A Poem by Ken L. Jones

Upside Down On A Drowsy Afternoon

We kissed beneath a chocolate Ferris wheel

As the sound of strange exotic
Interplanetary musical instruments wafted through the air
Two sets of lips met for the first time
And then the sky exploded
Into a Busby Berkley fever dream
Filtered thought the hot jazz of
The Fleischer Brothers
Riot of colors and starlight
In animated form

All of this beauty is slowly going away

Blown apart like a dandelion
As it meets a lawn mower blade
But remembered like the
Firework stands of the Fourth of July
But its all going fast
And I can only save fragments of it
And how long will that last?

I listen to the wind’s voice

And it sounds like it has had a stroke
And I realize how fast all of this
Can be brought to a halt
I decline in the sky like a bird
Vanishing into transparency
And my last thoughts tell me
Once again that you were
My weakest of moments
That you were like kryptonite to me
But would I do anything different
Funny you should ask
Though the whole thing crucified me
It was a tasty repast
And I deserved much of
What I got but not everything for sure
And what our flesh produced in merging
Brought forth frankincense and myrrh 
I know that you hate and love me too
And in my more pastoral moments
I feel the same about you
You deserve to have someone
More devoted to you than I
Someone who would have built
A whole universe around you
But I’m not that guy
I had things to do
That you never quite understood
And what I’ve left behind
Will last longer than petrified wood
And yet try to ignore it as I might
I remember the night
Oh my dear savior
I remember the night. 

Ken L. Jones has written everything from Donald Duck comic books to dialogue for the Freddy Krueger movies for the past thirty plus years.  In the last three years he has gained great notice for his vast publication of horror poetry which has appeared in many anthology books, blogs, magazines and websites and especially in his first solo book of poetry Bad Harvest and Other Poems.  He is also publishing recently in the many fine anthology poetry books that Kind of a Hurricane Press is putting out.

Two Poems from your Editor, April Salzano

If Love Can Be Put on a Shelf

hatred can line the pantry, spin
around on the lazy Susan like cans
of kidney beans, organ pebbles held
in aluminum captivity, dusty, waiting.
Jealousy can rage in the fridge,
barking at the plastic jug of milk,
that bloated breast of sustenance,
unnecessary, conspiratorial species'
potion that slides down throats
of our young, who believe they cannot
live without it.  Honesty can
be folded with the laundry, washed
clean, erased like a stain on fabric
that hides flaws, covers scars, cracked
open scabs on knees, flaking eczymatic
skin.  Trust can be swept under the rug,
crumbs, bits of bread and other garbage
no one believes in anymore.


It Should Have Been You

with your head under the front wheels
of my jeep instead of an innocent groundhog
who stopped under my vehicle out of fear.

It should have been you behind me as I ran,
mile after mile, going nowhere, getting there
slowly, arthritis wrapping its hand around my joints.

It should have been you sitting in the meeting
where our son's education was kneaded like bread dough,
twisted to fit some model everyone calls What's Best.

It should have been you the last hour of the day, worrying,
and the hour after that, awake in bed, worrying waking up
the next morning and worrying some more.

It should have been you who tucked our boys into bed
and told them why you left, how greener grass
had rooted on the opposite side of the fence.

  

April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania where she lives with her husband and two sons. She recently finished her first collection of poetry, for which she is seeking a publisher and is working on a memoir on raising a child with autism. Her work has appeared in journals such as Poetry Salzburg, Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Camel Saloon, Centrifugal Eye, Deadsnakes, Montucky Review, Visceral Uterus, Salome, Poetry Quarterly, Writing Tomorrow and Rattle. The author also serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press. 

Two Poems by Jon Wesick

A Postindustrial Romance

 

…we live in a society that is both competitive and in which we are incessantly evaluated (school, university, performance as writer, poet or businessman or sportsman). The only place where you hope to stop that evaluation is in love.

                                                                                              Eva Illouz

 

 

Donna married my paycheck

on an unseasonably warm autumn day.

Bridesmaids in antebellum gowns fanned themselves

and congratulated her on her good catch.

I still have the postcard she sent

from their honeymoon in New Zealand.

 

I wanted them to be happy.

Even when pricing helium futures

at the zeppelin factory,

I’d set down my slide rule

and imagine her moaning with pleasure,

my paycheck between her thighs.

