In London during the War by Rick Christiansen

In London during the War—
The sound of dripping syrup methodically tapping a tattoo on the shelf below,
from a can of peaches pierced by bomb shrapnel 
while sitting on a London apartment shelf 
during the blitz.

In our plague year—
The sound of an ICU respirator 
wheezing to a stop 
after the code has been called.  
Time of death marked by the patient’s cell phone 
now unplugged and placed in the bag for her children.

This Plague year has changed us all.  
Time speeding up and slowing down to the rhythms of serotonin.  
Anxiety creating brilliant focused experience 
like a microscope being dialed in to the cellular level.  

 
They say that in London during the war, 
people felt more alive. 
The Spector of sudden death from the sky 
made them love faster, drink longer, fuck harder.

In our Plague year— 
We endure the Spector of slow death.  
Not from the sky, but from the air.

Droplets like shrapnel piercing the lungs/slowly stealing breath away.  
We only grow heavier.  
Eating and watching and hiding from the miasma.

They say that in London during the War, 
people died alone trapped in the wreckage of bombed buildings.  
In our Plague year— 
people die alone trapped in hospital beds.  
Tethered to machines instead of family.  
Each breath more shallow than the last, until the ragged sound stops.  

They say that in London during the War, 
each morning people would emerge blinking.  
Wearing masks against the dust and smoke.  
Marking the demise of another shop or restaurant to bomb or fire 
as they navigated the minimums of life.  

    Picking up a prescription.  
    Trying to find milk or toilet paper.  

Because children are still thirsty 
and we must shit until we die.  

Wandering for items that would fill the hole 
of uncertainty and named fear.  

The anonymity of masked travel.  
    Making the eyes do all of the work of the face.  
    Trying to connect through fabric and fear.  

In our Plague year—
It is the same.

They say that in London during the War,
 everyone pulled together.  
They had the connection of a shared enemy.  

In our Plague year—
we are denied that connection.  
False news and finger pointing make us misdirect our resolve
away from shared purpose. 
Toward disconnecting conspiracy and suspicion. 

They say that in London during the War,
Everyone became stronger.

In our Plague year—

Rick Christiansen has been a stand-up comic, an actor, director of the improvisational comedy group, The Underground, and a corporate executive.  His work can be found in the archives of Oddball Magazine, Muddy River Poetry Review and other publications. He has poems forthcoming in Dumpster Fire Press and his poem “Killing Bob Dylan” has been selected for a Fall 2021 anthology by Alien Buddha Press. He is a member of the St. Louis Writers Guild. Rick lives in Missouri near his eight grandchildren and with his basset hound Annie. 

 

Blue. By Cheryl Snell

 

Saxophone mutes the fog in his lungs, mouthpiece clamped to a kiss.

Brass throats on a crying jag throb behind him. His breath slides down a pitch, pinches it like a bleeder. 

The woman at the front table crosses 

her legs to show the rips in her stockings       

twitching like a cat’s tail. She loved     

somebody once, and knows what it means 

to be a smashed thing,  her best parts held  

to the spinning light  and appraised. 

The man squeezes his eyes and smokes  

blue notes, burring and buzzing his lip. 

All night, his train will run beside her bus.

Each one will stare into the shared dark, 

willing the next stop to look like home.

Cheryl Snell is a poet. Novelist. Pianist..An aficionado of old music and new art. Fluent in subtext.

Closed Eye Visuals by PW Covington

Prayers and trumpet tones
From somewhere out, beyond
The painted walls that hold my life
Wake me in false-dawn light of early May

And it is warm
Last winter’s frost and snow
Receding into misforgotten
Stories told while drinking

Strobe flashes like fireworks
Outside the courthouse, closed eye visuals
Shipwreck current privacy of reason
Baked and seasoned

Cyclone syndrome skips the generations
That deny it
Dizzy Gillespie, high on speed
And blowing through his smile

Beer can ashtray
Red wood picnic table wet with garden spray
And houseflies
Make a home for open eyed sobriety

PW Covington is a Pushcart-nominated poet and writer. He writes in the Beat tradition of the North American highway.

