Poet's Korner


Tum Cruz

wh a t
is t h emeaning of THIS li
fe?

i 'll tell
YOU

b utfirst
gi ve me a DOLLAR

Peter Doe

saab out my window.
it's green, like the tree whose shade
it claims as its own.

that bowl of chili
it is so like an aero
plane, beans and pilots.

mouse on my desk, its
tail lashed to my computing
box, it is my will.

***

Hospitals are venerable
establishments. Stalwart bastions
combating an all too real
threat of pestilence.

But I’d never want to have a
surprise birthday party at one.

You show up for important
test results. Your friends
pop out of the soiled
utility closet.
Surprise.

Wear a pointy hat. Eat some cake.
It’s hard to celebrate when you’re
terminally ill.

Huey Dood

"Friday Musings: fourteenth summer"

where are the slush puppies of yore?
i yearn for the
days of summer again
what of the ice cream snickers?
where are the old navy
FLIP
FLOPS?

GRECH

Sitting upon the grass
I feel not the least bit crass,
For I am within the eyes
Of the greater ruler of the wise.
When I am basking in the glory
Of such perfect territory
I feel as if I can meld
With the world which he held.
Sitting upon the ground
I feel so part of the mound,
My livelihood is complete
And nothing I cannot defeat.

maljohn.

gimme them shoes
im gonna kick you with em.
im gonna kick you cuz you stole my
wallet.
no?
you lie. im gonna kick you harder.
yes, those shoes
with the velcro.
you know i can't tie a knot.
now you made fun of me, you know what happens?
i'm gonna kick you
HARDER.
feels like shit huh?
yeah well you just
hold yer tongue. you know
what'll happen
if you don't.

***

"Am I raining on your parade?"
Is that what you really want to ask me?
"Am I
raining on your parade?"

You brought a clown to my father's funeral.
So yeah, you could say you rained on my parade.
I'd consider that the very fucking definition.
You goddamn asshole.

Chas Murdoch

"Poem: A Death"

How many times have
I died?
Three?
Four?
86?

There was the battery
acid.
Esophagus dissolved.
Ouch.

Then blunt force trauma,
falling and liver attack.
In that order.
Each painful in its own
special way.

Once I froze to death.
It's true what
they say: it's like taking
a nap. Only very cold.

Next on the docket is
Burmese tiger trap.
Sounds exotic and
unsanitary. Maybe this
one will stick.

Chris Peebles

"Bovine Musings"

The cow is thoughtfully
chewing. I can’t imagine
what she is thinking about.

Probably her calfhood.
Her big sad eyes are
a dead giveaway.

***

"I'm Lucky to be Alive"

My car is shorter
than I am and
more blue as well.

It navigates the
serpentine roads
hugging the Rocky
mountains or something.

I crashed my car
into a river the
other day. It was
cold like a corpse in a freezer.

***

"Deceit is the Parent Material of Hurt Feelings"

Stop lying to me.
Stop lying on my
thorax as well.
I can’t breathe when
you compress my
lungs like that.

My mind is also
suffocating due
to your dishonesty.
You’re like a blanket
of mongeese woven
together smothering
a bedful of innocent
cobras.

***

"Feigning Sympathy"

Remember that time
your pet animal got
asparagus blight?
I said "sorry, I know
how you feel."

Well, guess what.
I didn't actually
know.
I was only pretending
to care, so joke's
on you.

And that time a
criminal bludgeoned
you with a bag of
guns--I only visited
you in the hospital
'cause I was there
anyways for a skull
transplant and wanted
to see if you had any
cool scars.

All this time you
thought I was one of
the fourteen nicest
people you knew.
But I'm not. I don't
give a rip about you
or your pet. What is it
like being such a
sucker?

***

"The Four Elements, Part I"

Stop. Drop. Roll.
Don’t tell me what
to do when I’m on fire.
I’m not listening to you.
You only wish to deceive.
How much did they pay you?
It had better be worth my life,
or else you got ripped off, pal.
Now fan the flames before
this conflagrant maelstrom
sends me to an early grave.

Nathan Rhombus

You are a train of high speed.
You are a beautiful animal.
You are as the sprinkles on a half-eaten donut
abandoned in the gutter.
Bright confectionary reminders of
life's good things.
You are the paint on
a painter's pair of painter's pants
reminding him of his painterly destiny.
You are.
You
are.

***

"one-sided conversation #347"

well, i was supposed to meet her at the mall, but she didn't show
UP.

well, see, yeah, i was supposed to meet her at the mall,
she was supposed to meet me there,
but she didn't show up. i don't think i can TRUST her, man.

yeah, i told her to meet me at the, umm, MALL. but she didn't show up, you know?


no, no, see, we were supposed to meet up at the mall like a HALF-HOUR ago.
she was supposed to,
i planned to MEET her there. yeah. i just don't think she can be, uhh, trusted.

***

And just what do you think you're doing? Pouring
hot coffee on that poor dog's head?
Listen, I'm no prude
But there are some lines you just don't
cross.
That canine did nothing to you, sir.
It looks to be weeping tears of coffee and cream now.
In a buddy-movie-type-of-context, perhaps this would strike me as
funny.
But now, in the cold harsh light of reality,
I find nothing to laugh at.
So stop it at once.
I had thought we could be friends, but now you make me wonder.

Steed Stetson

I’d ride into town off the range on ol’ Martin Horsese
He was getting on in years be he could still hold a trot, God bless’im
The blood-soaked sunset spilled onto otherwise untainted sagebrush
The doggies were asleep—I don’t know why we didn’t just call ‘em cows
Now it was time for me to partake of some well-deserved grub
Inga would burn me a thick one—steak and potatoes
With Clem playin’ contemporary ragtime hits on the Casio, I’d fall into a trance
I’d ask what planet I was on only to hear Dennis Redchukar say, “earth, dummy”
That would kill the buzz—I was paying him to be my sidekick, not to bust my balls
But no matter, I was the biggest pushover this side of hell and I’d be the first to admit it
Soon it would be daybreak and Mr. Sun would over-bake the doughy earth
I’d venture back onto the alkali purgatory, my tongue as scaly as the occasional snake
Even the devil himself would sell his soul for a canteen of cold whiskey
But at the end of the day it was a living and I’d’ve been damned if it weren’t worth it

Hattie Weyland

"Venn Diagram Vendetta"

Oh, how I loathe thee-
thou awful globe-ed purpose.
Your scope leaves no sway,
for me to convey
just all I might mean-
through my sadly scribbled scrawl.
To seek my vengeance
par my pensions,
would be my delusion,
my dream, my desire.
With savvy handys and a clear head,
I'd abort all until all could be dead.
Then in classes comparatively,
we'd be without procedure.
For to round things out,
I'd have made it my bout
to rid the world of the two-circled evil.