 

When the downsizing began,

she sat at my paycheck’s bedside

holding its hand     telling it not to give up.

At the funeral pallbearers had to restrain her.

In her grief she began to live for her job

staying at the office long after dark

and subsisting on frozen dinners.

 

To console her I explained that in today’s economy

love depends on the trade balance with China

as well as myriad decisions by executives

in large corporations.     Now she’s dating again.

If you’re interested, forward your resume

along with a copy of your tax return.

 

 

 

Monica Wanted to Be 2-D

 

She was okay as a centerfold.

Then she put on blue eye shadow and heels,

became a Cosmo cover.

 

I wanted to wrap her around books

art, philosophy, anything to add depth

but she became a crayon drawing

of a house and baby

yellow sun

lollipop trees.

 

I folded her into a paper airplane

and launched her into the sky.

She fluttered back as a credit card bill.

 

I took up origami

practiced cranes, butterflies, and elephants.

She countered with liquor ads and romance novels.

 

I thought a Mobius strip would satisfy both of us

but her feminist language critique cut my tongue

when I licked its adhesive edges.

 

Finally, she became a page from The Rules,

slipped under my door,

and skipped

away

pursued by the wind.

 

 

Host of the Gelato Poetry Series, instigator of the San Diego Poetry Un-Slam, and an editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual, Jon Wesick has published nearly three hundred poems in journals such as the Atlanta Review, Pearl, and Slipstream. He has also published over seventy short stories. Jon has a Ph.D. in physics and is a longtime student of Buddhism and the martial arts. One of his poems won second place in the 2007 African American Writers and Artists contest.

 

A Poem by Donal Mahoney

Study in Fidelity

Breaking news:
Woman in a Cadillac
tries to run over
the husband
she claims is
a serial philanderer
and misses by inches.
She puts the car
in reverse
and roars over
another man
out for a walk
with his mistress.
the man dies
at the scene.
No word on whether
charges will be filed
or whether the widow
will testify on behalf
of the driver.
The women say
they're involved
in a long-term
relationship
both husbands
were aware of.
Details at ten.



Donal Mahoney lives in St. Louis, Missouri.  His poetry and fiction have appeared in a number of print and online publications.

A Poem by Shaquana Adams

Signs

 

You were Chris McCandless, 

but I didn't like the wild.

It's far too unpredictable and consequently,

I've been stranded in rain's unforgiving storm.

But I wanted you, so I went anyway.

You were Jack Sparrow,

Fuck the Black Pearl, 

who knows what you were after...

I took my point hat,

stood by your side,

and drank to the pirates life.

You were Jack from Titanic

A few meetings and you were mine.

But we were from two different worlds...

“Where to miss?”

“To the stars.”

And we sank.

Shaquana Adams is a graduate of Francis Marion University. She has been published in several literary magazines and journals such as The Snow Island Review, The Bicycle Review, Dead Snakes, Twenty Something Press, and The World of Myth. Outside of poetry, she enjoys yoga, crocheting, and reading novels in her spare time

A Poem by Dawnell Harrison

Frosty Fingers

Your frosty fingers
on my warm face
reflected fragmented
shadows on my heart's bone.
My cold voice echoed
on heaven's hill as
transparent blue-white
icicles formed on my
back doorstep eaves.

Dawnell Harrison has been published in over 100 magazines and journals including The Endicott Review, The Journal, Fowl Feathered Review, Jellyfish Whispers, The Bitchin' Kitsch, Vox Poetica, The Tower Journal, Queen's Quarterly, and many others.  Also, she has had 4 books of poetry published through reputable publishers titled Voyager, The maverick posse, The love death, and The fire behind my eyes.  Furthermore, she possess a BA from The University of Washington.

A Poem by Theresa A. Cancro

Seething Blue

The turquoise of the Mediterranean
never clings to me.
It smiles, disappears
as I plunge hands in
like I plumbed your depths
but saw no reflection there.

Malocchio* watches now, 
unblinking on the side,
as I grip weathered oars.
Uneasy calm, a brusk wave
tosses my open heart,

buffets fishing boats --
black lies stare.

 

 

 

Theresa A. Cancro (Wilmington, Delaware, USA) writes poetry and fiction.  Some of her poetry has been published on online sites, including Three Line Poetry, Dead Snakes and A Handful of Stones. Her haiku has been accepted for publication in the December 2013 issue of A Hundred Gourds.