Drink Together By Paul Moore

The sun dips low,

a syrupy amber.

We're down here,

swimming lazy laps

in the sweet liquor

of a shared dream.

The bottle curves,

our world a tight embrace.

You exhale bubbles of laughter,

I chase them with my eyes.

Each sip from the top

pulls us closer,

warmer,

we understand

that this tiny, bottled ocean

is big enough

for just us.

message.

Paul Moore is a North Carolina–based Black poet who channels family, ancestry, and memory into reflective verse, honoring resilience, lineage, and the shared journeys that shape identity and strength.

 

It's Never Magic By John Patrick Robbins

Only a craft I forged through sacrifice.

Sustained is the note until perfection, leaving little regard for the host,

whose hands bleed to remain largely unheard, as is the way of art.

Empty as love and twice as destructive.

Pain is a consequence of masked intentions.

A devilish smile is the wolf's allure.

Please ignore the scars if they do so bother you, my dear.

I sold it eagerly, only to come to the realization.

Empty truths and false promises are but the nature of the beast.

I have evolved with loss

and disregarded my humanity along the way.

May I make you bleed to view what it is to once again feel?

Do you desire something in return?

Please allow me to poison your dreams so we may cast nightmares together.

Please, my love, just welcome my chaos within.

For once you have embraced this damnation's splendor,

you will realize there is no turning back.

All demons once knew light,

as in your death or your acceptance.

I once knew you.

JPR, is a Southern Gothic writer.

His work has appeared in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Cold Rambler, A Thin Slice Of Anxiety, Spill The Words Press, Fixator Press, Disturb The Universe, Horror Sleaze Trash and The Dope Fiend Daily.

His work is often dark and always unfiltered.

It’s All Kinda Blue By Renee Williams

Prussian blue, deep and dark, is desired

but if the image comes through

even a lighter blue makes my heart dance.

As I wash the cyanotype beneath the shower,

tiger stripes in my photo sneak through

in blue, blue, glorious blue! 

I dream in blue

get lost in blue

find myself in blue

blue days become blue nights

blue ocean waves wash away

the blues that will not leave me

blue skies illuminate horses

blue clouds brood above the dunes

blue on the beach is better

than the Blue Ridge Mountains.

My art moved to blue

reflected the blue inside me

the blues, the blues, the blues

the blame, the blame, the blame,

You’re becoming more Catholic

every day, my husband tells me. 

My father’s eyes were light blue, 

aqua blue, sparking blue, twinkling blue

but his eyes are shut now forever.

I still hear him, talk to him more now

that he’s dead than when he was alive.

This house, soon to be sided midnight blue,

like sea water, coastal waves.

The ocean calls to me, wants me home,

and I want to be there 

and go to the Blue Crab Tavern, 

best dive bar on the beach, 

where nobody knows

the blues I run from.

Renee Williams is a retired English instructor, who has written for ONE Art, Alien Buddha Press and Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel. 

 

Off The Beaten Path / Hank's Pub

 

Hank's motto is, "You're always welcome until you're not," Being the writer I am, that caught me from the very first time I walked into this bar 2138 S. Military Hwy., Chesapeake, VA.

Hank's, from the outside, is deceptive. Located in a little strip mall, she could easily make some feel she could be a rough gal, and nothing could be further from the truth. Hank's is what I love about bars and what, in my opinion, is something that lacks in these overpriced franchise bars that have as much appeal as a Starbucks on acid.

Hank's is a hole in the wall with character. Its beauty is its charm, and it caters to customers and staff alike. It's the kind of place that doesn't look at you and question whether you're lost.

It's a place that looks at you and asks,

"Hey, where the hell have you been!?"

The name drew me in for obvious reasons, as any writer would get, but that's just an odd coincidence.

The faces may change, but one thing that remains consistent with any top-shelf bar is the feeling that it's your own. Rebecca Nisbet, the former co-owner and the creator of the tagline that I truly admire, has a zero tolerance for bullshit, and honestly, the place is just warm and inviting. It's what a good bar or tavern should be and what too many places try to erase: true character.

Quirky and truly unique, with great prices, good food, and a welcoming environment.

And unique is definitely one thing Hank's is, without a doubt.

From my first walk through the doors, I was served by the singing bartender himself, Trevor Nisbet, on karaoke night as I was handed a Jack and Coke while the room was being serenaded with a rendition of "New York State of Mind."

