That Look by Norma Jean Demaggio

I catch your eye as we both walk down the street,
going the opposite way from each other.
Oh I know that look well,
you are thinking of us tangled
in the sheets, sweaty and tired.
I think we should keep our shoes on when we fuck
so we can both run away afterwards
Or how about leaving our clothes on so the getaway
is that much quicker, for you see I already feel
the disappointment and lonely setting in
Or we could just skip this all together
and keep going on our separate ways
All this goes through my mind in a flash
as I lower my eyes and move on past

Dewitt Smith Responds to His Ex-Wife’s Question of Do you miss me? by Curtis Dunlap

I don’t miss the stench
that greeted me at the door
after a day at work,
the dog shit and piss
accumulating gnats
I waved away
from my wine glass,
or my pleas
for you
to help me clean our home
while you slyly managed
to find something else
to do.

I don’t miss your touch
when you wanted sex,
or the way I cringed
when you tried to
woo me
into your filthy bed
I abandoned
a decade ago.

I don’t miss your cooking.
Pouring a jar
of store-bought Alfredo Sauce
over hamburger and noodles
does not constitute
a home cooked meal.

I don’t miss the way
you sat at the computer
chatting-up an
affair into the wee hours,
your fingers rapidly tapping
a cipher
of family deconstruction,
or your negligence
toward our children,
the ball games you missed,
your reply of “Go ask your father!”
when one of our children wanted
you
to fix them something to eat while
I studied for a test
or worked on a paper
for school.

I don’t miss having
to makes excuses for you
when your boss called
wanting to know
why you missed work.

I don’t miss your indifference,
the way you sat at the computer
with your back to me
when I told you
I was leaving,
or how quickly
I became
a Facebook status.

 

Log out by Virginie Colline

Dear Winter,
This cold is not right for us.
We wish you the best of luck
placing your mishmash elsewhere.

 

The Sad Flight of the Boy from Tuberculosis Ward by Jay Coral

the boy with the weak chest
is whipped by the cold wind
he coughs but he tells himself
he will not lie back
he will talk to the nurse with
the buxom breast and clean lung
he will tell her the secrets of the turnips
and other crops under the damp earth
it will be no mystery, the organic
budding of love’s carbon from within
and elements conquered by resolved
she will feign interest out of nicety and
though the pea particle in her brain will sleep
he has flamboyance in his breath
to waste, he has nothing to lose
no shame on a chemistry being upturned
the dry ditch in his lung will catch
the muddy circles around her depthless eyes.

sometimes sundays are for remembering those that came before……. todd moore, scott wannberg, & hugh fox

Scott Wannberg

Hugh Fox

Futuring by Hugh Fox
–Posted  on July 5, 2010

Empty out the earth,
balanced weightwise between
solarity and outer nothingness
(until we find another sun), laptop
library, books?, walking down the
text-messaging dog-walk streets,
turning my living room into Iraq,
Chicago, wrestling time, and
keep looking at those (billions)
stocks as long as they are
(no touch with real realities)
still stockable.

todd moore

when the

wolf
discovered
its legs
had been
shot off
it lay
on its
side in
the long
night of
snow
& began
to tell
stories from
way
back in
the eyes

–Todd Moore

call for submissions

Submit poems for a special issue about or in the tradition of Richard Brautigan…

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rustytruckzine@gmail.com

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(sketch by fn wright)

Finding gold & the art of publishing with Brian Morrisey

Scot:  Why did you start and how long have you been publishing Poesy?

Brian:   I started Poesy after I found a magazine on my friend’s floor during my 8th grade summer in 1989. The magazine was called Factsheet Five and it was a ‘zine review. My friend showed me these ‘zines he bought after finding them through Factsheet Five and I was amazed at the ultimate form of creative expression within these mags. Being introduced to the world of the small press was really mind-blowing for me as a weird fourteen year-old kid growing up in New Hampshire. People were having a real voice and publishing whatever they wanted to. It was the ultimate vessel of free speech I longed for. I was writing poems at the time on a personal level and sending them out, but no one was taking them. I was tired of reading bland poetry publications and gathered some poems and art of my friends who were also writing poetry and decided to start Poesy. Oddly, I didn’t put any of my own poetry in the magazine. I found it so cool just to be the editor.

I found the word Poesy after fumbling through the dictionary looking for some type of word to express what was to be the basis of my magazine and found Poesy, by definition, the art of writing poems. I believe the word has amazing chi that has carried me through the years of internal struggles that were always hard to vocalize effectively. The first issue of Poesy was published in June 1990. There is a picture of Gumby riding a dinosaur on the cover.

Scot:  In reference to poetry during that time span, what has changed?

Brian:  As far as submissions go, the biggest change I have seen over the years (which has been the basis for my acceptances) is I see more story-telling with a lack of intense feeling ignited by descriptive imagery. It is more common than it was 10-15 years ago. There is not much wordplay anymore or general interest in words alone. The focus tends to be the poem as a whole rather than focusing on word selection and tightening each line of poem to get to the meat of the image to achieve ultimate focus.

I have seen the slam movement get big and work its way into mainstream society. I have seen poetry leave the page and countless presses fold and poems revived on websites, myspace, Facebook, youtube, etc. But print will always be my focus and basis for the art of publishing.
I haven’t seen anything though… I am only 36 and still anticipate adapting to a lot of change until I am ready to throw in the towel. There are a lot of people who have had a lot more than my 22 years of experience (4 of which Poesy was a radio show and not in print). They have probably seen more drastic changes than I have, but yeah… it has been interesting and at the same time frustrating to adapt to the changes.

Scot:  When it comes to publishing–what keeps you motivated?

Brian:  When I read a poem that makes my head spin it is so good. To me it is like finding gold. It is so beautiful to find a great poem that speaks to me and gets my blood flowing again. The poem is an extreme art form that can evoke intense feeling. When it hits, it hits hard. I need to get these poems out into the world.

My main motivation is focused on American poetry, primarily, to prove the impact of poetry on our society can be moving and evoke intense feeling. It should be treasured in our culture and not ignored. I don’t want poets to gain the fame of Hollywood celebrities, but I would like this country to recognize the greatness of poetry in relation to everyday life. Poetry is not for just for bored MFA students reciting the wrong poetry. Some resort to exercise, yoga, the beach, etc. to relieve their daily reflections of the day. Poetry is also a healthy vice to reflect and react.

Scot:  What is Brian Morrisey doing on a Sunday afternoon?

Brian:  I am outside usually surfing, running, hiking, gardening, anything but being inside. I work endless hours in an office and Sundays are my break-free time to cut loose and blow off some steam. Unless it is press time. Then you can find me at Café Pergolesi or Lulu Carpenter’s in downtown Santa Cruz sipping endless cups of coffee slinging endless pages of copy.

Scot:  Childhood hero?

Brian:  The Fall Guy (Lee Majors)… that guy was straight up 100% cool cat bad ass.