Monday, March 25, 2019

New York City Style Diner, Dublin by John Doyle


1978. Tom Verlaine, red patent-paint on subway-tiles,

brisket-beef, barbecue sauce, wide-collars, ethnic boys, phallic,

gum-chewing girls bathed in sass, Some Girls; Lou Reed, Bowie's stoned : cocaine-haze;

a 66 bus slips in outside and its queue stare in at you, a shape of Autumn's

fire,

who rolls a ketchup bottle DeNiro style 1978,

with Television on the jukebox of a New York City diner,

red-patent subway tiles,

and the fires it sucks from swearing chefs, and the buses stuffed inside, sweetly.

There should be at least two Hail Marys left on my American Express card











 John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch. 

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.

Sunday, March 24, 2019

women/words/wisdom by Luke Kuzmish


there are some doors
better left unopened
otherwise get stuck carrying brooms

a direct line to god
i never found essential
he finds me enough

in dreams and in tongues
spoken by little baby daughters
in dead men's rooms

who used to be brothers
and hustling thieves
become bourbon vapor acquaintances

in stardust
we all met once
found each other again

you could be my mother
or maybe we played ball
that one time on vacation

where i died
full body baptism
washed in the undertow

and mary
mother of eternal hell
misplaced me

momma thought it was aliens
swapping me out
for another woman's dead child

she loved me just the same
said
you'll forever know your kinfolk





Luke Kuzmish is a poet and recovering addict from Erie, PA where he lives with his fiancee and newborn son.  His latest collection, “Little Hollywood” was published by Alien Buddha Press in 2018 and is available on Amazon.


Saturday, March 23, 2019

World of Sober Dreams by Heath Brougher


All the collective fiers burning
within the gold mist,
the greenist tendrils growing
away from folly into bliss.
All the vast cites spreading
their green upon the lhand;
nitely beauty sparkles and shines
as one walks hand in hand.
Trinkling brooks that speak
from out the nite’s canopy of black,
talking in subtle whisspurrs
causing a conscious clasp to lack.

Drifting into a world of sober dreams
all confrontation falls discreet
and in claridy everything seems.
Thriving in a tranquil mood,
relishing the cool presence;
maintaining a wish on the brink
within the mistiy summer nite’s pleasance.
The core of verdant  contentedness,
is allowed in the nite to revel,
as clier the stars that glisten
on every lucid level.
Walking with unwakeful strides,
peering though lethargic eyes;
sleeping in the softened winds,
cherishing the nightly prize.






Heath Brougher received the 2018 Poet of the Year Award from Taj Mahal Review. He has published 6 books, the most recent being To Burn in Torturous Algorithms (Weasel Press, 2018) and The Ethnosphere's Duality (Cyberwit, 2018). His work has appeared in hundreds of print and online journals including Boston Poetry Magazine, Chiron Review, MiPOesias, The Dope Fiend Daily, Mad Swirl, SLAB, BlazeVOX, and elsewhere.


Friday, March 22, 2019

Another Bad Night by Ian Copestick


I lay downstairs in the dark, my wife has
Barred me from the bedroom
And isn't letting me put the light on down here.
That's why I sit here, angry and writing poetry
In the dark to try to keep myself sane. It's not easy
To keep myself sane. Although she's kicked
Me down here, she won't leave me alone.
Shouting abuse, making herself
Feel better, but I have to say, it's not doing
Much for me.
So I pour myself another drink, a strong one.
Try to ignore her, finish this poem,
Worry about the morning.
Something tells me that it's not going to
Be much fun.






Ian Lewis Copestick is a 46 year old writer (I prefer that term to poet ) from Stoke on Trent, England. I spend most of my life sitting,  thinking then sometimes writing. I have been published in Anti Heroin Chic, the Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Synchronized Chaos, the Rye Whiskey Review, Medusa's Kitchen and Horror Sleaze Trash.




Thursday, March 21, 2019

A Short Poem Describing A Couple's Search For The Best American Brewery of 2016. by Robert Halleck


Outside Morrisville the GPS lost the signal
as we entered Vermont's Northeast Kingdom.

