Saturday, April 24, 2021

John Thomas Allen - 3 POEMS

 1. Medusa In Abstract

These laughing gas hoses and permed fields of razored yellow, the sun whistling in cold and the thousand painters it takes to stain a pure piece of guillotine glass driven in the whistling, coiled silver of her coal eyes. The cracks on her face will canvas an oil abstract and when removed reveal at the compartments of a rubix cube, the compartments glass, colorless and not plastic, the eyes crossing in atom spills, rooms of candelabras burning in a hushed vertigo, the curtains spinning ministries of nature’s paneled WELCOME signs, occult sigils, the mice in drizzling gazebos, a sideshow in the spectacle of each indigo ring. A hush is heard in constancy over the eye, which is a firefly breaking in perpetuity like a mood ring, or the smeared egg yolk abstract in a midnight carnival’s interior castle, that hush in torn tiremarks, the nude and skinned eyes crossing in perpetuity, the dilated rooms of fantasia, the seaweed strangler, the heads turning in barrels filled with founts.


2. A Yellow Man Clapping In Traffic

The King’s ministry is a traveling star,
irradiate with warrior alien mail coats
Hidden histories, black verse and hymns
one knows better to throw
to the fire and roast.

And the only refrain is a laughing murmur,
and a yellow man clapping in traffic.

Subterranean dynasties,
thing against thing
the King devouring his foes

stripped and heaving
by quivering candelabra,
pulsing in eldritch shadows.

Screams rife with the choral ring
of small mouths praising Carcosa,
a thing falls in slow tumble
toward an evil star.

Sated on the oasis
of a flaming gallows,
Cassilda dances on
jackpins, the Queen Jester peels shadow
from her eyes, following syphilitic
village kings who loose
their own progeny
toward His vanguards,
hoping for strange miracles.

And the only refrain is a murmur,
and a yellow man directing traffic.
These each Carcosa’s orphaned lot,
roaming as blinded lambs
misled by each, his drifting mage.

These each these starry eyed
These cross legged grinning
yellow mages playing dice
with flaming genomes,
holding Hastur’s seal
making his young so mad,
feeding them to the shade.


3. No. 17251

The REM mirror's 
bent tubes synthesized
in snake pegs 
of archipelagic
ice hieroglyphs;

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

the hierophant C-flat 
spilt in a tide pod 
rainbow suit worn
in a night Mass’ oval paucity.

A date unrealized
and of silt gravity, 
split on all sides 
by holofoil wings 
of indigo aeons,

(hear the eglantine washerwomen
call breakfast with gold spoons)

where a shadow caches 
spectral amber 
and unseal frog eyes
hanging as cragged 
dropsy jewels
in memoriam,
insect moot eyes

spilling a fog mass, lit
in small wings

burning sigils flown
in SILK embossed flags
by codex seraphics 
aflame in cellular

peeling a yellow horizon

of flypaper 


 domino flanked spiders,

dialing up light in the 
glass toothed eyes 
of the loved dead

torn cellophane angels 
unfurling false teeth,
the shattering 

 Chinese christabel

hexes, the table 
having a rorschach 
spill, weeping figures 
traced through in baby
blue on pinched borders,

on the melodic scuttle of uranium

the smear of

         beatified lipstick,


(here the washerwomen
stitch a message home
in the flags of plexiglass
rising from the tinfoil
king's severed wing);

humming the coral 
ministries of death's
lexical glossalia.

Saturday, April 17, 2021

jim leftwich - 9 poems

 1. process before November

crazy islands vote their
sentences make disbelonging 
foamy sun / making a second
tea, a second team / the,
the young bleed crises
upon their heads of state


2. diameter two halts

nominal cancerous conditions
middle pandemic normalcy,
salty use less hinges / medium
cheese entitled to a presence


3. reminds a soggy onion

umbrella venerated romanticist
sneeze hands half sun / time
and time again, against the
exrequirements of everyone
is a desert unto their proven risk


4. feral campfires drainage

held islands vote their
sentences drain disbelonging 
foamy sun / lobbyists a second
tea, a second corporate/ the,
the businesses bleed crises
upon their end of the various


5. reproach and prolific

doubling-down cancerous conditions
six-figure pandemic normalcy,
salty use less swing states / medium
cheese entitled to get out the vote


6. trade abstract ten walk

umbrella venerated indestructible
origin hands half sun / time
egg-shaped again, against the
eyes cringe cracked everyone
is a desert more than ever unseen


