Friday, January 18, 2019

Vacation Plans by John Patrick Robbins

Rick phoned his wife told her he was on the way home.
The office was a ghost town.

Rick always burned the midnight oil and that in turn had gave him a life he never imagined having.

He was the top tier in the advertising world.
Everyone wanted to do business with Venture advertising. 

They had all the top accounts.
You name they signed it.

As he stood waiting for the elevator he couldn't help but feel nervous.

He was far from a child but this floor during the day was like grand central station.

Now it was silent as the cemetery.

He stood there waiting for the elevator not noticing the man behind him.

"Hell of a wait huh boss?"

"Jesus Christ ! "

Rick yelled out.

"Who the hell are you!"

"Hey calm down chief didn't mean to scare you just maintenance had to replace some lights on this floor is all."

Rick was still rattled and a bit annoyed.

The guy that stood before was a mountain of a man standing at least six four and built like a damn linebacker.

Rick was amazed how a man could be so silent sneaking up him as he did.

Rick eventually got himself together as they both stood  waiting for the elevator.
and as it slowly made its assent to the top floor of the huge office building.

"Fuck do you repair elevators as well?"

The massive man laughed.

"Yeah it be nice if they designed this bastard to move faster than a turtle huh?"


They both laughed at that one as they struck up a conversation.

The man hadn't been working there long not that Rick would of known anyway.

He didn't truly pay attention to the hired help.
He was in the business of selling products not employee management.

Rick hated people in fact he mainly spent his days sleeping in his office.

The best perk about being the boss was knowing nobody could bust your ass for slacking.

But he was loved by the companies he made money for.
He had a wife and kids and  two mistresses on the side in the city.

For Rick the rules didn't apply cause he wrote the book and what he said was gospel.

"Shit you must hate this job."

Rick said.

The man just shrugged his shoulders. 

"Hell a man has to eat."

"Yeah I guess but I rather have more than a job if I had to bust my ass like you dude it would  drive me nuts."

"Well Mr Harris it has its moments."

Rick looked at the man puzzled for he just met him so he didn't know how he could know his name.

Just then the elevator doors opened.

But instead of the usual scene they opened to nothing but a empty dark space.

He felt the push and that was it.

The man who never liked the dark found himself free falling to his death.

The man who clearly was no janitor looked down into this abyss.

Laughed to himself and said.

"He asshole enjoy your trip."

Michael O'Brien was no maintenance man.
But he liked to think of himself more of a human exterminator.

It never mattered who the target was all he ever gave a damn about was the money.

He made his way to
the stairs.

Decided to have a smoke on a bench in the hallway before he made his descent.

Yeah smoking would kill you and so would Michael for a price.








About John Patrick Robbins:

John Patrick Robbins is a barroom poet and editor of The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers. His work has appeared here at The Dope Fiend Daily and also at, Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red Fez, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash , Synchronized Chaos , Boned Magazine, Five Two Poetry, Cajun Mutt Press, Blue Pepper, Blognostics, Piker Press, Spill The Words, And The Whiskey Writer.



 His work is always unfiltered.




Wednesday, January 16, 2019

Mance by K.W. Peery

A
Brazos
bottoms
blues man
born
Beau De Glen

Had a
Choctaw
Mama
and a
dead-thumb
grin...

Played
pocket knife
slide
on the
"Jack of Spades"
Pickin'
down
at Threadgill's
he was
all the
rage...

It was
"Sugar Babe"
shuffle
in five
dollar
shoes
With a
Lipscomb
lean
at the
old
Jade Room...

His voice
was as
hollow
as a
Navasota
stump
King
of his
precinct...
ole Mance
could
thump








About K.W. Peery: 

Americana songwriter and Kansas-City-based storyteller K.W. Peery is the author of seven poetry collections: Tales of a Receding Hairline; Purgatory; Wicked Rhythm; Ozark Howler; Gallatin Gallows; Howler Holler; Bootlegger’s Bluff. 

Tales of a Receding Hairline was a semifinalist in the Goodreads Choice Awards – Best in Poetry 2016. 

Peery is a regular contributor in Veterans Voices Magazine. His work is included in the Vincent Van Gogh Anthology Resurrection of a Sunflower and the Walsall Poetry Society Anthology, Diverse Verse II & III.

In 2018, Peery is scheduled to have poems published in The Main Street Rag, Chiron Review, Big Hammer, San Pedro River Review, The Gasconade Review, Blink Ink, Rusty Truck, Mad Swirl, Outlaw Poetry, Mojave River Review, The Asylum Floor, Horror Sleaze Trash, Ramingo's Porch, From Whispers to Roars, The Rye Whiskey Review, Under The Bleachers and Apache Poetry. 
Credited as a lyricist and producer, Peery's work appears on more than a dozen studio albums over the past decade.

