Archive for March, 2016


Posted in LYNNE SAVITT with tags on March 24, 2016 by Scot










full year & one month since yr stroke
finally you will be placed in apartment
on quiet street with assistance in day
time you’ve lost a year but yr voice is

back from dead & feeding tubes
therapy more drugs than small
pharmacy to take yr left side hand
& leg not working well you balance

on cane & confidence snow falls
this first day of spring you move
into everything is new abode
bright blue furniture brings

you happy at last in over year
ago you couldn’t say my name
now i miss you & love you nightly
we speak as i remind you to take

9 p.m. medications are set each
day in tiny piles an aide helps no
bars in shower chair to sit on tell
me bed is big enough for two when

are you coming you ask me last time
i saw you i fed you small pieces of
pizza kissed yr forehead rubbed cream
on yr feet & drove home to family hundreds

of miles away i wanted to be the one
who took care of you daily i spoke
to nursing staff & sent yellow flowers
yr favorite chocolates & greeting cards

medical staff never thought you’d
make it but no one knew you like
i do love you more today than ever
strong & stubborn you beat all odds

thirteen months i called each day
sometimes three times or more
just to hear you speak my name
keeping yr promise to be
the last man standing

Losing Pieces by Scott Wozniak

Posted in Scott Wozniak with tags on March 24, 2016 by Scot

I once heard
a man say,
“Though I’ve
been broken,
I too
know how to
pick up
the pieces.”

He tells me this
as I’m sitting
in rehab
for the third time
in two years,
trying to fix
a scattered
jigsaw mess.

I can’t trust
A man
Who’s never
he loves.
He doesn’t
know how to
from aftermath.

I tell him,
“I am broken,
by my own hands
and each time
I try
to put myself
back together
it gets more
there’s always
missing piece.”

He simply says,
“There’s still

I assure him
I lost
that piece
a long

Bill’s Socks by Donal Mahoney

Posted in Donal Mahoney with tags on March 23, 2016 by Scot

Hillary was at the podium
setting the record straight
for people who have a problem
with the tone of her voice.
She said when Bill was
president some folks said
she should have stayed home
and matched up his socks.
No way, fans in the crowd
booed their response.
But in a city far away
a husband at home
watching on TV
leaned over on the couch
and whispered to his wife
he’d bet anything
Monica would have put
those argyles together.

Somewhere In the Dark by James Babbs

Posted in James Babbs with tags on March 21, 2016 by Scot

she’s still beautiful and
I knew she would be
when I saw her again
after such a long time
she’s the kind of woman
who will age gracefully
who will always turn men’s heads
no matter how old she gets
the kind of woman
I will think about
every now and then
when I’m sitting by myself
somewhere in the dark
the kind of woman
who will laugh softly
before pushing the hair
away from her face
the kind of woman
who makes it feel okay
when she slowly turns
and walks away
after telling you goodbye

Shoelaces on Fire by Bradley Mason Hamlin

Posted in Bradley Mason Hamlin with tags on March 21, 2016 by Scot

feels like
a one-armed bandit
to roll dice sideways

snake eyes
will she be there
the angel of mercy
of earthly baggage
of self
stripped naked

open arms
at mystic gates
will she tell you,
you did okay
not perfect
but no one is …

or will clouds float
just out of reach
ghost breath
filtering past fingertips
slip fall
you trip

great golden gates
smash shut
like prison doors
and echoing
as you fast fall
hitting bottom
where you belong

shoelaces on fire
as demons
take you by the hand
never the luck.

Barley by Andrew Taylor

Posted in Andrew Taylor with tags on March 21, 2016 by Scot

The grapes aren’t green they will slowly turn red
among the grass is barley
ready for harvesting
it is carried in bags

Three poems by Ted Kane

Posted in Ted Kane with tags on March 21, 2016 by Scot

Hoofprints in the Glass

I had a dream that I was
Walking with the Devil
Along the shores of
The River Styx

As I looked behind me
There were two sets of footprints
My human ones and a set
from a pair of cloven hooves

As I watched them stretch back
over the course of my life
I saw the hoofprints form dance steps
at my greatest debauches

I noticed,too, that in my times of distress
There would be but one hoofprint; when
I asked Satan why, he said “That’s when
I was kicking your ass with the other foot”



Does a poem sent
to an empty forest get
a rejection note?


The apple was great,
Eve, just not ‘getting kicked out
of paradise’ great