Poetry from Vijay Nair

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Beware of friendship

Barking dogs all friends not
My bitten flesh his poisoned teeth
Iago my plague everywhere
France first massacred St. Bartholomew
Statecraft of duplicity scheming dark
Machiavellian my Italian downfall a fool
Othello slew Desdemona, naive my genius
Unallowed conscience fo’r mach four test

Tongue his, a boneless strong
To break enough a heart
Lawyer he of mistakes own
Jehovah he other mistakes judge
Hates, spending clock
Wise your correct him
Unless, learn to face own
Shadow see in others
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Poetry from M. Spear

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Pile of Person
 
They gather up
in piles on the street
corners, begging
for a stop.
No one ever stops.
Begging for a question
no one is asking.
Might as well be miles
away to the rest of us.
Immune
 
I’m no longer letting
them get under my skin.
I’m no longer listening
to the criticisms like
fish hooks.
I’m trying on a new suit
and this one’s made
of armor.

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Short story from JD DeHart

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Joe Bell, 2014
The swirling dark eddies of the stream must have been some form of invitation to the padding of the child’s feet. There was a rustle followed by a splash while the house with its dim lights slept. That is all I want to say about that, for some acts are not a matter of pride.
Once, I noticed a basket with two small white eggs, early vestiges of spring. Then I saw a dove sitting on those eggs the next day. A wind swept through and swiped mother and hatched fledglings off their surface, smashing them on the ground. Such is the way of the whirlwind sometimes; it is unexpected and seems to move by its own purpose. People often call me the bad guy, but I am not sure that is treating the narrative properly.
The child with padding feet belonged to Joe Bell, the premier attorney in the county. I should know, for I have been scoping this area out for centuries. Joe Bell put the upright in upright citizen and was the guest speaker for many prayerful occasions. Such meetings always make my skin crawl.

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Poetry from Mark Schwartz

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Off an alley in North Beach, I spent my boyhood aspirations.

Smoking weed in Kerouac Alley and drinking from pitchers of beer in Specs

spewing words onto a page.

Some of the words came true, others melted like candle wax over a bridal bouquet.

I got divorced from that son of a bitch

who kept me up all night

Tied to a bed in handcuffs.

I wrote it all down, the screams, noise, words. How do you write noise?

Like this.

AARGHHHGGGRGGHH!!!

And that’s that.

 

— Mark Schwartz and Joie Cook

 

By recluse in the affinity of the time

I come to reckon my finances

and all that is due to me

The kingdom come, thy will be done

As it is in heaven and earth

 

Be sure to forgive those who trespass you

But keep the debts

 

Remember the earth (maye, gaye)

and its replenishment

 

Come flowers, come children

Long live life.

 

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Poetry from Joan Beebe

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Jim Beebe (Joan's husband's) clock.

Jim Beebe (Joan’s husband’s) clock.

The Clock
 
Finely Fretted –
 
Lacey Cuts,
 
Tall and Commanding,
 
It stands in 3D and is
 
A Work of Art
 
But overpowering–
 
An Illusion of a Time Long Ago.