,
so much drifts away.

 

Not us.

 

We shall stay.

 

Love is built that way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Joe Bisicchia writes of our shared spiritual dynamic. An Honorable Mention recipient for the Fernando Rielo XXXII World Prize for Mystical Poetry, his works have appeared in Sheepshead Review, Balloons Lit Journal, The Inflectionist Review, Black Heart Magazine, Dark Matter Journal, Poets Collectives Anthologies, and others. The current public affairs professional in New Jersey is a former award winning television host who also taught high school English. He also co-invented an award winning family card game.  www.widewide.world


“Worry” by Bob Lind

What if I open the door and find
My home full of snakes?
What then?
Hundreds of serpents,
Slithering around every room.
Rude serpents at that.
What if I ask them to leave and they won’t?
What then? What, I ask you.

 

I suppose I can hire a gang of mongooses (mongeese?)
To come and chomp down on them.
That will solve it.

 

But where will I get the money?
Do mongeese even care about money?
And what if the mongoose gang likes my place
And moves in?
What if they leave the cap off the toothpaste
And dump their ashes in the butter dish,
Stuff like that?
What then? What then?

 

I can buy a gun and shoot them.
But there’s a three-day waiting period.
Three days of abiding with sharp-tooth rodents
Who probably don’t like me to begin with.

 

And when I do get the gun and shoot them all,
My place will be full of bullet holes. (I’m not a good shot.)
The neighbors will call the cops about the noise.
Maybe there’s even some kind of
Anti-weasel-shooting ordinance in the city
That extends to mongeese.

 

I’ll get thrown in jail.
What if the jail cell is full of crocodiles?
What then?

I suppose I can bribe a guard to get me some croc poison.
I’ll sell my gun and remaining bullets to get the money.
I guess that will solve it.

 

Man I feel relieved.
It never hurts to be prepared.

 

But what if the crocs outbid me and the guard poisons me instead?

 

I’ll have to think about this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bob Lind is a musician whose songs have been covered by more than 200 artists, including: Cher, Aretha Franklin, Eric Clapton, Marianne Faithful, Glen Campbell, Kingston Trio, Dolly Parton, and Nancy Sinatra. His lyrics have been taught in colleges and universities throughout the U.S. and Canada.  He won the Florida Screenwriters Competition with his script Refuge.  He won the Southern California Motion Picture Council’s Bronze Halo Award for his play The Sculptors.  He also has poetry published in Iodine Poetry Journalwww.BobLind.com