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.

John Pursch- Three Poems

An Orbiting Simian

Thumped and watery,

scolded parsimonious elders

squeak through rocket laws,

stooping to canned nieces,

framing fabled laundry

for a holy waxing.

Crossing auspicious stelae

with arcane gushers,

marbled socks endear

a yawning spiral to

colonnades of grass,

imbibed with ladled

mailing slips down

flickering corridors.

Incommodious sortie pleaters

graze on woolen plenitudes

beneath an orbiting simian,

smelling rookeries of

steep drought paddy

chillum sash recoil,

freezing elongated

in prefigured enervation.

Numbly sheltered herbal phones

encase sequestered yearlings

in pallid extraneous lore,

stumping for runny séance

malaise on fire.

Flexing Carbon

Eyeful closets cower

in clovered sill-hop

caterpillar garden curls

atop enamel furrows

of an easily potable

oaken ensign on

puberty charade

from biblical shipping.

Orange adders cull

cuneiform sighs from

freshly wheezing balalaikas

in restive hauteur’s comely

masquerade of

pelican quadrature,

pentameter armature,

and rotund obsequious inanity,

propounding swollen trimarans

with tetrahedral glaze.

Heated kittens rise to

slightly handy ferns

of tousled shallot praise

police and cosine reprobates

in foundling undulation,

dripping warm and bobbled.

Bubbled hands sire

an auditory embolism

in fulminating flaxen

trance hall flunky

disputation crates,

flexing carbon.

Shuffled Cargo Mania

Tumblers slip in tonal

fossil fizzle exclamation,

buried in a shallow

bridal dredge replay

of parking lot intentions.

Boomtown wristwatch

checkers hop a crusty stern

for tiled and sutured molds

on shore relief from sable

egg contrivance dwindle,

pleating coefficients into

turpentine ablution skiffs.

Sanguine sawed-off public

hothouse pliers snooze in

histograms of lorry steins

and fear balloon imperilment,

trailing surgical zeroes.

Bubbly pyres infuse a crayoned swallow,

deep in sputtered bootstrap shine,

swigging ticker sod from molting

noun home dueling lesions.

Venison alleviates cicada mist impunity

for mildly porous cop-art dreams

of sliding chorus keyboard hands

in shuffled cargo mania.

John Pursch lives in Tucson, Arizona. His work has been nominated for Best of the Net and 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.

Denny E. Marshall- Three Poems & Art

                                                         "Close-up Encounters"

Three Haiku

UFO landed
no one was there to greet them
in middle ocean

landing UFO
all personal surprised on
aircraft carrier

UFO for sale
in excellent condition
only drove “sun” days

 

Volodymyr Bilyk- A Poem

"Interdimensional travellers mission statement"

1. I will record the hum in my ears during the transition.

 

2. I will write down the description of a taste i had in my mouth at the moment of arrival.

 

3. I will stand still and  perpetuate the change of temperature of my body during the first moments on a new place.

 

4. I will document the duration of my first breath in a new place.

5. I will recount the set of movements i've performed after.

6. I will leave an insignificant mark on a place of arrival.

 

7. I will describe precisely the sound of my first step.

8. I will memorize the feel of wind on my face and the movement of hair on my head . 

9. I will trace the first smell i've heard.

10. I will check the colour scheme of the sky by my Pantone cards.

11. I will put the portion of the air in a bubble.

12. I will spend some time in a desolate place and will think about nothing for a while.

13. I will spit on a ground a lot in a various ways in order to make a cloud and will record the results and recount my impressions. 

14. The last things i will do will be: rolling eyes, clapping hands, plopping lips, knitting brows, wrinkling forehead and inflating cheeks.

15. I will eliminate all sources of light in a place of my departure.

16. The feelings right before my displacement will be striking enough to change my appearence.

17. I will take a deep breath and will keep it until my next destination. There i will exhale.

 

Bio:

Volodymyr Bilyk is a writer, translator from Ukraine. 

His works include: visual poems in the series This is Visual Poetry (2013), CIMESA (2013), Casio's Pay-Off Peyote (2013), SCOBES (2013), THINGS (2014), Laugh Poems (2014), Vispo Ay Ai Ay (2014), "To When Tea Ties Hence to Wank It Too" / "Eminent Means of Basil Dado Hem-Welt" in The Chapbook 5(2015) and screenplay for the film "Waking" (2015).

His works were exhibited on Bright Stupid Confetti Asemic Show, Yoko Ono Fan Club, Venti Leggeri in Bologna, The Spiral Asemic Show in Malta; EL MARTELL SENSE MESTRE in Barcelona, The Future is Here Again: VISUAL LANGUAGE in New York, 1st International Literary Fair of Mato Grosso (2015), World Association of Visual and Experimental Artists in Valjevo.

He is contributing editor of Utsanga.it.

 

Roger Still- Three Poems

Pusilanimouse

He's a cowardly mouse

who hides behind

everything, until finally

he finds that inner strength,

discovers he knows

how to use an axe (!)

and then overtakes

the small universe

inside the wall.

Sounds Space Guns Make

this is the flash

sizzle dazzle sparkle

razzle rizzo sound

of an intergalactic conquest,

so turn the volume up,

enjoy the ride.

Wendigo

where does myth come

from 

other than reality, I keep thinking

as the horns approach me

and I realize I'm done for here.

 

 

JD DeHart- A Poem

Province

Son of a Greek god hidden on an island

floating in the desert,

moving like a phalanx, 

the young man has no idea what his journey

will be.

He journeys through narrow gates and through

a burned land where an old man

threatens him from heaps of ruins.

He meets long-armed giants and beautiful

women who invite him to death.

He rides the high mountain, which moves

with eternal certainty, and outwits Hades.

Then, the young man returns home to discover

his mother is an eagle, his father has returned,

and the island is no more.

 

 

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  He also blogs and you can publish your own on his site, Tangerine Heart Poetry Zine.

Janne Karlsson- A Cartoon

                                                           "Alien Encounters"