Archive for poetry

About Dad by Donal Mahoney

Posted in Donal Mahoney with tags on April 18, 2017 by Scot

 

They’re in the kitchen,
drinking coffee, the kids,
in their fifties now,
figuring out what to do
about Dad who’s
in the parlor listening,
counting all the marbles
they think he’s lost.
The six of them flew in
to bury mother.
They won’t go back
until they figure out
what to do about Dad.
At the funeral they saw
Father Kelly kiss Dad’s
wedding ring, the one
he’s worn for 60 years.
Father Kelly bowed
over the wheelchair
as if Dad were pope
and told him he’d be over
Tuesday night as usual
for checkers and a beer.
Best two out of three
goes to heaven first.

Reality is Not Right in the Head by Sudeep Adhikari

Posted in Sudeep Adhikari with tags on April 18, 2017 by Scot

The glass is scissored. I can hear
my unconscious in bass-drops, and
super-silent moans of trees on a stepped dance floor.

You hear and see things.
The United States of Schizophrenia
is dropping “The Whore of All Bombs”
on your shimmering infinity of fluorescent sand.

The oppressor is not an outsider.
It lives somewhere inside you, etched
and embossed in your head
by the invisible hands of crystal diodes,
and sensually stripping hyper-links.

Reality is not broken. It is tripping, and tripping bad.

 

____

 

Sudeep Adhikari is a structural engineer/Lecturer  from Kathmandu, Nepal.   His recent publications were with  Jawline Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, Yellow Mama, Fauna Quarterly, Beatnik Cowboys, After The Pause, Poetry Pacific, Silver Birch Press, Underground Books and Outlaw Poetry. 

TONYA PATTERSON by Mather Schneider

Posted in Mather Schneider with tags on April 18, 2017 by Scot
 
She’s seventeen years old
and at midnight
she falls through the high school gym skylight
into the dark
like a hard swallow.
 
The next morning
they find her
on the parquet floor,
 
the same floor
where the cheerleaders dance
at home games
 
where we play dodge ball
like killers
 
where we do wind sprints
until our guts heave.

Poem Starting With a Line From Phil Miller by Shawn Pavey

Posted in Shawn Pavey with tags on April 17, 2017 by Scot

 

And the Adam’s apple, the vocal chords and tongue,
the crackling voice graveled by whiskey, cigarettes,
and time cannot sing the songs, written so long
ago, now. That stage in the back of the bar? Empty.
That band so distant and estranged for so long.
Guitars lie in their cases, gather dust on stands.
The record, somewhere, buried deep in a box,
its vinyl molding and warped, is filled with dreams
that lie etched in grooves. Place it on a turntable
and listen as a needle fizzes in a rotary
swooshswooshswoosh and a lost voice barely whispers,
“So young so young so young.”

another morning by DB Cox

Posted in DB Cox with tags on March 13, 2017 by Scot

— “another morning when he must do it again—there is always another morning”… Ernest Hemingway

 

slow movement forward
through another day
nothing left to say
that doesn’t sound
like nonsense

as the sun sets
over his shoulders
hemingway sits looking
around the empty room

old powers & old friends gone

the telephone mute

measuring the time of day
by the whiskey left in the bottle

the unrelenting depression
overwhelming

in a discarded draft of his
nobel prize acceptance speech
he wrote, “there is no lonelier man
than the writer when he is writing
if he has written well
everything in him
has gone into the writing
& he faces another morning when
he must do it again—
there is always another morning”

but this summer of 1961
he was sick & sad
& his mind had grown
tired of him
so
he put a 12 gauge shotgun
to his head
& touched off both barrels

now
“papa” can rest his arms on the ropes
ignore the bell for the next round
the clanging hammer
of the morning alarm—
now irrelevant

secure your own mask first, and then help others by David LaBounty

Posted in David LaBounty with tags on March 12, 2017 by Scot

the men
who
sit
at
bars
alone

they
take
the
stool
with
their
sideways
hearing

they
order
their
beer
and
look
around
for
a
moment
and
then
look
ahead

the beer arrives

and
they
drink
the
beer
slowly
and
pull
out
their
phone
and
start
scrolling
with
their
thumbs

there
are
always
so
many
people
there

underneath

their
pale
solitary
thumb

Joel Explains Why My LeSabre Isn’t Ready by Shawn Pavey

Posted in Shawn Pavey with tags on March 11, 2017 by Scot

Oh, hey Shawn.
I ain’t really had a chance
to tear into ‘er yet.
See, my machinist
done lopped e’s thumb off
and he’s a day behind.