An Act of War By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I fix my gaze

at the summit

of the snowy

eastern mountain.

I imagine a white

dove camouflaged

only to be given 

away by its dark

eyes. The black hawk,

not fooled at all,

is camouflaged 

in sprinkles of 

white snow, ready

to make its move

in an act of war.

Crystalline tears

will fall and echoes

of painful moans 

will reverberate 

throughout the snowy

mountain. Bloodied

feathers will not be

camouflaged until

more snow falls.

Buried at the bottom

of the snowy mountain

is the white dove

and its dark eyes.

Born in Mexico, Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Ángeles. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, Fearless, Mad Swirl, The Rye Whiskey Review, and Unlikely Stories.

Didn’t Make it By Dan Provost

 

The signs were too far to read.

Never mind being understood.

 

Sold yourself in various ways,

convinced that soul would be cleansed…

 

Only if you could find that simple existential path.

 

That lead to becoming a hero.

 

But, as Pink Floyd said once, You reached

for the secret too soon,

 

and the various clues on lonesome,

fixated roads.

 

Never provided a satisfied answer

toward a failure

you knew was on the

horizon.

 

Dan Provost's poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years. Some recent publications include: Ariel Chart, Poetical Review, Merak Magazine, Oddball Magazine, Deuce Coupe, Misfit Magazine, the Rye Whiskey Review, Cajun Mutt Press and the Dope Fiend Daily. He has two books coming out in 2020. Under the Influence of Nothingness by Kung Fu Treachery Press and Rattle of a Realizer, published by Whiskey City Press. He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

OUR CHILDREN ARE MAKING A REVOLUTION By Strider Marcus Jones

in this static show

of status quo

political voices

make their choices

in the game

but most remain

loyal or abstain

and stunt their reputation

for self-gratification

raping the have nots

with subtle riots

of troughed opinion

like glove puppets of elite dominion. 

 

these suits of higher suits

who keep the masses murmurs mute

ignore the real ground

crumbling round

financial towers of glass and steel

whose machinations illegally steal

the oxygen of dreams

from street streams.

this summer cities burned

and some plasma tv's got returned 

by groups

in operatic loots

but i remember them

stealing rice and bottled water

while Number 10

shouted Order! Order!

so they nabbed jazzy trainers to fit in

as a boy dad took nappies for his son to shit in.

it was a grain of gravy from the pile you've got

not even a scoop

of the soup

from the glimmering pot

of silver and gold

simmering on your stove. 

then came the justice of oligarchy's retribution

sending these children to jail

while the bankers and hackers’ own trail

of looting and intrusion

went unpunished or was given bail.

our children are making a revolution

and live in a language

that we can't damage

above our rhetoric and contaminated bones 

on their ipods and mobile phones 

in their own wisdom

and fields of vision

making new tunes

and runes

without the rules

of serfdoms fools

and privileged jewels.

Strider Marcus Jones – is a poet, law graduate and former civil servant from Salford, England with proud Celtic roots in Ireland and Wales. He is the editor and publisher of Lothlorien Poetry Journal https://lothlorienpoetryjournal.blogspot.com/. A member of The Poetry Society, his five published books of poetry  https://stridermarcusjonespoetry.wordpress.com/ reveal a maverick, moving between cities, playing his saxophone in smoky rooms.

  

His poetry has been published in numerous publications including: The Huffington Post USA; The Stray Branch Literary Magazine; Crack The Spine Literary Magazine;The Lampeter Review and Dissident Voice.

Brick Shadows By Jake St. John

The old town 

don't look 

the same 

any more 

everyone's left

and split 

moved on 

or died 

I've read

more obituaries

than box scores 

this year

even the tavern 

has changed hands 

the music 

still plays 

but just 

a little 

slower 

and just 

a bit 

sadder.

  

Jake St. John lives in the woods on the edge of the Salmon River. He is the author of several collections of poetry including Lips Leave Scars (with Jenn Knickerbocker, Whiskey City Press, 2023) Ring of Fog (Holy and Intoxicated Publications, 2022), Night Full of Diamonds (Whiskey City Press, 2021), and Lost City Highway (A Jabber Publication, 2019). He is the editor of Elephant and is considered an original member of the New London School of poetry. His poems have appeared in print and online journals around the world."

The Alone Girl By Susan Isla Tepper

I'm the alone girl 

look for me 

in the mulch lined pit

no shirred satin

I've been down here

a long time

if you count

by the moon's cycles

I gave up

believing in stardust

the first year

watching my skin crack

a blood welt near my wrist

where a watch band would go.

A fading planet from inside out.

Susan Isla Tepper is a twenty year writer in all genres. Her stage play "Crooked Heart" will be featured in Origin Theatre Company 'May Play Festival', NYC.

Sipping Insecticide By John Patrick Robbins

Embracing the poison to avoid dealing with humanity, the clock is insignificant as my life these days.

Keep your head down and your true face masked. 

It's bleeding at the seams as we are broken internally from the start.

Empty vessels all pine, as you simply taste freely granted pleasures to escape feeling anything that is truly real.

A shared disease, an unwanted curse.

We were reckless as now we are bound to a countdown, a time bomb of internal hemorrhages implosion.

Blood tears shed in a durst bleak is the landscape of damnation's promise.

Does anyone have a cigarette?

Fuck the blindfold and you as well.

Open fire.

John Patrick Robbins is a Southern Gothic writer his work has been published in Impspired Magazine, Fixator Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Fearless Poetry Zine, Distrub The Universe, Sava Press, Spill The Words Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and The Dope Fiend Daily .

His newest book is Midnight Masochism from Black Circle Publishing available through Amazon.

His work is often dark and always unfiltered.

Everything is normal but for normality By Dennis Moriarty

Look. Here is the core of all you choose

to ignore. The inner city

of this global sprawl where the roads flow

like needle tracks down the arms

of a junkie who has suffered

too many lows and not enough highs, where

the night spills it’s neon guts

over the pavements, in the gutters and over

the water of a river

that cuts this place in two with the serrated edge

of a tidal knife. Look closer.

See the lunatic trembling for the want of a bed

in the asylum, at the homeless

who occupy the streets, shop doorways opulent

apartments furnished with cardboard

and the discarded rags of another man’s demise.

Look below your feet and see

into the bowls of this city where the day people

scream for lack of sleep

and the night people move restless as the wind

that howls and blows

through the alleyways and up to the gates of hell.

Look. Here you are now

in leafy suburban England where everything

is normal but for normality,

where the lunatic, the junkie and the dispossessed

are the chorus of a song

you never play, a line in a poem you refuse to read.

Dennis Moriarty was born in London, England and now lives in Wales. Married with five grown up offspring Dennis likes walking the dog in the mountains, reading and writing.

In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and went to county Cork in Ireland to read his work at the international poetry festival. Dennis has had poems featured in many publications including Blue nib, Our poetry archive, Setu bilingual, The passage between and others.