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The Window
That open window in the projects, To where a mantis sometimes climbed eleven stories to pray. From where we saw the Third Avenue El and fell asleep to its sound. Through which the smoke of incense and aroma of fried pork chops escaped. And I'd observe Officer Jiménez (Jiminy to…
Does Anyone Know I’m Here?
It's every city in every state I've ever been, the sidewalks, the streets, the smells and noise, the irrational clutter of shops, homes and offices. Voices that rise and fall, muffled by grit and hazy panes where graying blinds slice light into pales that hide them from me, and me…
Daniel E. Speers
Dan Speers has written numerous college and adult education textbooks primarily in computer applications and programming languages. He is a former award-winning journalist and columnist who embraced a love of technology and holds a number of US and foreign patents in instant photography and optical computing. Returning to his early…
de profundis
does of any of it matter the hours days years the faces without names the voices without sound a sudden memory stirs the soul as the darkness of a long forgotten time is penetrated and one face one name one treasured voice returns in an incredibly sparkling moment to touch…
Mason City Ladies’ Sewing Circle
Fiddle fern hangs near corner porch column, scent of Honeysuckle suspends in air, swing sways at porch end, lemonade pitcher, glasses, sliced lemons, plated ice-box cookies set on wicker serving table, calico cat naps on railing crook, rainbow glints off cut glass framed in Grandmother Susan's mahogany front door, baskets…
The Dark Room
The safe-light leaks moist red into the darkness. Bach sings his magic hills, the door says Keep out. Balancing light and time, strengthening solutions, patience, love of solitude—but in the end one must become a swimmer somersaulting beneath clear green water. We'd spent the week in Marrakash, Mother, my three…
Catherine De Laney
Mary Ann Wehler
Elaine Winer
Jeremy Johnson Jackson the Third
I love my teddy bear. I call him Jeremy Johnson Jackson the Third. Jez for short. Jeremy Johnson Jackson the Third. I love my teddy bear. He always gets close when I need him. He's so soft, he's so cuddly. Sometimes my tears just disappear into his fur. I love…
Train Journey
Good-be Adelaide, Mother and Dad. I see you trying not to cry. Go on cry, so will I. The train is moving earth and sky. You've had each other for thirty years. Be happy, plan another tour. I'm crying, crying, crying not to Not to not to not to not…
Fritillary
Sweet bright grasses fringed about a secret cove, With little rasping voices, softer than the waves that curl, Softer than the winds that trill a harmony across the dunes, Telling tales ... Butterflies brown and white, with lead-light marks upon their wings With tiny cooing voices, softer than terns, softer…
Adam Wallace
Ann Tregenza
Jennie Herrera
Latrun, Margalit, and First Born
LATRUN Why I saved him I don't know. A funny looking fat kid with no friends. Used to come to scout meetings with a stick he said for the coyotes. We'd see coyotes maybe once in five years. But he always knew his way in the dark. And he never…
Speaking of Speaking
Good evening and welcome. Before we begin, please turn off any cell phones, pagers, watches free standing inserts, November, dogma, the capitals of Europe and fleece. And why not take a moment now to unwrap that cough drop or hard candy suck on it, spit it out, cry me a…
T’was the Week After Doomsday
T'was the week after doomsday, when all through the land, not a creature was living, they'd all turned to sand, the humans were hung from the bridges with snares, a sign that the cannibals soon would be there. The children were scared, hiding under their beds, while visions of savagery…
The Flight Line Commedia
Canto I: Stranded in Las Vegas Halfway home I found myself astray. A Friday journey out of RNO To TUS became a life's dismay. The tale is dark and strange, but even so, The things I saw and lessons learned are those That all who travel by the air should…
The Ryme of the Old-Time Musique Man
It was an ancient beardy man He shoppeth at a mall. He stopped we three at the HMV, Croaked, “Wherefore Shoppst thou y'all? There isn't much to see here boys, This place is such a mess— Your HMV and A&F GNC and CVS. Besides, CDs are second rate. I've scoured…
The Wife of Lance Allot
