JD DeHart- Two Poems

Gesture

We know the inhumanity

from the lack of subtle

gesture, We know we are

viewing an automaton

because of the mechanical

smile, the twitch of a gear,

the sound of an engine inside.

"Normal"

What was normal

on your planet

is not normal here

Join the dance of a new

gravity, the sound

of a new tribal music

Enjoy the culture of this

new world and try to forget

the distant blue pebble.

 

 

Tempest Brew- A Poem

The Night They Should Have Died

time being what time is,

they got caught in the reel,

spinning on the wheel

what was supposed to be a routine

mission back to '39

turned into a mass exodus

but, damage control swept in,

all is well, and the other residents

of the continent have been reassured

they are firmly in time

until they aren't.

 

 

Ayaz Daryl Nielsen- Three Poems

demon-spawn

Sandy’s tailor shop
$6 shortens each pants leg
costs me thirty bucks



gentle white swans
singing peaceful prophecies
best served with muskrat



the earth’s slowing down
and I, truth-teller of lies,
deny everything

Michael Ceraolo- Poetry

We Are the Champions

We found this dig-vid program,

a list of the scheduled events

of the Games of the CCLth Olympiad,

to be held under the auspices of the

Inter-Solar-System Olympic Committee

(ISSOC)

[ISSOC was the descendant

of the frequently neofascist

Terran International Olympic Committee]

Events to be held on Earth:

Athletics for Androids

Athletics for Genetically-Altered Humans

Athletics for Chemically-Altered Humans

Athletics for All-Original Humans

Ultimate Pankration

(to the ancient Greeks' two rules 

(no biting, no eye-gouging)

was added a third rule:

all combat must be one-to-one,

no ganging up permitted,

as all the combatants will be competing

in the fight area at the same time

The last person left standing is the winner)

Also:  Wrestling, Swimming

for the four categories of organisms

listed previously for athletics

(all competitors to be considered human

no matter what planetary body they come from,

                                                                     unless

conclusive proof is given

showing the athlete no longer belongs

to one of the four categories;

                                           challenges 

to an athlete's membership in

any particular category

must be made before the competition is held)

Events to be held on moons:

Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea (and Back)

(watercraft able to withstand the pressure

will race to the bottom and then back to the top

of the sixty-mile deep ocean on Ganymede

There will be two competitions:

one an individual time trial

where each competitor races separately,

                                                            and

one a race where all competitors

will be racing at the same time

on a defined course)

Speed Skating on Methane Lakes

(Skaters will skate the same distances on Titan

they used to skate back when there was ice on Earth,

                                                                               and

as important as the participants' athletic ability

will be their ability to create skates from materials

that will minimize the friction generated

so as not to thaw the frozen lakes)

Cliff Diving

(On Miranda,

                    competitors

wearing parachute suits

will dive off Verona Rupes,

the highest cliff in the solar system,

                                                    and

will pull their parachutes at the prescribed time

Two gold medals will be awarded:

one for the greatest survived adrenaline rush,

one for the least rush of adrenaline,

those physiological responses

recorded by on-person monitors

wired directly to the divers

immediately pre-dive

in order to prevent cheating)

Geyser Riding

(a competition held to see who can ride

the nitrogen geyser on Triton

the furthest without falling off

Anyone who can ride all the way to the top

will automatically receive a medal)

[Any record of other events,

and a record of who won these events,

has been lost]

 

 

John Pursch- A Poem

Radio Reef Alibi

In a certified coming and going of elided scribblings

on memorized compartments of thought patrol incursions

to otherwise interpolated domains,

left stranded by potentially sanctimonious gooey dodderers,

flipped to beckoning secondhand basement floor plunderers,

smocked in bleached coveralls;

this is how lobotic surgery begins and often ends,

purporting to be a spate of the artless codger’s

phony intentions (herbivorous, to be sure),

waddling breathless and overeager

into suppurating sores of porous undertaker snorts,

hassling churchgoing heretics with alms requests

for albumin in radio reef alibi resort carafes,

flotation be crammed in sneezed comportment bellhop drift

of staggering cranberry walks up filling station urinals

and paginated treetop dizziness charades,

to lifelong lunacy in tic marauder melancholy

itch machine expulsion’s expository demitasse

of demolition burpee bungee humpback dotage

namesake placard wherewithal,

held high aloft in sacred acrimonious regard

for elfin telephone entirety.

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. Twice nominated for Best of the Net, his work has appeared in many literary journals. A collection of his poetry, Intunesia, is available at http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/whiteskybooks. Check out his experimental lit-rap video at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l33aUs7obVc. He’s @johnpursch on Twitter and john.pursch on Facebook.

