Monday, June 28, 2021

i went to the ocean [it read his poem] by john compton

light breaks

shadows, move behind the horizon
to escape, to hide from

the war developing in his eyes
knowing bombs will be what they dream of
and what they wake from

each explosion creating a new sun.

he sleeps in the glass bed
of rebellion; believing becomes 
defiance, a weapon.
*

he lies under the unknown,
pulling it to his chin.
cold beneath the weight,
it makes him feel like smoke.
 
one day he will understand
when fire burns his skin
that life now is how tomorrow grows.




john compton (b. 1987) is gay poet who lives in kentucky. his poetry resides in his chest like many hearts & they bloom like vigorously infectious wild flowers. he lives in a tiny town, with his husband josh and their 14 dogs and 3 cats. he feels his head is an auditorium filled with the dead poets from the past. poems are written and edited constantly. his poetry is a personal journey. he reaches for things close and far, trying to give them life: growing up gay; having mental health issues; a journey into his childhood; the world that surrounds us. he writes to be alive, to learn and to grow. he loves imagery, metaphor, simile, abstract language, sounds, when one word can drift you into another direction. he loves playing with vocabulary, creating texture and emotions. he has published 1 book and 6 chapbooks published and forthcoming: trainride elsewhere (august 2016) from Pressed Wafer; that moan like a saxophone (december 2016) from kindle; ampersand (march 2019) from Plan B Press; a child growing wild inside the mothering womb (june 2020) from ghost city press; i saw god cooking children / paint their bones (oct 2020) from blood pudding press; to wash all the pretty things off my skin (september 2021) from ethel zine & micro-press. he has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies.

Tuesday, June 22, 2021

A • S T R A I G H T • S O N G by J.C Hawkes

 recall now 
that 10 years 
have passed by, 
Since the Mayan 
calendar came 
to its end. 
It was the last 
time I was dating 
younger women 
- I stopped 
giving up 
drinking -
And I was seeing 
an older woman 
Called Josie. 

She preferred 
that I didn’t drink, 
as she was a 
hopeless drunk 
She hadn’t eaten in 
months and cared 
only about children 
as her daddy tried 
to shoot her when 
she was 5. 

I fell deep 
for Josie 
she was 
so 
fucking 
difficult 
to be with, but I 
was only a 37 yo boy 
and she was 48 yo
blonde bombshell 
who went off 
in the sack
and she 
wasn’t 
shaved!

It was a long journey to 
her house a 2 hour train 
we got together 
on a scent, 
she was a
Sagittarius
We drank vodka 
like it was water 
and we never 
left the bed. 

Then, she started eating, 
she started inviting 
her daughter’s 
boyfriends 
into her bed. 
They ate all the 
food I bought 
for her 
and she would 
come up with new 
explanations, new 
versions of the truth. 

I stuck around of course, 
as she had the best vinyl 
collection and then 
I went off with 
her eldest daughter 
She had just turned 23
and we never gave up smoking, 
Like her mamma wanted us to. 
We ate at the pancake parlour 
at 3am, all hours of the early 
morning making friends 
with the local 
creatures 
and getting 
the phone numbers 
of attractive bisexual 
women who wanted 
both of us together 
and committing 
sin in the 
name 
of Satan. 
She was a witch 
you see - and 
She drove a green Celica. 

We both liked owls & heavy metal 
We had the greatest 
meaningful 
conversations 
and she looked 
up to me for 
safety. 

All of this ended, when 
I wanted my own flat 
a new religion 
and money in my pocket again. 

But, when I was done,

I was done. 

Now resumes, the straight song. 



J.C Hawkes  - is an alien who arrived on this god-forsaken planet in the territory  of AUSTRALIA - in the middle of the decade he’d have preferred to been of age as to party with the poets he admires to this day. The Burroughs’ and the gorgeous Patti Smith, the Ferlinghetti’s and the David Bowie’s ( in his Coke Daze) - yes! the dirty filthy 1970s always suited his fantasies.  He was of age in the 1990s instead and somehow survived, the day that fuckin’ Kurt Cobain died! By discovering Jim Morrison, he never did care for teeny bopping lights. 

Now in his later years, he is approaching 50 and he is quiet and reflective and writes pages of poetry daily about his memories he actually lived. While on the inside he only ever wanted to write books, grow an old man beard and live in the mountains in a cabin built for one.   Grow old and die there - this would be fine  - by me. 



Tuesday, June 1, 2021

No One Holds Court With The Devil by John Patrick Robbins

Jack dreaded the alarm for work every morning. And although he knew it would always ring like clockwork.
Sometimes he laid there in the darkness of his bedroom with the vague hope it wouldn't. 

Skyland Park Psychiatric Hospital was a place Jack dreaded returning to, and as he sat in his car outside the building he felt the energy from him begin to drain with just the thought of what faced him today.

For this was truly the home of the broken toys and Jack was burdened with the task of attempting to somehow put them back together.
And today was  an especially unique day as even though he hadn't bothered to look at his phone he knew without question Earl had already messaged him about his daughter Natalie.

Natalie was a sixteen year old girl who had tried to kill herself for unknown reasons.
And upon her botched attempt at slitting her own wrist, it was discovered by her parents her body was a mess of scars for their daughter was a cutter.  
Jack had dealt with many in his field but he knew Natalie although vaguely as him and Earl had not been in touch in a few years.

The job took everything out of Jack; it was an emotional drain on a level most could not fathom.
And as he sat in his office he stared at his degrees on the wall as he sipped from his flask he kept in his desk.

The booze was the only thing that worked anymore and without it, this job would have been impossible.
There was a knock at his door as Tanya  popped her head in.

“Jack , Miss Cason  is here to see you.”