Monday, January 14, 2019

A Small Operation by Jim Bourey

I lost the power of procreation.
No, I volunteered to surrender
the possibility. Heated argument came
before a decision. It was settled

when mild midday breezes moved
white lace curtains. A few days
of shallow pain. Six weeks waiting
for confirmation.

Assured, a new freedom
seemed possible.
Not burning freedom,

carelessness just mattered less. Though,
it was the Eighties, and who could
know anything for certain then.








Jim Bourey is an old poet who lives on the northern edge of the Adirondack Mountains. His chapbook “Silence, Interrupted” was published in 2015 by the Broadkill River Press. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Stillwater Review, Gargoyle, Broadkill Review, Rye Whiskey Review and other journals and anthologies. He was first runner up in the Faulkner-Wisdom Poetry Competition in 2012 and 2016. He can usually be found reading aloud in dimly lit rooms.

Saturday, January 12, 2019

Plenty Of Young Beautiful Nurses by J.J. Campbell

another medical facility

another waiting room

another patient's room
door cracked open

plenty of young beautiful
nurses

you'd think one of them
would like to help a dirty
old man

or perhaps all that porn
is starting to bleed into
my reality once again







About J.J. Campbell:

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is trapped in suburbia, wondering where the lonely housewives are. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Fourth & Sycamore, Horror Sleaze Trash, Synchronized Chaos, The Stray Branch and Red Eft Review. You can find him most days bitching about something on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (http://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Friday, January 11, 2019

Review: Blood & Beats & Rock N Roll by Scott Simmons

This book is certainly a large book and at times it was a little hard to navigate as  there are no page numbers. However there are still excellent examples of true poetry such as "Prune" and many more other great poems. One of the most humorous parts of the book to me was the opening write "Lit Fuse" it was delightfully absurd and was genuinely fun to read. As a short reader I tend to just read something for just a few minutes a day, but Tony's great sense of humor and poetry kept me to invested in reading far more than I thought I would.


Pros:

Interesting Chapter titles.
Diverse Selection of Poetry.
Throughly Humorous/vulgar at times (In a very fun way).
His style communicates quite well to readers.
Very readable.


Cons:

No page Numbers.
Could have been organized a bit better to help the reader focus more.



Overall Recommendation: I would certainly recommend this book for any true poet and for anyone who like myself can also enjoy a crude sense of humor in just the right doses.  This book is going to be something that I will often return back for so I could get a few well earned laughs or if I want to be able to appreciate true poetry.


https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Beats-Rock-n-Roll/dp/1535340177














Thursday, January 10, 2019

Chrysalism by Ashley Cooke

In the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm

My eyes lit up
as a stream of blue light
cracked across the sky
and all fell black again

The thought of her woke me
as I noticed the emptiness
of this house that grows cold
as her presence fades with every day

I want to hold the lightning between my fingers
let it crash onto my palms
and feel the rain down my arms
but it belongs to the sky

I want to hold her fingers against mine
feel the pulse on her wrists beat with mine
to feel her against my skin
but she belongs to someone else

The lightning scattered
sparks illuminate the trees
in an explosion of force
I opened my door for a better view

She is lies that hold no truth
the words she spoke were scattered
among not only my ears
but among other hopeful hearts

I stood back from the charge
still hooked to the ground
shaking the earth I stood upon
I stepped backwards towards my door

She is a beautiful sight
she can knock anyone off their feet
no matter if you try to stand up to her
she will always have a hold hooked to us

The storm is passing by
the colors of purple and blue
above me had faded to a light gray
no flashes of lightning and crackle of thunder

She is as free as the storm
coming and going as she pleases
here I stand loving her from a distance
wishing she would pass by me again.







About Ashley Cooke: 

Ashley Cooke is a creative writing major attending Long Beach City College. She is from Long Beach, CA. She is currently working on her first poetry collection

Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Pep Talk by Anggo Genorga

breathe hard, breathe in, breathe out,
otherwise, expect rain.

read
write
utter hello
scream goodbye
paint a smile
cry like a river
drink water
get drunk
eating is a motherfucker but eat anyway.
remember that death is a knock on the door
that always gets answered. heaven is a place on earth.
hell is around the corner. wisdom is rarely an early bird.
regret is always after the deed
&
hey,

life sure gets rough but who told you not to sleep?







About Anggo Genorga:


I'm from the Philippines and working as a manager of a local band called Wonder Woman's Electric Bra. Recent writings can be found at Outlaw Poetry Network, Devote.se, Paper And Ink Zine, The Odd Magazine, Piggpenn and the now defunct Dead Snakes. Also at Empty Mirror, Mad Swirl, Guide To Kulchur Creative Journal and Silver Birch Press Bukowski Anthology and Verses Typhoon Yolanda, a book for benefit published by Meritage Press.

Vacation Plans by John Patrick Robbins

Rick phoned his wife told her he was on the way home. The office was a ghost town. Rick always burned the midnight oil and that in turn ...