7. that do to be

held damages vote their
vacant drain disbelonging 
foamy sun / fuzzy broom &
tea, a second spectrum notes
the businesses caulk mad
distill and acclaim the growl


8. improvised horse & legacy

octopus mushrooming conditions
tune the lights pandemic normalcy,
salty soap notable swing states 
delve errant combats chosen dissect


9. surfiction stomping drum

umbrella foamy indestructible
origin hands half sun / botch
winter limits worse against the
new waving sulfur everyone
has destructive transit legume


Saturday, April 10, 2021

Hugh Tribbey - Five Poems


You enjoy cob salad


Eating club sandwiches 

—a cicada candelabra 

Done in the vein of affluent videos 

Todd extinguishes iguanas 

And a bacon vinegar

You pong me with tambourines 

Pierre elevates mass through a prism

No consignment to Alcatraz 

Tune dog tree quartets a cinch

No co-signers 

Alcatraz tunes a dose

Trees quote cinch


Acquired tambourines enter

Acquire vivid, made koalas

A knife, cash money 

(due Algonquins, quiet altos, quiet grips of steel poinsettias, obscure 

Also grandiose omelettes, quaint bandannas

Sewn with tiny mirrors)

Otters and chinchillas, somber medians 

A penis of grit, a rude portobello 

Tacos with suave peanuts, sinful vermin

You enter, Yoko, my version

Enter poor Pierre, parasailing over the port

A vain parasol mover

Heil also sucrose sweet grandpas vaguely levitating

Such frozen debt 

A suspicious profundity, a silent exhalation of morbid peaches

A sin of causality, dulcimers of lost ostriches 

A pudding devoted to azure rays of lost corpuscles 


Vines quell your query

Eloquent yellow llama 

No sequel to bare ceilings of your sinful defenses

Lucifer sins in the cabana 

Lunatics sin as parrots 

Knaves all

Knaves of the state’s cicadas to a man




No sequel to the sweet bells 

Late motor cars

Your eloquent queries 

Sin arrives in the air

Sin hears hosannas in moving crystals 

Acquires quietly the sweet

Eats bells the silence

Paris armies sin a last

Caviar and ribs, the last dunce arrives with peaches

Harms the navigable palms


Across the vast sardines the aura of sin

Thunder the solo sea

My morbid septic pie on an oral cavity

Somber seals escape a sweet slumber

Thunder the missing number


Entropy designated for the brazier and the lost signal

Thunder, no disco exists

Eat regional grain, thunder and armor, anger territory 

Absconding with the acerbic coma

Emote the special salad

Surrender the Keno of grace, arena of my special torment 

All donate the terminal estate

Fan the last drop of imaginary soup

Sometimes the otter goes viral

Since the horizon quits otter oysters, friend in friend

Deduct  penal dictums not seen  in mass numbers 

Cello terrors, native tornadoes under-recorded 

Doubtless the final, quiet librarian’s sin, saluting your misery

Dissembling a nebula, annunciation the levitating coma

Carnal ninnies 

Allah, Allah, laugh

Thunder ovoid habits


You lost ammo, you lost igloos 

Seal igloos with rumors and wine

The mermaids of delayed fun

The ballads in the corridor 

The coma of Ella’s lost pajamas 

Tan pronto with Soma under a last ceiling 

A primer on rays from the lab

A salute to consensus 

Yen sonatas prolong the van

Porous llamas lose serration 

Candace’s hay allergies 

An Apache from Hildago 

See them pour temperate mud deciduous 

What a triste with a cello’s air

Quite the sentence for lasagne

Extraordinary entry for lasagne 

Saturday, April 3, 2021

Edward Wells - Three pieces

Edward Wells is a writer from the United States of America. They hold an MFA in Creative Writing and are an adjunct instructor of writing and literature. They are enamored of the possibility of connection and the cool air that descends into a desert with sunset. Their poetry manuscript, *meyond,* is newly available through Alien Buddha Press, and their fiction, "forest," is included in the The Text.