She said as she opened the door as Natalie was standing behind her.

Jack, like some pre-programmed robot, stood up.

“Have a seat Natalie, is there anything I can get you?”

“How bout glass of whatever you're having?”

Tanya caught herself from laughing but Jack cracked up.
It was no secret amongst the staff that Jack was on the decline. But he got results and as long as he wasn't puking on the floor and slapping nurses' asses it was overlooked due to his track record.

“Don’t think that would go too well with your meds kiddo.”

Jack said as he sat down behind his desk.

“I thought all you head shrinks were supposed to have couches?”

“It's in the shop, needed some new shock absorbers.”

“Really, sounds like you've been having a hell of a party in here although you probably shouldn't be screwing your patients.”

Natalie said as she looked around the room at Jack's plaques on the wall and other assorted crap.

Very little fazed Jack anymore. And the girl's smartass nature didn't diminish the fact she had carved herself up like a Halloween jack o lantern.
It didn't take diplomas on the wall to tell she was a mess and it didn't take a degree for Jack to read someone in seconds.

That was what his family had called the gift and what he himself considered a fucking curse.
And as soon as the girl had entered the room he sensed it. No matter how much he tried to fight it the images flooded his thoughts as the pain was absorbed within his very bones. 

“Hello are you okay?”

Natalie asked as Jack realized he was drifting.

The session was the usual chip away and build the confidence stuff he did on a daily basis.
She was fractured and although he wished he didn't, he could fully understand why.

“Aren't you going to ask me why I did it ? I mean that is your job right or do you just get paid to sit on your ass nod your head and drink on the clock?”

Natalie snapped.

“Is that what you really want me to ask you? The same tired shit everyone else does? 
What do you expect me to say something so life changing it just shocks you to the core?
Look, you wanted an escape plain and simple I see it everyday people get sick of the bullshit.
And turn to everything, but face their problems including death."

Natalie was silent as Jack leaned forward.

“Look all I can tell you is this. No secret is worth your life no matter how fucked up it is.”

Natalie teared up as Jack knew it was far too soon to do what he had just done.

“Fuck you! What the hell do you know anyways you prick!”

“I know no matter the scars and attempts at making yourself as ugly as you feel on the inside it’s not going to stop until you say something.”

The girl went silent and Jack knew the session was a failure.
As he knew his days at this job were coming to a close.
He knocked off early and phoned his old friend and the girl's father.

"Jack! Man why haven't you answered my texts I get you’re busy.” 

“Earl I’m sorry I don't mean to cut you off but are you free? Maybe we can take a ride so we can talk about Natalie.”

Earl didn't question his old friend and as he headed towards the park he couldn't help but notice just how bad Jack looked.

“Dude you really look like shit man, have you been sleeping at all?”

Jack didn't reply but Earl understood his old friend better than most; he was always a bit distant and continually lost within his own thoughts to a degree. 

Jack had been silent the whole drive to the park and as they exited the car and headed up towards the trail. that headed towards the overlook it was the weird awkwardness in his silence that slowly eat at Earl.

“Dude I get you love nature and all, but are we ever going to talk about my daughter or are you just going to expect me to read your thoughts or something.”

Jack finally loosened up and almost laughed.

“Sorry man I get a little strange these days probably just too much damn work.”

“It’s fine dude but what the hell are we doing here?”

“I just wanted to talk somewhere outside that goddamned office Earl, as for your daughter. What can I say she is tough you have to be ballsy to try to take your own life after all.”

“I just don't get why is all, I mean her life isn't perfect but I do my best to give everything she wants.”

Earl said as he finally stepped into the clearing that was an incredible view no matter how fucked up a day it was.

“It’s never about stuff Earl. it’s about escape, she cannot take life right now. She needs to heal and with time hopefully she will.”

“Heal from what!”

Earl asked, agitated as often those that feel guilty tend to overcompensate with aggression.
Jack just looked at the horizon unfazed by an old friend's change in tone.

“You know why they call the place the Devil's Courthouse Earl?”

“I don't know Jack, who gives a shit!”

“Theres an old cave here that the Cherokee claimed is where the Devil holds court.”

“Look Jack thanks for the history lesson but I’m done with this bullshit I’m more worried more about my daughter's life than your stupid fucking games. Now take me the fuck home now!”

Earl said as he turned to walk away.

“Does your wife know you been fucking your own daughter ?, or she just glad your slimy ass is giving her a break.”

Jack called out.

“What the fuck did you just say to me you piece of shit!”

Earl spun around ready to fight but was met with a loud bang as the bullet slammed into his chest knocking him to the ground forcing the wind from his lungs.

Jack walked towards Earl void of all emotion firing again as he unloaded the revolver into his former friend.

Still Earl was not dead but he was well on his way as blood flowed from his mouth.

Jack looked at him as he struggled in vain to move.
He watched him die as he knew there was truly no point handing out anything else than murder.

Jack knew it was pointless to fix something only to hand it back to the person who had broken it in the first place. 
He also knew Earle’s daughter could not speak against him; he sensed it from the beginning.
No matter how fucked up a parent is towards a child they are still their parent all the same.

And as Jack now stood upon the ledge looking at the valley below, he could no longer bare this so-called gift of sight.
Jack Thompson could no longer be the man to fix the broken toys of this existence.
So with one last drink he took a step towards his true escape.

At the Devil's court Jack had become judge, jury and his own executioner.
Case Closed. 


 John Patrick Robbins, is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review and the author of The Still Night Sessions from Whiskey City Press. His work has been published here at The Dope Fiend Daily, The San Antonio Review, Fearless Poetry Zine, Piker Press, The San Pedro River Review, Lothorian Poetry Journal, Red Fez, Punk Noir Magazine. His work is always unfiltered.


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