My Apologies to the Lizard I, reluctantly, sprinkle lethal crystals or pellets as death sentences for the unwanted to later find – I sprinkle them onto the floor – along the baseboards… Creatures that crawl, crawl upon the floor – into my apartment – and they cannot smell the poisons awaiting them – and I very much wish they did – I wish they could smell the poison – so they’d turn away – and live – and not die – and not die because of me _____ My efforts were ineffective. So, I call in the expert… The Orkin man visits my home and I welcome him – He has a canister that rides upon his back – with a long tube that distributes the poisons – Spray, spray – and they die – spray, spray, and more die following He smiles – he’s a nice guy and he’s providing a service that makes it possible for his family to eat “It’s there”, I tell him, while pointing at the small crack in the flooring that leads to the outside wilds beyond my apartment. “That’s where they come in”. He nods his head intelligently. He is the professor of execution - a promiser of a pest-free existence (and I cannot help but appreciate him and hate what is happening) – He shakes my hand and I shake his in return, with a manly grip – No more creatures smaller than I am – creatures without a visitors pass or my permission to enter – I am god, judge most high and a disappointing and ineffective savior for bugs and insects – and I very much do not appreciate these roles _____ Hours later, there is a lizard on my bedroom floor. And he is not moving Lizard - I wasn’t trying to kill you – I promise – I was trying to kill something else – Roaches and mice (not the cute ones at the pet store – the diseased ones that run in the walls) and little bugs that crawl on the floor and in the windows by the dozens – gnats? tics? – I don’t know what they are. Why did you have to enter my apartment? The Lizard is dead – Lizard, you are dead You’re on my bedroom floor – And I’m using a tissue to pick up your limp body – and I am so sorry - My apologies. I know it’s not fair – I wasn’t trying to kill you – Why did you have to enter my apartment on such a lethal day? ________ My apologies to the Lizard _______________________________________________ Connections: Jumping Cows and a Moon Made of Green Cheese I ask her what kind of animal she’d be if she were not human and was an animal She says, “a chicken” and I ask her “why (?)” She says, “she likes to travel” and I like her answer and tell her I’d be a wolf and she asks me “why (?)” and I tell her, “Because I like to dress up like my grandmother” And she smiles and says she understands She likes floral patterns for wallpaper and I like roosters or apples – at least for the kitchen Roosters or apples, surrounded by flowers - and we both shake our heads in agreement Red apples, red and brown roosters and flowers neither red, nor brown Yellows, blues, and purples – all blistering, bright and brilliant Illustrated color panels stick to the walls, agreeably and we smile in unison “I’d be the number 7”, she says, and I ask her “why (?)” “Because it’s prettier sounding than six with twice the syllables” she tells me “I like 7”, I observe – then think of the number 42 I say the two-digit number aloud and she smiles again. “It answers everything (!)”, she exclaims and I tend to agree – and return her smile “If the devil is 6 (?)” I say and she replies, “If man is 5 (?)” and then we both immediately realize we are a perfect pair I like watermelon – seedless and in July and I learn she prefers other melons throughout the year - honey dew and, and on occasion, cantaloupe We, then, slowly walk - in opposite directions both of us glancing backwards at the other – despair settling in “If he only liked cantaloupe (?)…”, she pondered “If she only appreciated watermelon – on a hot summer’s day… (?)”, I questioned So, I huff, and I puff, and she runs like hell avoiding the traffic – the best she can I, frantic, run into a tiny house inhabited by a posse of men shorter than I and a woman unconscious – in a coma (?) lying on a bed, frighteningly pale “One of the pigs is over there”, one little person exclaims “She likes bricks”, he tells me – and I, too, like bricks So, I begin the short walk to her abode and will ask her if she prefers pie or cake – and if she says “pie”, I hope she’ll choose cherry – and, if she says “cake”, I hope she’ll say “lemon” And, if she then adds, “with whipped cream” or “with extra frosting”, I’ll gladly listen to her oink – every day and for every night for as long as we both shall live - and I’ll never eat her I promise
Poetry from J.K. Durick
Shooter Two Today, another school shooting imagine yesterday, the nineteen children were being themselves ready for school, and this close to the end of the school year. Imagine their plans for the new free time. Imagine this morning as they got ready for the school day, their last school day. Now imagine the young man who was planning to do what he did and having some goal in mind. What was it – to kill a group of children, or to shock us once more, or was it some sense that there was fame to be had in a mass shooting, or was it an elaborate suicide, a very public suicide, instead of just going off alone to shoot himself. It isn’t hard to imagine the aftermath for this school shooting. We’ve become used to it all, the news coverage and all the politics of them – it’s election time and this plays well in certain parts of the country. We’re just