Sunday, July 19, 2015

Denny E. Marshall- Two Poems

House Of Time

Have seen things never seen before
Strange landscape and different forms
Many rivers as black as coal
So polluted they didn’t flow
Seen politicians with their mask on
Trying to cover up what is going on
From their tanks, they tell the people
Don’t you see there is nothing wrong
Travel far across the barrier
Pass on through the unmarked line
Step into an unreal horror
Come into the house of time

Miles of giant ghost town
All the people live underground
There are no clouds in the sky
The air so thick it can make you die
Reports the constitution ripped in two
There was nothing
No one could do
Have seen the cameras in my house
A brand-new game of cat and mouse
Come into the house
Of time

Have seen a museum with a redwood tree
With pictures of how it used to be
Then a vision appeared in the sky
Said it did not have to be this way
Have seen signs did not understand
Seen the blackness cover the land
With all the dreams dreamed of
Have seen turned to sand
Into the house of time


Love cast its shape into something unknown
You're alive forever cause you lost your soul
See the sun a shining on the river below
You have your attitude with no place to go
You will be a warrior and kill your soul

You assured your place in the sun
I can see right through you
When your dark side shows it is nothing new
You found your riverside on the valley below
And with your mighty sword
There still things you do not know
You will be a warrior to a place unknown

You will try for an army that will never come
You will shine your shield and wait for the hunt
Found the mountain peak and challenged the beast
Until you cut it down you will not be pleased
You will be a warrior

Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Twilight Zone Cocktail

Looking at this guy
standing at the end
of the bar so clueless,
it was like looking at
yourself in a Men's Room
mirror in a gas station
in the Twilight Zone
and being instantly
transported, transformed
into something that had
fallen off the tail end
of the Joad family truck
half way through the Dust
Bowl to nowhere and
discovering, not only
did the idiot foundling
child survive, but he re-
produced, continuing a
line of some subhuman
chain of being. Feeding
him drinks wasn't going
to change anything vital
but it always held out
the possibility that it might
give him ideas.

Bedtime Cocktail

Nembutal dissolved slowly into champagne

She looked as if
she'd missed a
second casting for
her role as a side
show Marilyn look
alike bimbo in Pulp
Fiction and had settled,
instead, for a walk on
part on the backlot
of Killer Klowns from
Outer Space, was so
far into the joy juice
before high noon,
rapid eye blinking
false lashes, suggesting
long nights up close
and personal, press on
nails, daggers to your
spine, looks that sd.,
"Once, long ago, and far
away, I'd been with
the great ones." but
look where it got you;
nothing but Bad News,
and here, now, with me.

Sperm Whale 2

If he had sd. that
he'd shipped with
Ahab I might have
believed him.
He had what could
only be described as
a real old world look
that he might have gotten
from stowing his
gear in Davy Jones's
Locker or from
sleeping under
the dilapidated front
porches of squats
along Quail Street
sd. he heeded
straight fire water
over ice with a
healthy dose
of pepper for the
impurities, a habit
he'd picked up
during the War.
I didn't ask him
which War, though
from the look of
him, it was a War
of the Worlds and
he had been on
the losing side.

Denny E. Marshall- Art

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

JD DeHart- Three Poems

Human Spoon
Resting her head, high above
other trappings of ancient and future
cultures, the carving peers at me,
peels at me,
resembles me and does not.
Asks my name without asking.
A face I have seen before.
Ebony, eyes streaking down, mouth
torn, body sloping into a shovel,
never planted, always digging,
now cast aside with other wares.
Some neighbors:  An old house once
loved, now tiny, shrunk down; elegant
uniforms and umbrellas filed under U,
so delicate in form they could never
be used by our planet’s hands,
as if our ancestors were the ants.
I could attempt to buy her freedom,
lift her from this dust, but the price tag
is far above what I am able to pay,
the look of the shop owner declaring
No other deals are to be made today.

