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Three poems by Mary Lou Buschi Posted on September 30, 2011 Burn-Out-No-Car-II. Because you were unable to stop barking, or vacuuming, or drinking, I decided to vandalize our yard—painting the grass a garish red, deadheading every rose, swinging the scythe from the abandoned garage, while helping a hive of furious bees fashion a home of papery ash. And it's not because you said that I notice everything. It's the ridicule that tastes like nickel on my tongue. I'm not asking for praise, (a stout doll-head in a rowboat on an abandoned lake). I'm asking you to unpack the black lizard!–drain the gin, drink the lavender, blow the blooming elephants out of the front door like bubbles. Or a solo trumpet will blast the love that has formed a hump on my back.
The Womb as Winding Sheet The flesh, Hands While a river A violet orchestra. Bright fish
Solitaire The truth is if you hadn't looked back we'd both be in the light. 5 of spades on 4 of spades… with moments when there's nothing to say, forgetting where the other said they were going. 5 of diamonds. 6 of clubs. Maybe we'd be throwing barbeques for relatives— Remember which ones don't eat meat, or drink beer, wine, or liquor, feeling, desperate, empty, and relieved when they leave. Jack of hearts—King of hearts … Because you were scared to lose me—you did. 7 of clubs. 2 of hearts. I've been using the dark earth to sculpt busts of you. I carry them from river, to room, to field speaking softly, Arranging and rearranging you on shelves and mantles. Ace of spades. When I begin again with warm clay, my hands around your neck— I pull gently out to mold your chin, your lips parting—cheeks fill my palms. Queen of hearts. And each time I form your eyelids my fingers shape your flaws. Mary Lou Buschi's work has appeared in The Laurel Review, Indiana Review, The Collagist, Pank, Swink, Southern Indiana Review, Dark Sky, GLASSCHORD, RHINO, and is forthcoming in RHINO 2012, The Caper Literary Journal , and Gargoyle . Mary Lou is a graduate of the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College in North Carolina . She is also a NYC Teaching Fellow working with young men and women with autism. ____________________________________ Posted on September 21, 2011 Petition I am eyes warping, my busted down think, Michael Sean Bolton received and MFA in Creative Writing, Poetry from Arizona State University in 1993 and a PhD in Literature, also from ASU, in 2009. He currently teaches in the Literature and Language Department at East Tennessee State University . His poems have been published in journals such as Prism International, Thought Crime , and Sage of Consciousness . His chapbook, A Passion , was published in April of 2010 by Gold Wake Press. _____________________________ Posted on September 15, 2011 GROVEL OF BABYLON She did appease my oblivion Discarding chronicles But now it's come to sunshine All like mighty I still got a thing about you.
VENUS INDIGNANT The ejaculatory Jeffrey Side studied English at Liverpool University and Leeds University . From 1996 to 2000 he was the deputy editor of The Argotist literary magazine. He now edits the online version of this, The Argotist Online , which has an ebook publishing arm called Argotist Ebooks. He has had poetry published in various magazines such as Poetry Salzburg Review, The White Rose and Homeground ; and on poetry web sites such New Hope International, Underground Window, A Little Poetry, Poethia, Nthposition, Eratio Postmodern Poetry, Ancient Heart, Blazevox, Lily, Big Bridge, Jacket, Textimagepoem, Apocryphaltext, 9th St. Laboratories, P.F.S. Post, Moria, Pirene's Fountain, Great Works, Ken Again, Hutt, Fieralingue, The Dande Review, Raunchland, Poetry Bay and Dusie . He has reviewed poetry for Jacket, Eyewear, The Colorado Review, New Hope International, Stride, Acumen and Shearsman . His poetry and other publications include, Carrier of the Seed (Blazevox), Slimvol (cPress), Cyclones in High Northern Latitudes [with Jake Berry] (Lavender Ink) and Outside Voices: An Email Correspondence [email correspondence with Jake Berry] (Otoliths). ________________________________ Posted on September 13, 2011 The Crush This is the beginning, and we all know how that is. Her gaze plucks at your ribcage; her gaze sits Soon the harm will come with its patterns. The backseat But it's too late. You're a drawer drunk on holding. Something will happen. You'll win, or else another carrier Gretchen Primack's publication credits include The Paris Review, FIELD, Prairie Schooner, Massachusetts Review, New Orleans Review, Borderlands: Texas Poetry Review, The Tampa Review , and Best New Poets 2006 . Her manuscript Doris ' Red Spaces has been shortlisted for several prizes. Her chapbook, The Slow Creaking of Planets , came out with Finishing Line Press in 2007. Gretchen teaches at Bard Prison Initiative. More about her here . ____________________________ Two Flash Fictions by Peter Ramon Posted on September 8, 2011 Holy Land IN past days traditional costumes were still indelible and many people never let nature change even though Europe laughed at them. So great was their sadness, poetic as it might be, in their aridity they sighed to see their artists paint a sainted family as if wrapped in green gauze. Once they'd climbed the mountain, the divine explorers stopped on a rock, the brilliant sky overhead, the silence of the desert immense. Here they died, here they will always be sublime and beautiful at the end of a limpid source under the ramification of trees in flower.
Things AT length she wholly conquered her heedless inattention. But it was too late. All his kindness rapidly evaporated. His objections grew more palpable and uniform. It was therefore not difficult to restrain her. She entered into a confederacy that disturbed his judgment. All was a fairyland and enchantment. Her emotions were indescribable. Her tongue incessantly described her danger and prayed for deliverance, instantaneously converted into a joyous certainty that howled from her lips. This combined with her other emotions to render the whole intoxicating. He chose unpremeditated emotions which are common to the human race. He was tortured by the innocent elegies she pronounced. She filled the air with heartrending shrieks. Peter Ramon is an old poet who was born in Brooklyn, NY and lives in Austin, TX, where the girls are so pretty. _________________________________ Posted on September 5, 2011 Cambial Mirror New branches on an old tree, the reductive
Hellacious Evergreen or a poem beginning with a line by Lou Reed “I'm not a young man anymore.” I've got nothing Scott Keeney's poems have appeared in Court Green, failbetter, NYQ, Poetry East, Shampoo , and elsewhere. A limited edition volume, Sappho Does Hay(na)ku , was published in 2008.
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