Ayaz Daryl Nielsen- Three Poems

Time-spawned caravans of martyrs,

those who died for others, arriving 

through forgotten graveyard portals 

Clear, pungent story-tellers of the sacred 

within our peeled and cored images.

Younger brother, born                              

a bit different and                                 

all the more lovable 

because of supposed 

disabilities, told us 

fairies danced upon 

his window sill during

nighttime’s full moons,

that they wanted him 

to live with them. . .

and he does. 

Moonlit nights,

sister and I slip 

out the back door

to dance and sing

with brother and

his beloved fairies 

Mother, with her 

all-seeing cat-like 

eyes, her pointed 

ears covered by 

naturally blue hair, 

has cookies, cocoa, 

hugs, kisses for all, 

while dad just grins, 

playing his lyre 

and panpipe.

Halloween

                 

eager and waiting 

on porches and doorsteps

these fairies, zombies 

and witches, princesses, 

heroes and vampires

gap-toothed presence 

of our genuineness

 

 

Denny E. Marshall- Three Poems

Three Haiku
 
the deep caves of mars
hide many ancient secrets
with untouched cities


four inch tall creature
measures a half-mile in length
enjoys a long life

 
astronaut spacesuit
in advertisement for sale
hardly ever worn

Janne Karlsson- A Cartoon

"Janne Karlsson is a crazy Swede. Upcoming books are Embracing the Flames (Leaf Garden Press) and "Wide Asleep, fast Awake (Bottle of Smoke Press), in collaboration with Adrian Manning. Other books are available on Amazon and/or Epic Rites Press. Website: www.svenskapache.se" 

Alan Catlin- Three Poems

Donnie with Baby and Cows

The cows look superimposed

beneath this makeshift shelter:

part flying saucer, part mold

and moss covered inverted metal

dish receiving transmissions

from above and funneling them

directly into the ground through

metal support poles or siphoning

random signals into the irregular

barriers of an electrified fencing,

cored hot water heater, or large

stump roots decorated by cast

aside exhaust system pipe, junked

car parts and farm effluvia, jury

rigged to form something like

a whole, with the idea that nothing

reusable will ever go to waste.

What do the cows care? They are

among the dumbest creatures on God's

good earth, a sentiment shared,

no doubt, by farmer Donnie cradling

a babe in arms, both smiling for

the camera; a family album keepsake

or is the picture to be digitally

re-mastered and transmitted to warn

off all the others still in outer space?

"Silver"           

          

He looks like  someone

too weird for The Rocky

Mountain Horror Show

though he could be

posing for the cover photo

for a life work in progress:

My Own Private Loony Tunes.

The thing around his neck

might be described as

a necklace, an ornament

more appropriate for frontier

days on the Great Plains, or

in portraits of chieftains

and warriors by George Catlin

and others, that is if the Indians

were into glitzy metal piece

working, instead of animal teeth

and claws. The rest of his

ensemble has a custom fit

feeling to it: tight pants

to emphasize his considerable

bulge, though whoever designed

the top unwisely forgot buttons

to close over his bare chest.

The cool gloves almost save

serious style points lost by

the pants and top, cut as they

are with a rakish sleeve that

slides over the too short arms

of the jacket; it would be wise

not to ask him about the ray gun

clutched for action in his right

hand in case it might be real.

Firefighters 1935

They are dressed in

outrageous uniforms: jackets

that look to be of a fabric

like burlap cut several sizes

too big, pants they must walk

on to move, hands covered

by oven mitts, heads potato

sacks with small eye holes

removed well above their

foreheads, an outfit that might

be useful for warding off heat

or blending in with adobe walls

in case their transformation has

been completed so that they

may be sacrificed to alien invaders

or Grade B movie, atomic ray

exposed, mutant creatures

the size of school buses,

all those outsized tarantulas,

iguana, prehistoric toads invading

border towns just this side

of the desert not unlike original

Star Trek peons in red uniform

tops, those clothes of doom

marking the wearers as walking

dead men by the next reel.

But this photo is taken in 1935,

years before the first atomic

tests, red menace scares, TV

melodramas, huge spikes in

cancer tumor deaths  and these

men have a real job to perform,

crippled by their clothes,

as they approach the scene,

the fires that await them.

JD DeHart- Two Poems

Tripwire

Conversation broke

into sudden pieces.

Sky high, the world

around them on the distant

planet goes missing.

Spun out of control,

a trap they never suspected

from the other sentient race.

Removal

He was one of them

until the crime he never

heard about

A small break in custom

that would have been fine

on his home world,

a simple gesture, incorrect

So now he has no choice

but to wander the landscape

and turn over stones.

 

 

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.