wooden arms

(arms in Two Little Wooden Shoes by Ouida)
(wooden in The Arm and the Darkness by Taylor Caldwell)

glittered like tiny sliver balls the room contained a wooden cupboard leaning sideways and filled with mugs jugs and wooden (p12)
arms (p18)

they turned away from the bed and from wooden (p28)
arms (p125)

they rose and went to wooden (p56)
arms out and looked (p146)

three golden bowls a long black wooden (p134)
arm to them their old (p233)

word as they talked their hand played with the wooden (p155)
arm about them and feeling their flutter (p235)

empty stone wall opposite them hung a huge wooden (p183)
arm and turned cold as (p236)

then when Charlie Finley had done they sank onto the wooden (p198)
arm that (p237)

linked its wooden (p262)
arms close about their throat they kissed (p239)

flesh pleasant and their wooden (p325)
arms stretched out piteously (p272)

skirt was drawn high and knotted behind they saw their wooden (p331)
arms and lifted the curls (p308)

they flung themself sprawling on the wooden (p342)
arms nevermore (p4 index)


up you

(after Dr. Seusss’ Oh! The Places You’ll Go)
(and Shel Silverstein’s Falling Up)

you’ll be on the way up (Seuss)
if you give me a people-back ride (Silverstein)

that bang-up poem (Seuss)
twenty-five cents is all you pay (Silverstein)
and hang-up poem (Seuss)
here’s what you had for lunch today (Silverstein)

you admit I’ve told it all (Silverstein)

you can get all hung up (Seuss)
oh well you just missed by a little (Silverstein)

for a mind-maker-upper to make up their mind-make (Seuss)
no thank you (Silverstein)
if you have a lion that’s fine (Silverstein)
if you brought some walking bacon (Silverstein)

and face up to your problems (Seuss)
when you can make the grandest noises (Silverstein)

you’ll get mixed up of course (Seuss)
cant you walk faster than you do (Silverstein)
as you already know (Seuss)
they yawned and said you must be kiddin (Silverstein)
they said you want me to strain my words (Silverstein)
they said why don’t you make tea for me (Silverstein)
they said first lemme hear you beg (Silverstein)
I told my poetry there’s a song you can play me (Silverstein)

you’ll get mixed up (Seuss)
as you walk by (Silverstein)
it’s a good thing you didn’t (Silverstein)
you did (Silverstein)

and never mix up your right foot with your left (Seuss)
there is a voice inside of you (Silverstein)
what’s right for you just listen (Silverstein)


lessness Americans

(after Gertrude Stein’s The Making of Americans)
(and Samuel Beckett’s Lessness)

the Prescott city house was of this sort a nervous restlessness of luxury was through it all often the father would complain of the unreasoning extravagance (Stein)
in the sand not holding one step more in the endlessness they will make it no sound not a (Beckett)

restlessness inside of them they had all these years been in the place they now lived in (Stein)
holes in one step in the ruins in the sand on their back in the endlessness they will make (Beckett)

Charlie Oakley would get their very angry feeling and Charlie Finley was a little ailing and the fierce little temper broke into weakness and helplessness inside them and the (Stein)
one alone all alone in the sand no hold they will make it (Beckett)

weakness and helplessness inside them and they had in a way to be good to them (Stein)
in the endlessness they will make it it will be day and night again over them (Beckett)

they yield to them, or later when the temper broke down into weakness and helplessness inside them to have them then be good to them all the rest of their feeling (Stein)
the endlessness they will make it never but silence such that in imagination this wild (Beckett)

mostly they do not know it inside them that they do not want to have inside them the restlessness of adolescent living and so they keep up inside them always (Stein)
in the sand no holding they will make it ash grey little body only upright heart beating (Beckett)

Charlie Oakley was then such a one they had a certain gayety in living but no wildness no recklessness in their being and no one would think such a thing (Stein)
one alone all alone in the sand no hold they will make it (Beckett)

Charlie Oakley had not any recklessness or wildness in them they had very little weakness in them they had a certain ambition a certain desire for freedom and (Stein)
holes one step in the ruins in the sand on their back in the endlessness they will make (Beckett)

had no good nature really in them they had no heartlessness in them they had enough sensitive being to make a pleasant sympathetic sweetness in them that (Stein)
in the sand no hold they will make it ash grey little body only upright heart beating (Beckett)

recklessness in living they had gayety in living, they had in them very little anxious being they had in them always impatient being they had some sensitive bottom (Stein)
in the endlessness they will make it it will be day and night again over them the (Beckett)

clamoring of that other one who has been given everything and by one who never wants anything from any one another put them yielding down to guilelessness (Stein)
the endlessness they will make it never but silence such that in imagination this wild (Beckett)

Charlie Oakley was quite a sweet one to some, poignantly sweet one and generous in living and having careless domination in living and having thoughtlessness (Stein)
in the sand not holding one step more in the endlessness they will make it no sound not a (Becket)