I Used to Think By Tim Heerdink

 

I used to think
that I knew darkness
until the night
my journey took me
to Belle, Missouri.

I used to think
there was always
someone to blame
other than me.

I used to think
people didn’t die
young, but I’ve been
proven otherwise.

I used to think
all the shit happened
only to me,
yet now I see
everyone suffers.

I used to think
there’s no light
waiting in the distance;
oh how I was wrong.

I used to think
after my mouth
found itself open,
& I must apologize.

I used to think
before thinking
became too much
like unnecessary
trouble.

Tim Heerdink is the author of Somniloquy & Trauma in the Knottseau Well, The Human Remains, Red Flag and Other Poems, Razed Monuments, Checking Tickets on Oumaumua, Sailing the Edge of Time, I Hear a Siren’s Call, Ghost Map, A Cacophony of Birds in the House of Dread, Tabletop Anxieties & Sweet Decay (with Tony Brewer) and short stories “The Tithing of Man” and “HEA-VEN2”. His poems appear in various journals and anthologies. He is the President of Midwest Writers Guild of Evansville, Indiana.

The Still Nights Philosopher By John Patrick Robbins

 I told her sweetheart, there's nothing between us but the night.

And as for bad choices.

I prefer to react, rather than reflect  on what feels right in the moment.

Nobody's keeping score for we are both adults, no matter the childish games we play.

So let's drop the facade and take things in an  all too natural direction.

No talk about signs and l could truly not give a fuck  about the weather.

For the heat we can create as we can save the cool for the morning and skip the sugar laced farewells.

Why fantasize when we can spare the delusion and cut to the main course.

I never need an excuse.

Taste the pleasures and always over indulge.

There's nobody keeping score, let alone some invisible dude in the sky.

Besides if that said person created something better than sex, they definetly won't be sharing it anytime soon.

Hang-up's are for those reading what I'm too busy already doing.

If this life's a rocking, don't bother knocking.

Sayonara my darlings.

John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review.  His work has been published in Fearless Poetry Zine,  Lothlorien Poetry Journal,  Fixator Press,  Schlock Magazine,  Piker Press,  The Dope Fiend Daily,  Medusa's Kitchen,  Red Fez, San Pedro River Review. 

His work will always remain unfiltered. 

To Wait Out a Storm by Susan Isla Tepper

The grass so still

as if it stopped growing

you stop under a tree

when lightning

rips up the sky—

the worst place

to wait out a storm

 

on your last.

 

If the old Chestnut

splinters from electric current

taking you along

 

you can go knowing

your profound moment.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty years published writer in all genres.  Her current project is an Off-Broadway Play on the subject of art and life.