Poetry from Michael Robinson

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Horizon

 

In the middle of the night,

I sit in bed thinking of mountains that are not bitter,

There are two empty chairs and a table with a candle burning.

In the shadows two people watch the brightness of the moon,

They will survive the night in the light of the stars.

 

 

Non-Stop

 

It’s in the wee hours of the morning,

Before heaven opens and hell closes.

A typewriter,

A sheet of paper,

And a soul waiting to write God a letter.

 

 

Retreat

 

I gave up wanting to kill.

I gave up being shot at.

I gave up wanting to die.

I gave up wanting to hurt others.

I just gave it all up

To move to the mountains of Vermont,

Where the angels whisper in my ear.

 

 

 

Poetry By Christopher Bernard

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The Drunken Philosopher
By Christopher Bernard

 

I drink to the moon
staring up at me
from the face in the puddle
of mud at my feet.
And behind the face of the moon
reflected in the mud
is the entire universe!
A haze of little stars
salt and peppered in dazzling sparks,
infinitely, down to the bottom of the world!
And there also
hee hee! –
is my face!
Hello, face!
Hello, universe reflected in the sumptuous mud!
Hello, mindless, soulless, beautiful moon!
Oh let me die
and all the world perish
between two breaths in my sleep.
Let everything vanish between two beats of my heart!
One day I shall cease to be, moon!
It will be no time for humility then – no! – I’ve
had it with modesty!
I will die as I have lived – arrogant, proud, insolent, conceited!
I will have no time for good manners and politesse!
You will not like it, God!
Well, what are you going to do about it!
I denounce God! I hail sun, stars, moon!
I hail my fellow mosquitoes,
buzzing blithely in the deliciously foul air above the mud pool!
Mosquitoes are my brothers!
We all buzz about in a confusion of lust, fight and anger,
aimless, random, driven,
then into the nearest sewer we dive. Tant pis! Tant mieux!
I toast you, mosquitoes! I toast you,
blind, deaf moon! Hail, moon!
And stars! And sun! And sky!
The metaverse that was and is and shall be forever!
One day I will cease to be, who am, now, alive!
____________
Three days later, on his way to his favorite café (and drunk, as usual),
the author of the above poem was hit by an Uber driver.
On the ambulance he was overheard laughing to himself and saying,
in an excited whisper: “. . . who am, now,  .  .  . !”
He died on the way to the hospital.
The morticians had a difficult time removing the rictus from his lips.
_____
Christopher Bernard’s new collection of poems, Chien Lunatique, is forthcoming from Regent Press.

Poetry by Neil Ellman

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Departure of a Ghost

(watercolor/gouache by Paul Klee)

Paul Klee's Departure of a Ghost

Paul Klee’s Departure of a Ghost

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ghost of my other self

my inner self, my alter self

lives with me, shares my bed,

my life as if it were its life

a place at my table

within my house

as if it were its own.

 

it stays        it stays

whatever I might say

it lingers

like an uninvited guest

stayed too long.

 

I hear its disembodied voice

pleading for a place to be

alive like me

I know that it must go

and leave me to my life

alone        with a kind of peace

I had never known.

 

And then it disappears

my other self        a wisp of smoke

into the air

leaving me alone

the lesser of the two of us.

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Poetry from PW Covington

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Modesty

Boy-cut panties, crumpled on the floor

Weapons stashed behind the door

Crucifix bedroom wall backdrop for

The sexting pic sent to you,

Un-asked Modesty is a luxury

Hypocrisy

When life is exposed

For all to see

These are poems that never

Had a chance

Shot down, on some city street

At 25

By scared-to-death police

still alive

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Short story from Michael Paul Hogan

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The Fishermen of Dragon-Tooth Beach

by

Michael Paul Hogan

We anchored the rowboat and waded the last hundred yards ashore. The water was barely above our ankles, but we had to pick our way through a miniature forest of mangrove shoots five ten fifteen inches high, laid out like a tank trap between us and a narrow wedge of sand.

High on the beach four fishermen were stowing their gear. Their boat was drawn up almost to the tree line. There was a narrow road between the jungle and the bay. A fifth man came out of the jungle and joined them. They stopped what they were doing to watch us negotiate a path through the mangrove cones.

The girl slipped in the thick gray mud and I reached out instinctively to steady her. Feeling my hand on her bare shoulder she jerked away, almost slipping again. We continued forward in silence. There were no birds and the sea behind us was dead calm. The only sound was that of our feet squelching and glooping in the mud. The girl’s legs were plastered blue-gray to the hem of her short sarong. The girl made the beach and I followed her.

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Elizabeth Hughes’ Book Periscope

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moonlightcover

Kathrine LaFleur’s Moonlight Hunting

Moonlight Hunting follows the character Moonlight on her quest to find the evil Persuasive, Barnabas. Moonlight and other Cardonians are trying to free the minds of the other people from all the sectors before Barnabas takes over their minds and makes them do his will. Death will come to all who resist him.

Moonlight Hunting is book two of the Cardonian Chronicles. It will keep the reader on the edge of their seat. I loved it. This is Ms. LaFleur at her best.

The Cardonian Chronicles may be ordered here.

Poetry from Patrick Ward

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THE APPARITIONAL TRACE:

 

In a recorded moment in history,

  time stood still.

A tragic event occurs. 

Death takes place,

in the form of murder.

Needless to say,

that it was a very violent death.

 

Then the ghostly aftermath,

hauntingly settles in.

A barrage of cries, screams and groans,

seem to echo throughout the house at night.

Tenants are affrighted when they go inside. 

 

They say the dead never really rest,

after such a tragic death.

So beware of the apparitional trace. 

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