Tuesday, May 30, 2023
Friday, May 26, 2023
he’s seen your hair uncombed.
No makeup. Even days when
ill or too fatigued, you haven’t bathed,
much less thought about being presentable.
Such familiarity offers
a variety of roads. You might
give up romance altogether,
staying to care for children or bills
or the expectations you have of yourselves
and each other.
You might stay for comfort or affection,
tending to each other
the best way you know how:
Bringing her coffee in the morning.
Letting him know how his hard work
makes this world bearable.
Or you might fan the flames
of the fires which first brought you together
and remind each other
what you saw there in the first place—
the way his sweater draped
around your shoulders,
the way her perfume lingered
long after you’d taken her home
so that you sniffed the car seats
to remember her presence.
Whichever way you go,
make it a choice. When you’re tempted
to tell her how she thinks of no one
but herself, remember the nights
you staggered in from work
and she brought you a cool drink,
the ice nearly spilling over the rim
the way you like it.
Remember the night your daughter was born
he paced the hallway, not even minding
when you yelled at him to get the hell out.
Choose to wake up in the same house
every day. And if you can’t choose it
but stay anyway, for God’s sake
know why and choose that.
If your dreams take you elsewhere,
dream. And if the entire world
refuses to forgive you,
be content with yourself, knowing
the eyes which look back at you
from the mirror
are no one else’s but your own.
B. Lynne Zika, a long-term closed-captioning editor, is an award-winning poet and photographer. Her recent book, The Strange Case of Eddy Whitfield, multiformat, is available through standard booksellers. Her father, also a writer/poet, bequeathed her this advice: Make every word count.
Tuesday, May 23, 2023
one that locked her office
door and masturbated at
her desk while i was on
the phone with her
i tried to get her to mail
me those panties, but she
i never was the type of guy
that could just go up to a
beautiful woman and ask
her to sit on my face if she
could find the time between
drinks and laughs
hell, i have only bought
a woman a drink at the bar
twice in my life
the first one was married
and the second one fucked
someone in the bathroom
before i even got back to
needless to say,
i drank both of those
long island iced teas
about piss poor timing
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Cajun Mutt Press, The Rye Whiskey Review, Misfit Magazine and just good poems. You can find him most of the time on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delight. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
Friday, May 19, 2023
Tuesday, May 16, 2023
It's that time again to purge my bookshelves of items I never return to.
I'm getting rid of a bunch of Ginsberg's books.
I recognize the historical importance of HOWL and I dig that he turned himself into a funny type
of icon but his stuff just doesn't get me off.
There are many things I must keep.
Books that are trusted friends one holds onto until the (real) end.
These I go to when troubled or if I need a strong quote.
The pages have become interwoven into my daily existence.
That makes them sacred.
I believe I may be continuing in John Wiener's odd, overlooked tradition.
I'm not up on his work but in one of her poems Diane diPrima describes his style thusly:
“not breaking grammar's rules, nor respecting them, uncouth and incomplete, definitive,”
In another piece she notes that he is “mad and in makeup.”
I'm not a drag queen but I do like wearing a bit of eye shadow now and again.
Over the years there have been a few books I have thrown out in haste and now regret it.
They were not literature but I sorely miss them.
Kevin M. Hibshman has had his poetry, prose, reviews and collages published around the world.
He has edited his own poetry journal, FEARLESS for the past thirty years. He has authored sixteen chapbooks, including Incessant Shining (2011, Alternating Current Press).His latest books: Cease To Destroy, Just Another Small Town Story and The Mirror Masks Nothing, a co-authored book with John Patrick Robbins, published by Whiskey City Press, are now available on AMAZON.
Friday, May 12, 2023
She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist
He had not meant to get so beastly drunk
Like he slit his wrists in a bathtub and the blood is all over the water
Under her careful hand, a spatter of stars—phosphor blue—arc from the curve
She stood on tiptoes, holding the trunk of the tree for balance
He looked down at his body and drew in a sharp breath
He could feel the blade of an ax pressing against the top of his head
He woke happily spent with bird breath
Alone, a paper airplane flying under flowering dogwood branches
Curtis Blazemore has been on the planet far too long, publishing various works in between having bad luck and making people rethink their faith in humanity. No matter. He sees sentences in the exhaled smoke and scribbles furiously. He hopes someday to be able to afford a Greyhound bus ticket to Graceland.
Tuesday, May 9, 2023
The only thing keeping her from being classified a sociopath
According to a licensed therapist
Is the fact that she is capable of empathy
So how does one explain away the criteria
Symptoms of problematic behavior
Barely kept in check
Violence simmering under the paper thin surface
Having her own code of right and wrong
As part of her psychosis
Skaja Evens is a writer and artist in SE Virginia. She’s been published in various places, including The Rye Whiskey Review, Synchronized Chaos, Spillwords Press, Ink Pantry, Medusa’s Kitchen, Blue Pepper, Mad Swirl, among others.
Friday, May 5, 2023
All set on seeing your demise.
Fiends as friends, not all the broken toys have been put away in the asylum's proverbial toy box.
The rains outside pale in stark comparison to the storms within.
I wrap my hands around your throat to entice, but what if I do not release my grip?
To view every room as a gallery and every sleeping body as a canvas of a crime scene's future investigation.
Was it a moment of insanity? Or a smoldering fire’s apex into the macabre?
Did they die quickly, or did their agonies linger?
Does it truly matter when all the pawns are dead, nonetheless?
Knock twenty times if need be until the skulls collapse.
Silence the desire, and please forgive the mess.