Ever Beach

Stretched and angular,
feet and hands can feel the beginning
of time, a monkish creature, sitting
in robes that do not seem to touch
earth, an expression that suggests,
Forget your television dreams, your
useless celluloid gods whose names
and titles you collect on the shelves
of your mind, leave behind scrawled
signatures, the many images you
have stowed away, and watch as my
hand stretches to the time of pharaohs
(and even before)
making curls in the dust of time,
forming loops in the beach of ever
when creatures first loped, the glanced
up at the overshadowing sky.
Monk being whose paper-thin face promises
answers to questions I don’t even know.

The Snow-Beast

You can still see him hanging out
after hours - soliciting, they call it.
The police come and addle him.
When the scientists first found him, 
was excited and clamored around,
the photographs, movie of the week,
the book deals, the crying faces, 
streaming tears:  I never thought
I would see anything like this in my 
Then interest fell.  The books stopped
selling.  The movie of the week was 
extended into a television series deal,
eventually cancelled.
Now he just shuffles around,
hits on women, begs for bags of chips,
and wonders why
he ever made his presence known.
 JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available on Amazon.

Yuan Changming- Three Poems

Science Story: A Parallel Poem

I kayaked out of the bay on a Saturday evening
And was sucked there into a blue twirling ring

When I was nailed firm at the centre of a light stream
A pink snow falls though I wish to rise like the steam

My consciousness dissolves into heavenly waters
And I become present everywhere in the universe

I travelled afar to collect all my selves and assemble them together
And here I return to this moment, finding my old self a total stranger

Warnings from UFOs

1/ God is nobody
But a superman
Who has come among us
From an other civilization
That may have gone astray
In a different space of time

2/ The human face
On the Mars is meant
To tell that we have
Detracted ourselves
To see it crying afar
Beyond our own world

3/ Hollow as is, the moon
Is an alarm clock
Hanged closest to us, yet
It will never ring
If we fail to set it
At the right time

Humans & Nuclei

just like two nuclei
moving closer together
whose mutual electrostatic potential energy
becomes larger, more positive
yin and yang always try
to reach a higher balance
as they join each other
at a shaded corner
in a rented room
on a spinning disc, even
in a whole universe

Yuan Changming, 8-time Pushcart nominee and author of 5 chapbooks (including Kinship [2015] and The Origin of Letters [2015]), is the most widely published poetry author who speaks Chinese but writes English. Growing up in a remote village, Yuan began to learn the English alphabet at 19 and published monographs on translation before moving to Canada. With a PhD in English, Yuan currently co-edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Qing Yuan in Vancouver and, since mid-2005, has had poetry appearing  in 1049 literary journals/anthologies across 34 countries, including Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, Cincinnati Review and Threepenny Review.


Jennifer Jones- Three Alien Haiku

a crashed UFO found
by a dazed cow in
the farmer’s field

alien soup:
crushed eyeballs
human heart

at the crash site
young alien children
find a human body

Jennifer Jones has haiku published in Dead Snakes

John Pursch- A Poem

Aboard the Spaceship Blonderbust

Emerging ecstatic and a bit bedraggled
from untold years of solid submersible
captivity at the manacled hands of
chronically priapistic cardboard Coptics,
Lola did her level best to suppress a titter,
stepped aboard the Spaceship Blonderbust
with innate aplomb, grabbed the xylophone,
and ripped into Baited Oven’s
Tenth timpani corset,
popping bubonic buttons,
gravitational exhaust blooming
from Shiny Cistern’s bucolic seedbed
clear acrostic rank accelerando
playpen cook-alike contests,
filially settling in Bat Rack 26
for the pliable duration of
duodenal diurnal duodecimal
dew point’s dodecahedral
dockyard dunce cap
premonition overwhelm.

“Hickory, tick off the sold and soldered
seepage of soldiers seized in payday tirades
of Dirty Ear’s Whores und maypole heaven
slum ink err bobble ably chimp possible
oven chew alley tees scrolled sebaceously
down dipstick shin splint leggy bruise net
hectare chowder cuticle evasion cod quarters,”
she rattled off to entry won whittling earshot,
flipping troweled all ewe minima,
what were sow cheerfully deranged in
hat rack pseudopodal genome viral paucity.