   More at www.PWCovington.com

This What You Wanted? by Scott Simmons

Fuck the living and the dead.
Fuck God and the Devil.

Fuck our universe for existing.
Fuck myself and fuck you too. 

We’re all shit so deal with it.

Scott Simmons is a poet, humorist, and artist of debatable quality from Houston Texas. He is also the editor of the Dope Fiend Daily and enjoys reading your submissions as little as possible.

His work has been featured in places such as The Rye Whiskey Review, Fearless, HST, Daune's Poetree, The Black Shamrock, The Anti-Heroin chic, and Under The Bleachers.

In addition to his creative "career" he is also a professional asshole.

Midnight in Motown by Tony Pena

Some folks cower with dead 
moths in closets of rooms dark 
as a coal mine as the witching 
hour calls for a Pandora’s box 
of beasts to slither from beneath 
a bed rollicking like a ghost 
ship adrift in a storm fueled 
by sins of emotional turbulence. 
 
Some folks revel in dark 
hearts with an offbeat rhythm 
of woe is me unrolling a touch 
not as Midas conjuring gold 
but as a grouser extending 
misery to all who dare 
come near the ravaged 
sphere of personal space.  
 
Some folks dwell neither 
in chambers of fear or self-pity,
but dance, with a honed edge 
of ebony soul tattooing skin, 
bleeding a palette of colors bold
in luster to jam all night to get 
the right shade of light to motor
through the ashes of Paris till dawn.

Tony Pena was selected as 2017-2018 Poet Laureate for the city of Beacon, New York. A new volume of poetry and flash fiction, "Blood and Beats and Rock n Roll," is available now at Amazon.  He also has a self published chapbook, "Opening night in Gehenna."  His publication credits include “Chronogram,”  "Dogzplot," "Gutter Eloquence," “Hudson Valley Transmitter,” "Red Fez," "Slipstream,"  "Underground Voices," "Zygote in my Coffee," and others. 

Colorful compositions and caterwauling with a couple of chords can be seen at:

Www.youtube.com/tonypenapoetry

Www.facebook.com/tonypenapoetry

Shout Out by John Drudge

Call-out culture
Is eroding 
Intellectual integrity
Underprepared
Little hate mongers
Increasing prestige
At the expense 
Of others 
Gutting
The nature of truth
With fear
Imposing beliefs
For self-gain
And sacrificing justice
On the altar of like minds
Where group think
Supersedes all 
And mob rule
Is the price
For inclusion
In an echo chamber 
Of sound

Where the vicious 

And the angry
Eventually
Eat their own

John is a social worker working in the field of disability management and holds degrees in social work, rehabilitation services, and psychology.  He is the author of three books of poetry: “March” (2019), “The Seasons of Us” (2019) and New Days (2020). His work has appeared widely in numerous literary journals, magazines, and anthologies internationally. John is also a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee and lives in Caledon Ontario, Canada with his wife and two children.

 

Warming Up By Alex Z. Salinas

The novelist Philip Roth said when a writer is born into a family, the family is ruined. 

I thought this as I raced the shadow of a cloud on an empty road midafternoon. 

By raced, I mean I attempted remaining within the shadow. Shaded. As in, my skin’s pale and melanoma is killing my mother. 

The Texas sun is savage, especially to light-skinned Hispanics. 

Years ago, I wrote a short story about an alcoholic mother. My mother read it. 

“The words are beautiful, but it’s so sad,” she said. 

I’m not a bad omen. But I’m warming up to wrecking ball.

Alex Z. Salinas is the author of two full-length poetry collections: WARBLES, and DREAMT, or The Lingering Phantoms of Equinox. His debut book of short stories, City Lights From the Upside Down, is expected to be published in August 2021. He lives in San Antonio, Texas.