The guy is working the bar, singing to customers, and practically sweeping the floor, then looks at me and says,

"Male bartender, gotta have a gimmick."

Which you just can't make this shit up. It cracked me up, and being a total recluse who, on his best days, avoids most of humanity, when you make me want to return just to hang out, you're doing something right.

Trevor, along with his wife, may be moving on, but the place holds a bevy of characters, and no matter who is there, its vibe is always welcoming.

It's not one person's place. When you're there, it's your own and the perfect backdrop for some great future memories of your own.

Hank's is real and shares what all the best bars have in common: a place that makes you always want to return, myself included.

If you're ever in town, check it out. I promise you it's worth a visit.

Cheers, and as always, the next round's on me.

John Patrick Robbins

Editor in Chief of The Rye Whiskey Review

If interested here's a link to their Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/share/1G1o7AFNvj/

When the do re mi says so By Tony Pena

I carry a tune 

like a baggage handler

thrashing Samsonites

in a cargo bay of a 747 

bound for the long cold 

cavern clubs of the UK,

but if I could find me

an auto tune on the cheap

on Craigslist or EBay,

maybe one day my vocal

cords can quiver enough 

to convince the part of you,

gliding like Ginger Rogers 

within the black and white 

of your room with the lights 

from Top Hat’s numbers

shimmering off the TV set

at three in the morning,

to lose the China white

into that deep black hole

within porcelain, for though

I’m surely more Fred

Flintstone than Astaire,

maybe just maybe, the ball

of melody bouncing along

my ribs, rises from the tune 

like a fiery strawberry moon, 

bold enough to serve the staff

as a sanguine beat far too catchy

for what’s left of you not to follow. 

Tony Pena was formerly 2017-2018 Poet Laureate for the city of Beacon, New York.  

His new book of poetry, Triad, is now available on Amazon

His prose and poetry have found refuge recently with 101 Words, Alien Buddha Press, Cajun Mutt Press, Dear Booze, Death Wish Poetry, Fevers of the Mind, Mono, Odd Magazine, The Erozine, The Literary Underground, The Lotherian Poetry Journal, Trailer Park Quarterly, and Witcraft.

 Also, Best of the Net nominations in 2019 from the Rye Whiskey Review and the Dope Fiend Daily.

A volume of poetry and flash fiction, "Blood and Beats and Rock n Roll," is available at Amazon.  

A chapbook of poetry, "Opening night in Gehenna," is available from author.

Social Media

Www.youtube.com/tonypenapoetry

Www.facebook.com/tonypenapoetry

Instagram: Tonypenapoetry

Conflicted by stars__ By Merritt Waldon

A girl I know 

Has a pig she swears 

Goes plum hay wire 

When Venus is too close to the Earth 

& So humans might

Be in similar temperaments

If they don’t forget 

They too are

Animals

Horny in love

Conflicted by stars

Merritt Waldon is Southern Indiana poet who has been published in Road Dawgz, Sun Poetic Times,

The Brooklyn Rail, Be About It Zine, River Dog #1, Sparring with Beatnik Ghosts, Americans & others anthology fourth edition, Crisis Chronicles, Cajun Mutt Press, Thye Rye Whiskey Review, and Fearless!.

At midnight Christmas night 2020, cajun mutt press released Oracles from a Strange Fire by Ron Whitehead & Merritt. He lives in Austin, Indiana.

The Usual Ensemble By Alec Solomita

I write too much of loss,

but what else is going on

at three in the morning?

The old blues singers knew,

sitting up in bed on hot nights,

brows ringed with sweat.

The usual ensemble:  

money gone, woman gone,

whiskey gone, nothing

but seeds and twigs

in the sad pouch by the bed.

And a nameless, snaking fear

that starts in the lungs

and rises behind the eyes.

Alec Solomita is a writer working in Massachusetts. His fiction and poetry have appeared in many journals and anthologies, including the Southwest Review, The Mississippi Review, The Lake, The New Criterion, The Rye Whiskey Review, The Galway Review, Red Dirt Forum, and One Art. His chapbook “Do Not Forsake Me,” was published in 2017. His full-length poetry book, “Hard To Be a Hero,” was released s in the spring of 2021. Both of these are available on Amazon. He’s just finished his third collection, “Glass Flowers.”