Saturday, September 12, 2020

The Dreaming Dog by Gwil James Thomas

The world has changed 

since I was last here,

but at least my 

mum’s kitchen hasn’t - 

where across 

the chequerboard floor, 

the old family dog’s 

deep asleep, 

tapping his arthritic paws 

up and down effortlessly - 

running miles 

through the dreamworld 

even if he can’t 

in this one anymore.

I wonder if he can 

have lucid dreams?  

I wonder if he knows 

that he’s left the dream,

when he wakes? 

I wonder if him, me,  

every fucking word 

that I’ve written and 

everything that’s 

happened and ever will - 

are all just part of some 

interconnected dream 

unfolding in god’s head? 

Suddenly the dog wakes up,

stares at me and sighs -

as I laugh and focus 

on my own world again - 

the one filled with poetry, 

passion and chaos.

Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician. His written work can be found in numerous publications in print and online and has been nominated for The Pushcart Prize and Best of The Net. He resides in his hometown of Bristol, England, but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His most recent chapbook can be found here:

Thursday, September 10, 2020

Find Your Eyes by Kevin M. Hibshman

Your gaze, a few steps behind.

Hipster vampires rule the night.

They don't eat meat but will drink blood.

Try to keep up instead of stopping to console every lonely tree stump.

Please don't wave at the cars passing by.

This is a respectable street guaranteed to meet the needs of the most puerile tourist.

I don't want any of them to notice us.

They sense that we are intruders.

Men from mars in full regalia.

I can't watch for you over my shoulder.

I am fogged in heavy second sight.

Don't attempt to describe what you see.

Get your mouth off of that tail pipe!

Kevin M. Hibshman has had poems, reviews and collages published in numerous publications world wide. Most recently, his work has been published by Rye Whiskey Review, Drinkers Only, The Crossroads and 1870. In addition to editing his own poetry e-zine, FEARLESS, he has authored sixteen chapbooks including: Incessant Shining (Alternating Current, 2011) and Love Sex Death Dreams (Green Bean Press, 2000).

Friday, August 21, 2020

The Lonely Chimes Of Backroad Cemetery. By John Patrick Robbins

I remember the peace in the hidden site, that lay off an old dirt road in Pike County Indiana. 

And the sound of those tuned wind chimes. 
That hung from an old oak tree that loomed over the few graves that stood undisturbed. 

Away from everything, such a peaceful beautiful music for none to hear and all to enjoy.

On a hot summer day I can always recall.
What peace existed there as I sat amongst the tombstones.

I wonder now hopeless as in memories and time that paradise sits untouched. 

As my soul breathes fractured truths even I as a writer and man cannot repair.

Dealing in lies and old ghosts.
I wonder, do those chimes still beckon me home for a final rest.

In a place no pain does exist, hidden away as I only long to be.

John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of the Rye Whiskey Review his work has been published in.

Punk Noir Magazine,  San Pedro River Review,  San Antonio Review,  1870 Magazine,  Sacred Chickens,  Heroin Love Songs,  Piker Press, As It Ought To Be Magazine.

His work is always unfiltered.

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Untitle Me by Ambrosia

Time finds strangers in us all.

But Does the night?

My words plague this desert intrusive in their design.

I'm alone in a hell no one can find.

But alone is where I always prefer to be.

Ambrosia is a Lithuanian poet whose poetry has been nominated for best of the net and his work has appeared in various publications all over the net and in limited print runs. 

Thursday, August 13, 2020

Puzzuoli’s by John Doyle

Every dusk

Panama turns its back on me,

that’s fine, I've forgotten, already.

I'll remember Puzzuoli's, in lieu of these misgivings - like last time I heard


Obviously Five Believers, as I closed in on Singapore City,

half-awake, three-quarters trying not to sleep -

Puzzuoli’s, in porno-blue fly buzzing light.

In Panama City I found something - 

everlasting peace, a solitude of 

marble statues, jazz music tarred in sepia,

married men twisting their throats

in barbed-wire - another mile-long boulevard of sweaty cotton suits

before they considered divorce.

It’s final, divorce

a sweaty man in a dry cotton suit

tells me.


It's 12 hours after midnight - 

Jesus, this is hot -

It's hell on earth here;

like that time in 1987


trudging through a forest, 

shovels on our collarbones,

the gas-station kid’s body leaving stone-clutched trails

in the sour-faced dust. Oh yeah, I remember - 


that first time I knew Puzzuoli's 

was damned

was last May or April -

Paul Henry's blue-blurred dusk made stop-signs


look like Modern Art

stolen in a late-night heist, 

Van Morrison 

caught a Los Angeles connection, 


and we drank wine no-one kept receipts for.

In Panama City

the divorce rate is slowly rising, 

alongside the moon, the mercury, the capillaries of broken bottles -



like a grizzly bear

chasing us through a forest

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch. 

Friday, August 7, 2020

Sticky by Susan Tepper

If you slice vertically
you will find a heart
dissected in tandem beats
to smear across bread 
my blood and sticky love 
No scope can clarify 
the solitary nature 
of the soul—
why this—
Memory confined to
sensible phrasings
small gestures:
coffee in a pleasant place;
the sun going down
behind a stone church; 
dappled leaves, some fallen
outside plate glass window.

Susan Tepper is the author of nine published books of fiction and poetry. Her two most recent titles are CONFESS (poetry from Cervena Barva Press, 2020) and a road novel WHAT DRIVES MEN (Wilderness House Press, 2019) that was shortlisted at American Book Fest. Other honors and awards include eighteen Pushcart Prize Nominations, a Pulitzer Nomination by Cervena Barva Press for the novel ‘What May Have Been’ (re-written for adaptation as a stage play to open in NY next year), shortlisted in Zoetrope Contest for the Novel (2003), NPR’s Selected Shorts for ‘Deer’ published in American Letters & Commentary (ed. Anna Rabinowitz), Second Place Winner in StorySouth Million Writers Award, Best of 17 Years of Vestal Review and more. Tepper is a native New Yorker.

Friday, July 24, 2020

JUST DESSERT by Jay Passer

simple laughter
is forbidden
without a permit
the plan is to invade
the city of your
take out the trash
where is it going?
back to your
we will take away
the features of your face
stumbling is sanctioned
but falling preferred
don’t leave home
or we will
find you a new one
without windows or doors
no birds outside
or trees either
the wind like cold
on the deck of a
sharp as
the blade
of the helicopter
will not be tolerated
we will topple
your Pieta and your
any Heroes out of Myth
are fair game
for our federal
we’ll harvest the vitals
from the vaults
of your fortitude
we’ll pick the flowers
out of your ears
with machinery
constructed from bones
amassed from the
smoking pyres
of vanquished
try something new
try the corner bodega
whale meat and dog chops
eagle egg soup
camping outdoors
no hiding in caves or
holes in the ground
and we will prosecute
until you bleed compliance
your funny tricks
your Naked Athenas
will be aborted
scrap that vacation
all borders are closed
back to the
blind deaf or dumb
it’s your choice
pick one
before we really
start taking
extreme measures
look on
the bright side
tours of the armory
bipartisan agreement
bread lines
painted to the faces
of the robots
wielding arms
delicious candied
rubber bullets
for dessert

Jay Passer's work has appeared in print and online since 1988. His work has been included in several anthologies and he is the author of 10 books, the most recent being The Black and the Blues, from Alien Buddha Press, 2018. Passer lives and works in San Francisco, the city of his birth.

The Dreaming Dog by Gwil James Thomas

The world has changed  since I was last here, but at least my  mum’s kitchen hasn’t -  where across  the chequerboard floor,  the old family...