Archive for January, 2017

everything money could buy by DB Cox

Posted in DB Cox with tags on January 20, 2017 by Scot

She… (we gave her most of our lives)
Is leaving… (sacrificed most of our lives)
Home… (we gave her everything money could buy)
She’s leaving home after living alone
For so many years…— Lennon/McCartney


mind-enhanced masses
in barroom communion
raise empty glasses
in half-assed salute
to karaoke jesus
with his new
singing the crucifixion
over the simulated
pinfall of emulated
bowling alleys
while a reality show
rolls on a muted TV
modern-art masterpiece
hanging from
a faux-brick wall—
midnight falls
on the cool
me watching
you waiting
eyes closed
small hands shaking
by a silent iPhone
your cyber-connection
will text back soon


MONKEY DAVE by John D Robinson

Posted in John D Robinson with tags on January 20, 2017 by Scot

Monkey Dave at one time,
would hassle the seaside
tourists with a polaroid
camera and a tiny vervet
monkey and when the
monkey died he decided
to become a pot dealer;
he conducted his business
from a local legendary
bar that the police would
frequently ignore;
he married this stunning
young blonde from
Helsinki, the daughter of
the city’s chief of police
and she fucked his friends
and then returned to
he stopped speaking,
stopped leaving his home
until he was carried out in
a body-bag just a few
months later of a
heart attack, or of a
broken heart
or so its told.

D NER by Sarah Russell

Posted in Sarah Russell with tags on January 20, 2017 by Scot
Wish it had been the R that fell, she thought.  Then it would say DINE, like the food was good, like it was more than runny eggs and meatloaf.  But it was the I, and everyone called it the DEE-ner, like some hillbilly joint.  Jake said it gave the place character, didn’t even know where the I had blown to after all these years.
She hated waiting tables.  Her mama said she was uppity.  “Worst thing we did was name you Chelsea after that foreign place,” her mama said.  “You get off your high horse and make peace with staying here.”  But she never would.  Never!  She’d get a little money ahead and clear out.  Go where Chelsea was an OK name, and DINE was what folks did, and tips were more than a quarter.
“You gonna stub that smoke and get back to work? I ain’t paying you to be on break all day.”
“When you gonna put the I back, Jake?”
“No time soon, Chelsea girl.  No time soon.”

Another Birthday for Dr. Martin Luther King by Donal Mahoney

Posted in Donal Mahoney with tags on January 20, 2017 by Scot


The longer I live the greater Martin Luther King looks
compared with those who have tried to carry on his work.
The man had integrity, guts, ideas and class.

It was heartbreaking in the Sixties to be young and
filled with hope for change in America, only to see
JFK, MLK and RFK murdered in the same decade.

Young people of all kinds had hope back then even if
we saw little change. We thought it was time for a quiet
revolution of ideas in America. That never happened.

My hope is Mike Pence doesn’t succeed Donald Trump
the way Lyndon Johnson succeeded Jack Kennedy. We must
find a peaceful way to get through these next four years.

An odd feeling by D. A. Pratt

Posted in D. A. Pratt with tags on January 19, 2017 by Scot

For the first time in my life
as his inauguration approaches
I feel the president-elect
will not complete
his first term in office …
I recall many wondering
if Ronald Reagan would
but that had something
to do with zeros … this time
I find myself having doubts
that the United States of America
will remain united in tolerating
the man’s demeanour
as a head-of-state
for four very long years …
a major Canadian newspaper
began a recent editorial
with the following words:
“In just over a week,
down the rabbit hole we go.”
Wonderland in this case
will be sensationally surreal …
over and over again …
until it ends … if
it ever ends …

D.A. Pratt
January 15, 2017



God Is On His Way by Shawn Pavey

Posted in Shawn Pavey with tags on January 7, 2017 by Scot

Just got a text from the Almighty.
He’s running a little behind.
He was on his way to your subdivision
to bless you in your five-room,
three-bath abundance because
you are so much in need of divine grace.

Anyway, the heavenly El Camino picked up
a bolt off the road in the sidewall
of the driver’s side rear Firestone
because of all that highway
construction on Interstate 35
and, wouldn’t you know it, his spare was flat, too.

He called triple A and is just waiting for the tow truck.
Oh, he said to tell you that you’ll be fine
but you should have figured that out by now
with your health insurance and 401k balance.

He also mentioned he can’t stay long. Something about Aleppo.

KARINA AND I by Mather Schneider

Posted in Mather Schneider with tags on January 7, 2017 by Scot


were camping
in Washington State
and while we were sleeping in the tent
a bug crawled
into my

I exploded
out of the tent flap and into
the moonlit night
screaming and moaning
and slapping my right ear
(it was like a giant
was walking on my
and eventually rolling around and beating
my head on the ground.

Karina came out of the tent
sleepy eyed and beautiful
and looked at me
and laughed
and just at that moment
the little black monster hopped right
out onto the ground
and scurried away
into the dark grasses
of Mount Baker
before I even had the chance
to murder it.

Katrina and I made love after that
like two wild animals
to the fact that one morning
years later
I would wake up in our
two story house
completely and mortally civilized
and deaf to her


Posted in Tom Montag with tags on January 7, 2017 by Scot


Let this be
your measure:

the speed at
which we fly

towards darkness.
Your money

means nothing.




Tom Montag is the author of In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013. He has been a featured poet at Atticus Review, Contemporary American Voices, Houseboat, and Basil O’Flaherty Review, and received Pushcart Prize nominations from Provo Canyon Review, Blue Heron Review, and The Lake.

The Bullet that Killed Wesley by Jimmy Pappas

Posted in Jimmy Pappas with tags on January 5, 2017 by Scot


The bullet that killed Wesley
struck me in the helmet
right between the eyes,
went around my headgear,
out over my shoulder,
hit Wesley in the neck,
and killed him.
Now don’t that beat all fuck.




Jimmy Pappas served for the Air Force during the Vietnam War as an English language instructor training South Vietnamese soldiers. Jimmy received a Bachelor’s of Arts degree from Bridgewater State University and a Master’s in English literature from Rivier University. He is a retired teacher whose poems have been published in many journals, including Yellowchair Review, New Verse News, Shot Glass Journal, Kentucky Review, Boston Literary Magazine, The Ghazal Page, and War, Literature and the Arts. He is now a member of the Executive Board of the Poetry Society of New Hampshire.

Winter Occupation by Alarie Tennille

Posted in Alarie Tennille with tags on January 4, 2017 by Scot

The trees stand at attention
in their drab uniforms –
occupying forces that have cleared
the streets of gypsies in their red
and yellow caravans. Now they ban
any show of color, discourage
public gatherings.

They even intimidate the sun
as they stand at attention
in every yard, bayonets pointed
at the tank-colored sky, boots
crushing grass the color of wait.




Alarie Tennille was born and raised in Portsmouth, Virginia, and graduated from the University of Virginia in the first class allowing women. She misses the ocean, but loves the writing community she’s found in Kansas City. Alarie serves on the Emeritus Board of The Writers Place. Her poetry collection, Running Counterclockwise, was first runner up for the 2015 Thorpe Menn Award for Literary Excellence. Please visit Alarie  at