On worsted lines the washing dries Damp trails of whites, rank bales of lyes The dross of kids, the mess of dyes My life is crap, the lady cries The wife of Lance Allot. And up and down her patience goes One minute fine, the next she blows And through…
A Frivolous Social Event in the USA
Concept by Miley Cyrus Abridgement by self I dismounted my steed at the L.A. crossroads With but a dream and a busking-shawl, Here was the orgy-place of plenitude and fame, And great alterity in mine eyes withal. Ascended I into a rickshaw-sleigh And to my right was the Hollywood mark;…
Hurl
I I saw the biggest mouths of my generation devouring double bacon blue cheese burgers and large curly fries, slurping thirty-two-ounce colas and Dr. Peppers, dribbling mustard, ketchup and relish on themselves and looking like a food fight, hip-heavy lard-asses, barely able to reach for another handful of nachos or…
Poetry Workshop (Mary had a little lamb)
“How could she?” someone said, “have a lamb?” Another added, “She must have been scammed.” “Her lover was a beast,” one shouted out, “a horrible man.” “Mary,” an older man said. “That's very virginal isn't it? Hmmm, I'm not so sure that it really fits. Perhaps the speaker has a…
The Felching of the Oct’pus
A fun-sized epic in antiheroic couplets, dedicated to: The two rapscallions who challenged me to write it Cephalopod fetishists everywhere and a narrow subset of Japanese businessmen. Now then most wat'ry and slime-crusted muse Invoking the muse Awaken from your dark aquatic snooze; You who have filled the poets' heads…
Daft Idylls
with apologies to Wordsworth I wandered loony as a clod, My belly taut with air that spills, When all at once I heard a broad Report, as if from avian bills; I turned to see what broke the peace: Did wind, my body's, break its leash? As I stood sniffing…
The Rape of the Cock
An Heroi-Comical Poem What dire nonsense from amorous causes springs, What horrid undoings a knife brings, I sing—This verse to Dike and Peneus: For this, even Bobbitt might stop to hear us: Small is the subject, but not so the ways, That Dike needs justice, Peneus play. Say what strange…
First Edition, 2008
1. O, I also enjoy singing about America When I am in the shower O song—O awesome song, O the mouth-song that comes out of my mouth, Like food when I don't feel good. O-hi-O, Cleveland is your capitol. O, how this pen fits in my hand, Like a magic…
And Now, The News
Katie and Tom. Tom and Katie. Katie Katie Katie. Fluffy vermin. Tom jackhammer justice riot flame. Katie. Tom. Katietom or maybe Tommykate. Fandango castle fans outstretched and breaking apart deadly. Tom. Fill 'er up, Katie. Katie, Katie. Tom Tom do the Tom Tom. Fill er up Katie. Doo wop a…
The Castration of Sam McGee
There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who mole for gold There are stories there That will curl your hair And make your blood run cold But the strangest sight In the arctic night I ever chanced to see Was that night on the varge…
Pumpernickel
A Poem Written in Mock-Shelley I weep for Pumpernickel—he is dead! O, weep for Pumpernickel! Though our tears Wash not the gore from his head, Nor his paws, nor his fur, nor his tail, nor his ears. Where wert thou mighty God, that morn' about Ten, when he mewed and…
Like a Snow Day
If there were a national holiday called “Five Presidents' Day,” this is how I would commemorate it: I. Richard Nixon A fat little boy who also happens to be a close friend of mine was bouncing a ball down a European street with a warped perspective. The ball eluded him…
D.M. Burns
D.M. Burns is currently studying English at the University of Louisville in Louisville, Kentucky. Most of his writing can be found at his online journal, dearmulan.livejournal.com, in which all work is specifically and carefully addressed to the historical heroine/classic animated character Mulan. His poem “Like a Snow Day” was inspired…
Masculine Message from Damion McGraw
Put yourself in a state of mind where you say to yourself Farm girls know how to party. If anxiety is becoming too much for you to handle… Adventure awaits! Geisha Bingo! Impress your woman with your animal instincts! Confirmation: Petco Card The miracle tool for your johnson Eggstractor—The Hardboiled…
Jim Neill
Jim has been kept from his writing urge by a career in the music business until now. “A career,” his father always told him, “is a job that's gone on for far too long.” He was raised in Amherst, Mass., got a BA in English from the University of Massachusetts,…