We continued with dead reckoning.  A misty
rain fell outside Greensboro Bend where we
stopped to ask directions. Go down the road

turn left on Taylor, right at the flat, don't
give up. The old farmhouse appeared out

of the drizzle. Tall windows, steel vats,
brew masters working in white suits.
We opened the weathered white doors, shook

away the rain drops and entered. An hour later
we left with two growlers of Hill Farmstead's IPA

clutched to our breasts like the last candy
in the Easter basket.    





Robert Halleck's work has appeared in over 40 poetry journals, magazine, and annuals in the last few years. Recently his poems have appeared or will appear in the San Diego Poetry Annual, The Paterson Literary Review, The St. Ann's Review, Third Wednesday, Chiron, and The Mockingheart Review. He is a member of San Diego's Not Dead Yet Poets and is a regular attendee of the Kenyon Review's Summer Workshops.

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

Karma Cowboy by John Greiner


To die with boots off
on the stained sheets
of others,
beyond Monument Valley,
John Ford
      and John Wayne
in one of the many rooms
of the west.
How long was the walk?
Did your feet bleed?







John Greiner is a Pushcart Prize nominated writer living in Queens, NY. He was educated at the New School for Social Research.  Greiner's work has appeared in Sand, Empty Mirror, Sensitive Skin, Unarmed, Street Valueand numerous other magazines. His chapbooks, broadsides and collections of poetry and short stories includeTurnstile Burlesque (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2017), The Laundrymen(Wandering Head Press, 2016), Bodega Roses (Good Cop/Bad Cop Press, 2014),Modulation Age (Wandering Head Press, 2012), Shooting Side Glances(ISMs Press, 2011) and Relics From a Hell’s Kitchen Pawn Shop (Ronin Press, 2010). 

Tuesday, March 19, 2019

Learning to Dance in the Rain by Alfred Gremsly


It’s raining outside,
but everything in here is okay
Because everyone else is just like me
Trapped in a house staring out a window,
as if it’s the zombie apocalypse
Which makes me happy
to be like everyone else
-if only for a moment
But how I hate the sun
and how it dries up all the rain
        Which brings back my loneliness
                     which brings back my pain
which brings back the fact I’m still the same,
    lonely, isolated, sad, depressed person to afraid
                  to go out into this maze called life and have fun
    Instead-
I close all the blinds
and pretend the world is dead
and I’m the last one alive
I’m alone and sad
But I’m alive and safe
And alone and sad
is better than everyone else,
who died before the rain stopped falling

  Fresh cut flowers wilt in the sun
But, a deeply rooted plant potted inside
thrives on a window seal
So, why would I want to leave the safety
of my box,
just to make others happy?
The times I’ve been forced outside,
I was nearly eaten alive
 by hordes of the walking dead-
       - to rude to hold doors
       - to disrespectful to say thank you
-and by those who would rather spit on you, as to say excuse me
                     No thank you!
 I’ll be the house plant and watch you wilt in the sun
and sing sad songs for the memory of everyone
I’ll be sad and alone,
but safe and alive
        Only me and my children,
        with our deeply planted roots will survive
        Watching you from our window;
        will know, we can only go out in the rain
        when everyone else is inside
        hiding from the water that poisons their body
        They watch us like were the walking dead,
         dancing in puddles
    But we do not see them watching
    Nor do we care
        …..we are the only ones left alive

                         





Alfred Gremsly is an American born poet whose works can be found on social media sights such as twitter and Facebook. He is the author of two short adult/children books and has been featured in numerous anthology's.
This poem in particular comes from his forth coming book; a 140 page collection of poems entitled " SMiLE 'scheduled for release in early spring 2019

New York City Style Diner, Dublin by John Doyle

1978. Tom Verlaine, red patent-paint on subway-tiles, brisket-beef, barbecue sauce, wide-collars, ethnic boys, phallic, gum-chewing gir...