------------- circularity deepy dishy mentioning a coarse ribbon gazoo pylon wave ha / ha ah-woo zing! building & stamped passport you’re now a bldg dealt-a-force ducked or deal ------------- bio/graf J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poems have appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of ten print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *Cinderella City* (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Nelson’s first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead*, published by Post-Asemic Press in December 2022. Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.
Art from Mark Young
Poetry from Randall Rogers
For Good Health Nothing is more real than music in silence and silence in music fortissimo snuff box blaring Gesundheit!!! Dog your very footsteps wobbly into the future waft like a billowing consciousness small among the groovy solaces of your mind. Tri-annual Sprout Sometimes it’s like those two guys discussing between themselves when it’s just me three gorging on my reflection in the mirror. Half Wit’s Domain Raised (like free range poultry) on a diet of “stupid son of a bitch” and all the fixin’s I never measured a small man in a normal sized body for Japan or Vietnam little big man moniker followed me in fights I’d win lose on purpose pulp danger took me places power dynamics in confined places infighting head butting the groin bashing gouging wise men fear to tread.
Poetry from Michael Lee Johnson
My Life By Michael Lee Johnson My life began with a skeleton with a smile and bubbling eyes in my garden of dandelions. Everything else fell off the edge, a jigsaw puzzle piece cut in half. When young, I pressed against my mother’s breast, but youthful memories fell short. I tried at 8 to kiss my father, but he was a welder, fox hunter, coon hunter, and voyeuristic man. My young life was a mixture of black, white, dark dreams, and mellow yellow sun bright hopes. Rewind, sunshine was a stranger in dandelion fields, shadows in my eyes. I grabbed my injured legs leap forward into the future. I’m now a vitamin C boy it keeps me immured from catching colds or Covid-19. Everything now still leaks, in parts, but I press forward.
Jesus and How He Must Have Felt (V3) Staggering out Wee-Willy's dumpy dive bar, droopy eyes, my feelings desensitizing, confusing my avocado fart, at 3:20 a.m., with last night splash on Brut aftershave. Whispering to my outcast self-sounding is more like pending death. My body detaching from myself, numbed by winter's fingers. I creak up these outside stairs to my apartment after an all-night drunk, cheap Tesco's Windsor Castle London Dry Gin—on the rocks. I thought of Jesus how He must have felt during His resurrection dragging His holy body up that endless stairwell spiraling toward heaven.
Most Poems By Michael Lee Johnson Most poems are pounded out in emotional flesh, sometimes physical skin scalped feelings. It’s a Jesus hanging on a cross a Mary kneeling at the bottom not knotted in love but roped, a blade of a bowie knife heavenward. I look for the kicker line the close at the bottom seek a public poetry forum to cheer my aspirations on. I hear those faraway voices carrying my life away- a retreat into insanity.
Poets in the Rain (V4) By Michael Lee Johnson All poets are crazy. Listen to them soak sponge in early rain medley notes sounding off. Crazy, and suicidal, we know who they are: Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Plath, Dylan Thomas the drunk, Anne Sexton, Teasdale. This group grows a Pinocchio nose. At times I capture you here under control. I want to inspect you. All can be found in faith once now gone in time. With all your concerns, I see your eyes layered in shades of green, confused within you about me. Forgive me; I’m just a touch of wild pepper, dry Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon, and dying selfishly. We don’t know if it is all worth it. I have refined my image, and my taste continues to thrust inside your crevices. Templates of hell break loose thunder, belches, and anomie. Asteroid Ceres looks like you are passing gas, exposes her buttocks, and moves on just like ice on a balmy rock just like yours. I will wait centuries, like critics, to review this fecund body of yours- soiled, then poppies, poetry in the rain.
Michael Lee Johnson lived ten years in Canada during the Vietnam era. Today he is a poet in the greater Chicagoland area, IL. He has 272 YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 44 countries, has several published poetry books, has been nominated for five Pushcart Prize awards and six Best of the Net nominations. He is editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, all available on Amazon, and has several poetry books and chapbooks. He has over 443 published poems. Michael is the administrator of six Facebook Poetry groups. Member of the Illinois State Poetry Society. Do not forget to consider me for Best of the Net or Pushcart nomination!
Song Lyrics from Chimezie Ihekuna
Song Title: Sands of Time Genre: Reggae Chorus Sands of Time (4ce) Verse 1 As I examined what’s happening around me, I’m left with no choice than to re-evaluate my thinking Oh yea, Oh Yea (4ce) The truth staring angrily at me Staggering situations my eyes can’t bear Excruciations my heart has endured Frustrations becoming a part of me My cold treatments to people around me The failure that I’ve become The losses I’ve encountered My hopes being dashed I began to ask to ask myself: Would you leave those vices in the Sands of Time (4ce) Verse 2 I expressed my dissatisfaction through my reggae music Oh yea, Oh yea (4ce) My left and right side brain made active Feeling no pain but sweet sensation Melodies pure and flowing Sounds of courage being heard Ray of hope arising The healing power manifesting The love that’s assuring The brightness of freedom Peace that’s bounding Make me see the possibility of leaving the positive vibes in the Sands of Time (4ce) Verse 3 The world is witnessing catastrophes Oh yea Oh yea (4ce) People dying Diseases and starvation abounding Rights denied with no justice Truths fast becoming myths The yearning for materialism on the rise Leaders clueless about the future But through my music, Sharing the optimism of hope Illuminating humanity rightly Seeing the right to posterity Are what I will leave in the: Sands of Time (4ce)
Poetry from Jelvin Gipson
When I must leave you for a little while, Please do not grieve and shed wide tears Hug your sorrow, for I have gone to fetch for you. Live and do all things the same A day will come when you will feed your loneliness with gladness. Remember, before bringing me forth In your arms you taught me to never lose sight even when time seems helpless You guard me jealously like a Guinea fowl that guards her eggs. When hospitals were far, you painfully brought out with gladness A day shall come, When your product will be in demand, When others will look forward to seeing and shake hand with your production You give me a life and a world A day shall come when you will gladly see joy at you feet And by your side, there's nothing we cannot beat Sad are the hearts that love you Silent the tears that fall Living my heart without you is the hardest part of it all It is with heavy heart and tears in my eyes To think of the fact the way I came A day shall come when your hand will reach out in comfort and in cheer And I shall gladly sit by you and hold you near.
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- in the winter blues stuck in another waiting room heat raging in the winter blues coat rack full my imagination hoping something young walks in soon i don't think it wants to dream about the wrinkling skin under three layers of clothes fresh out of some vacuum space saving bag although, it certainly has dreamed of worse --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- plenty of happiness honesty hurts laughter doesn't cure shit money can buy you plenty of happiness true love does have a fucking price cheaters always get ahead faster and death is a relief it's up to the user if it is sweet or not ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ i never asked to be born on the cranky days i remind myself i never asked to be born then i'll think of my father and the worms six feet under the ground the anniversary of the day we put that fucker down there is coming up suddenly a smile --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- past any sense of reason there's a darkness deep inside of me that every blue moon or so wants to come out and play stir some shit up push the envelope well past any sense of reason this is where i always tend to hold back the desires and do my best to just play it cool but one of these days they might as well get the riot gear ready madness has no timetable ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- high heels the sound of high heels on tile floors scratches that itch i will always have in the back of my brain of a long-legged queen digging those heels in my chest with a skirt on short enough that i can enjoy the view as i embrace the pain
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Yellow Mama, The Beatnik Cowboy, Terror House Magazine, Horror Sleaze Trash and Cajun Mutt Press. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)