How to Write a Poem
To be a poet, You have to drink like a fish, By which I mean: You should do it without any clothes on In the middle of a lake. To be a poet, First you will need A bottle of bottom-shelf whiskey. Now I'm talking whiskey That's so cheap It…
The Tight Thong of J. Alice Prufrock
Theesa panti que resemble dentalia flosse Donned a personas infantilia y flirtatio. Make'a you say, “Who's the bosse?” Mi respondo — “What is the ratio Of flesh to fabrica there?” I shall wear them to prove my tenacio! We are ho's, then, you and I, With our rears spread out…
Yuri Constringe
Phunny Pharm
Wading in the cesspool of self-loathing, Despondent, suicidal, and dejected, Loath to bathe or change from last week's clothing — No monument to hygiene here erected. Limp along, you lame synaptic firings, This mind confused, confounded, and forsaken — Victim to unseen and faulty wirings, Seratonin mostly reuptaken. And yet…
Kakie Mashburn
Kakie (32) is the manager of a research center at Vanderbilt University in Nashville, TN. She has a B.A. from the University of the South (a wee liberal arts college in Sewanee, TN) and continues to write works of zany tomfoolery (sonnets, songs, odes, what not, and what have you).…
Blaming of Parts
Today we have blaming of parts. Yesterday, That piece of shit M-16 we fuckin' tol' you wouldn't work didn't. And Tomorrow we’ll fuckin' plant Waziscowicz, L J, 042 36 3842, who we found deadern' a mackerel cleaning rod slammed down the barrel of his piece no spent brass nowhere so…
Alan Farrell
Brigadier General Alan F. Farrell is a longtime professor who taught French and English at Hampden Sydney College for nearly 25 years before coming to Virginia Military Institute. He holds a B.A.—Cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa—from Trinity College in Hartford, CT, a master's in German and another in French…
Ode on a Grecian Formula
Oh sacred libation of Narcissian (sp?) splendor, From thee I reattain, through unpretentious market vendor, Ebon locks once lost, that now renewed, quickly reengender, And mend penis-vital connections with youth, once hindered. The empowering single application of sanctified unction More than libido-enhancing Viagra restores function. The stygian night of repellent,…
S.L. Pierrotti
I have done technical writing and grant writing off and on through the years and published a couple of nonfiction pieces in minor publications. Although I truly love great literature, I only write poetry for fun, more for the love of playing with words than out of any desire (or…
Ron Truman
DEDICATION 1 You Judges! You are judging, are you not, Those poems with which your inbox daily swells? The gods of online contests, you have got Control of literary heavens and hells. Yet some pre-teen, with angsty love besot, Who's rhyming's even worse than how he spells, May blaspheme with…
The Craven
Once upon an early morning, fantasizing til I'm horny Over many disembodied women never touching me before, Woke up feeling mighty funky, stimulated, stiff and spunky, Had the urge to spank the monkey, dreaming of a faceless whore From a dirty movie I had rented nights before — a priceless…
Chris Kuehn
Chris Kuehn resides, writes and teaches in Wisconsin. She won recent recognition for her 2003 feature-length family movie script Toby Noble's School Project in other contests. Chris writes, “I've wanted to attract a larger audience for my writing although this isn't exactly what I had in mind! But, it's no…
An Ode to Buns
Buns are rosy, buns are round, Some spurt gas without a sound; And other buns, without a care, Blow methane with a trumpet blare. Some buns are fountains of delight, Some buns bellow in the night! Some are wrinkled, old, and droopy, Some are fragrant, some are poopy. Pendulous are…
Callaghan Howard
Born in November of 1985, Callaghan Howard has been writing poetry since she was seven. Most of her work, however, takes a rather less farcical tone than that of “An Ode to Buns”, which began as a joke poem for her mother, whose zany sense of humor continues to make…
Untitled (“I want to cut a hole…”)
“Your poetry sparks the imagination and presents the reader with a fresh, unique perspective on life.” Letter from poetry.com to Rick Lupert regarding the following poem… UNTITLED I want to cut a hole in your butt cheek your left butt check and put my COQUE COQUE COQUE in there and…
