Archive for October, 2009

Poetry by William Taylor Jr.

Posted in William Taylor Jr. with tags on October 31, 2009 by Scot

These words

born of women
and men long gone
to dust

arrive through centuries
of darkness
to bring me light.

I hold the pages
in my hands

and dream of things
much bigger than death.

This Afternoon by William Taylor Jr.

Posted in William Taylor Jr. with tags on October 30, 2009 by Scot

I do my best to try  andwilliamtaylorjr
write some poetry
I am up and
down from the desk
pacing about the room
with a mug of cold coffee
to Charlie Parker
in my skull and
crossbones shorts
I sit down
type a line or two
then get up
and dance some more
I look out the window
and there’s a man in a lizard suit
across the street
the party store
he waves
I wave back
it’s a funny life.

As If Life Were Never Born by William Taylor Jr.

Posted in William Taylor Jr. with tags on October 29, 2009 by Scot

My heart is sad
and full today,
longing for something
to break upon.

I wander the streets
of this fabled city
and can only wonder,

where are the beautiful,
where are the mad?

Every face I meet, looking
as if life were never born;

the music of existence

and no one singing!


Posted in H.D. Moe with tags on October 23, 2009 by Scot

Woolgathering sweater girls
play tag in the electric dark
live animals their fur, growling ears
caught amazons in baby fuzz
stamping instant tattoos.
dueling with their blood
rituals of a fiery lampoon
jism ghosts on egg-ships stitching infant cross-outs
enigma igloos giggling to your work-a-haulic robotics
bubbling in on popsicle skyscrapers’ nod wink
grail-flag tucked in, adhered to the thread of its knife
cookie-cutting medieval order blanks & nunnery safe-deposits
let’s get a backfield of wicka roadmaps, handsome rivers
tolling see-thru opaques, embers’ leprechaun
therapy advancements big into fast
ringo mailbox, haptic crib, eyes, black pearls

factory pretty by Karl Koweski

Posted in Karl Koweski with tags on October 21, 2009 by Scot

Stephanie entered the factory
like a golden apple of Discordia
creating a tumultuous flurry
of combed hair and clean shirts

like the golden ring of Sauron
wedding bands were pocketed
facial hair sculpted, trimmed
or shaved off all together

at breaks, Stephanie, aloof
talked lovingly of her fiancee
engaged us in polite conversation
and ignored prolonged eye contact

outside the factory walls
we might not have noticed her
her quaint face and narrow hips
nose a bit crooked, eyes too big

inside the factory walls
we talked constantly about her
trading scraps of information
creating facts in lieu of truth

we thought about her at night
trapped in the Mordor of matrimony
fantasizing about freedoms
ten, twenty years behind us

later, talk turned to disappointments
she lined the cups of her
fiancée’s empty promises before us
we competed for the chance to pour

Stephanie radiated sex
began flaunting her tattoos
the cat’s eyes at her belt line
being my personal favorite

the strolls past her machine
progressed to an hourly procession
our eyes acclimated to
her factory beauty

her fiancee receded to punch line
our wives lost factory reality
when the dust settled, Jon,
the barrel welder, became her lover

news of his impending divorce spread
he discovered his swagger
we cursed his name and
wished testicular cancer upon him

Jon and Stephanie’s first night alone
Stephanie’s jilted fiancee
blew his brains out his ear
with a .38 to the temple

we treated Jon as though
he had pulled the trigger
punishing him for his one night
and the resulting factory swagger

Jon claimed innocence
looking as guilty as any man
who’s ever rode in a white Bronco
pistol pressed against cranium

a week after the funereal
Stephanie returned freshly tattooed
two ravens perched on a tombstone
bearing her fiancée’s numerical margins

we laughed and said if she’s
going to get a bird for every man
she buries in an early grave
she’ll end up a flesh aviary

I would like to be a
brightly colored macaw tattooed
on her left ass cheek
I think when she smiles at me

The Speak Easy

Posted in THE SPEAK EASY on October 20, 2009 by Scot

Rusty Truck:   If you could change one thing…?SpeakEasy01

Todd Moore:
I’m so used to this anarchy.  I’d be lost without it.

Chris Toll:
We’d live on a planet at peace where everybody had enough to eat and a roof over his or her head.

Bradley Mason Hamlin:
People shouldn’t have to work for the illusion of money.

Father Luke:
Nope. Nothing.

David Pointer:  I’d put political poetry back in the major newspapers and political poets would be included on political television shows-even Jon Stewart’s show.
Continue reading

AMERICAN DESTINY by Stephen Jarrell Williams

Posted in Stephen Jarrell Williams with tags on October 18, 2009 by Scot

Half the night listening to them
licking their fingers of barbequed chicken,

out my window they cover the earth
rolling their joints out of Bible pages
unafraid of dying,

a thousand tribes mingled and massed,
no remorse

America splitting,
tipping into two seas,

tearing down the middle: land, cities, people…

She made me tie her to the hood of my car,
naked and posing and laughing with speed

80 mph down the freeway
busting through tollbooths,
wind howling

going off the cliff believing she’ll sprout wings.

Public Transportation on LSD by August Bleed

Posted in August Bleed on October 15, 2009 by Scot

Thank god the government
doesn’t know how queer I am
here on the bus
dreaming about unicorns, sex,
and this invisible highway
trailing beneath us.

The giant toad
sitting opposite me
begins to speak fluent Chinese
while my friend
pokes at the eye
he claims is beligerently staring at him
from the leg of his trousers.

“Can you take too much of this stuff?”, he asks,
still poking at the invisible eyeball.
“No man…sounds like you took just enough.”
Suddenly the bus screams
with well-dressed young urchins
causing my synapses to drip.
Disgusting flavors
under the influence of gravity
burrow through my thought canals
like tiny vermin.

Christ, maybe I should be angry at god.

This lady got on.

She was dressing by degrees
in these Fahrenheit
and barometer goulashes.
I could feel the aura
of this offensive dress code
rising like a polyester thermometer.

And this lady, man,
this lady–
just looking at her
offered me visual proof
we were all bound for hell.

Jacking off on the internet by Father Luke

Posted in Father Luke with tags on October 13, 2009 by Scot


she and i talk on the internet from time to time
it’s worse than the next best thing

can’t hear
see or feel.

and all the happy horse shit of Instant Messages

all i want to do is to be able
to touch her hair

see her smile

hear her

taste her breath

i touch the screen,
then i touch myself

Three Poems by Sarah Ahmad

Posted in Sarah Ahmad with tags on October 11, 2009 by Scot


A glimpse of hope grows
Eyes a reminder of the soul

Youth of impatience
Formal communication falls
The question fades
Encounter of your own thoughts
Reality of existence met again

Passion that fails the frightened
Ideal window of experience

Passing through
the scarce fulfilment
of quivering dreams.


Failed to secure

Violence passed
Facing refusal
Face of venus is an immense factor

Reluctance owns the past
Applauding tirelessly
Challenges play a key role


Awaiting to move beyond

As the essential task tears
and falls
at their feet.


The Path

Extend and seize the hand
It is the reason for the assorted devils