getting ready for the next one. Shooter Three At first his plan was to “kill everyone” but that changed as he planned – “everyone” would take too long and take too many bullets, so his plan came down to killing fewer people but also killing a moment and a mood. So there he was disguised and well armed, well-aimed up on that roof overlooking their parade, a sniper like the military snipers he had seen in movies, a sniper with his private mission. After seventy shots wildly shot from his perch, after seven were fatally shot and thirty others shot, he in disguise blended in with the fleeing crowds, as if he were one of them. But it didn’t take them long, first his picture and then the scene, the picture of him being arrested, driving the car they knew he would be in. Now he joins the ranks of recent shooters – Buffalo, Uvalde Texas etc., a growing list of people and places. And maybe they will kill us all, the “everyone” he was/they were originally after.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
a passion for life she has this listless look in her eyes i once saw fire, emotion, a passion for life that burned like arson the circle is closing death is inevitable only the lucky ever die happy the rest of us can only hope to find something that isn't too painful ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ pure fucking misery here comes the rain again a hot august thunderstorm creeping along pure fucking misery one of these days i'll be lucky enough to fall asleep in bed and never wake up again of course, that kind of wishful thinking hasn't got me anywhere i ever wanted to be --------------------------------------------------------------------------- hole in the world town i never understood why anyone would want to live around a ton of people whenever i travel south for one of my mother's medical appointments i see all the traffic all these overpriced houses the schools aren't any better and neither are the drugs i'll take my little hole in the world town and just be fine ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- this is my life now sitting in the car watching it rain insert random healthcare facility and any day of the week and this pretty much is my life now and i don't want to come off like i hate taking care of my aging mother or that my life would be oh so much better if i was the rich one instead of my sister the way the choices and consequences came down were how it was meant to be i accept that but i'd be stupid if i wasn't planning or at the very least, dreaming of what my life will be once death enters the picture ----------------------------------------------------------------------- like some math equation not sure how many times i'm going to know i'm ready to die for it to actually fucking happen even my patience for that is running out i wish this was like some math equation which would mean life would be the answer to this shit sadly, i know that isn't the case if only...
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash, Misfit Magazine and Mad Swirl. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Poetry from Adesiyan Oluwapelumi
'Fist' Somedays, my anger is like my fist And believe me it's always clenched. I'm afraid of opening my hands 'cause I might sprawl a disaster Most time, I hold my tongue-tied as best as I can and believe me I try to stop my speech and hold my breath 'cause if I didn't I would have said 'Fuck you' a thousand times. Adesiyan Oluwapelumi
Poetry from Shine Ballard
These poems were composed by means of a deterministic process called Natafero. Birth/death dates are used to create a number sequence which is used to read through a source text in which words, and or phrases, are extracted, creating a found-text poem. delacroix France, settings, saw brushstrokes looked for restrained Romanticists turbulent contemporary Flemish The Greek’s Romantic movement : painting.” was he the enduring Delacroix vivid lasting proud the lions almost decorative well lived hopper had study Although styles effect was began to who of work Railroad, From whether New even all- night own by example suffused dark despite palette, o’keeffe O’Keeffe individ- ual child York. of ideas friend Alfred influential seen later, that personal promoter O’Keeffe stark of there inspiration close- ups compel new the shadow. the simple austere
Poetry from John Edward Culp
HOCUS SCOTUS I'll Ride that Kangaroo with or without the Gavel. EASE UP and JUSTICE is NATURAL with UNCONDITIONAL LOVE
Poetry from Sayani Mukherjee
Hibiscus By Sayani Mukherjee A yellow blur. The sea swans forth The home saddles with Moon thistle and silver spread gleam. A token of nudge at the door A little grief over lost poems Of losing a decades high A family of past remembrance Locked up in acrylics of Pomegranate smudged souls; A lace curled up Full of feminine rhymes. It's my penmanship to own Loose disjointed freestyles Like a dove, an alcove, a pine tree. The untrodden nudges At the peak end A forest full of mystery A theatrical stance Over the old bright city A fancy out of space and while Casually misfit, a tropical cloud. Too much showers drown the island in me Then suck with Pansies and whims Two poles of wide apart In the middle, a threadbare silence A red string of millions Footsteps, raspy echoes, an old lane Illicit with bright red longing. I clasp a hibiscus In the middle a bright ruby red The house clasps knot A light within A full moon fall A yellowed red dance.