Renal Poseur,
flamed fur his manly maundy
Nautical Blasé Bull Klieg records
(sins occluding chesty bout savory
sigh land hopping hypocritical
junction pheasant when cooed
sever witch to imagine;
ink colluding bald-thyme hits,
groins, bitten has-beens,
gams gamboled asway from,
micturation pensive stints,
dented gin shards,
gimpy cauterized achoos,
amber abutments,
spit-and-thumb loin drives
unto trebled ploys,
strychnine trike louts sent spackling
in quinine bubbled cheddar,
sullied paralytic jamborees
behind enema spines,
enigmatic turd stripe
skulls by bluesy ballerinas
in brachial regression canopies,
frosted philanderers hosed
to soundly ferocious citywide
gum slick salamander quoits,
usurers of quintessentially
surreptitious munchy
marrow hollows,
corncob urethritis fellers
of the turtled clime,
bare nut wicket collapse
on kneepad stairwell
door lock mumbling podiatry,
and iconoclastic putting screams
shirked crowned the swirling
Coriolis farce by toiling
forked horse mechanics
in chromium reproval settees
coned clear from moody rental
parricide to messy consequential
vote retouching garters shy above
a barnyard sobbing centaur);

whale, ewe con seize jest wad a pane
indie proverb eel drainage Dutch
cooped sold Poseur musty bleat
fir awl pretty portly sorties,
seven dose hooter knot sew
steeply revolved in hiss chaise
(actuarially caissons heft wee guano
pee handy wear closed two arc urine).

Putt tease czar deke hinds
shove tinklings sever Ewoks needles
to clump to crippled creaks switch
heft antsy one wands together
sandy shelf receptive ear
quasi-lateral glance sat wad’s
scum only cloned asp raw crest
in muddled dais Americon satiety.

Thus ran Lola’s sidestream thoughts,
culled from millions of lobotic threads
spread huffing and prostrate
in cauterized feline domiciles
accursed the interred galactic fabric
of spatiotemporal vacuity,
or wad remained of the sloping
cuneiform versification of conned sequins,
hambone philharmonic clone tests,
minted angular genomic protection brackets,
calligraphic shellfish preponderance
propinquity nun with standing waveform
maiden ironic isthmus panel
peekaboo encomia comas.

Machinery canned a retinue
of surveyed retinal cucumber parts
at shoveling peens sparely teeming
with autocratic snores,
pillbox fantail carriage peels,
and homey tranquilizer consort hunks
of neutered zonal mist reward
pheromone entrustment dust.

“I’m crying to slake
summed shed whey hear,
joust drying beauty Thoreau,”
Lola sex splayed entropically
dried stanchion.

“Aft awning eye slaved
in wooden wanderlust
oar silvered furious slant hover
forlorn fodder hooter on shaven,
ballyhooed pea my Thames,”
she squiggly crammed huff derails,
bespectacled hound sagging
tourist height deal ort’s player.

Filially, Renal Poseur
caught awhirl in hedgerow:
“Pleas come tinea, dire Lulu;
hid wood bleat scum peat
lea quint holler apple due
crust slop indie mantel
hover lout’s pregnant layer!”

Have course he waste cure act,
sole Ole curried dong:
“… thigh skink dumb scum,
tie wheel bed on,
unearthed ass skittish sin seven.”

Hare she broken dawned,
sex clamoring,
“High canned cow true whippet!
Hit’s chest two blast furnace!”
spluttering a scallion
or tensive sheltered steer,
liquidity on flailed display,
drenching mangy
a trenching goat swearer,
sleeping awl putt dose
clapped in thigh-alai
sweaters mired in
quagmire sound.

Maundy hove tea long hookers
droned due teeth indie
ensuring detrital weave,
hay peripatetic tsunami,
booty shore.