Evening of November 12, 2024

 

all the killing

we hit nine billion

anyway

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

home of origin

our long-lost cat’s short return

for goodbyes

~A.J. Anwar

late night call

talking absentmindedly

in the present tense

~John Hawkhead

mascara tears

the only way is down

that same dark track

~John Hawkhead

paying cash

the weight

of change

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

the wounded pine weeps and the wind seems to know the woodpecker's intent

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

chill wind lapping water where my footprints are

~Joseph P. Wechselberger

melting hieroglyphs pointing out all my friends at risk

~Alan Summers

mother trees the saplings sugar-warn politicians

~Alan Summers

freedom the bedroom of democracy

~Keith Snow

default settings deferring to men

~Julie Bloss Kelsey

choosing the bear Goldilocks

~Julie Bloss Kelsey

given the choice between heartburn and micro-fractures

~Patrick Sweeney

bring me back to when Curly's mind was a blank

~Patrick Sweeney

all others the aliens

~Tejendra Sherchan

thinking in future perfect tense election day

~John Pappas

surveillance state all power to the peephole

~John Pappas

spitting out the ice cube something in my eye

~Mark Gilbert

in the wheelchair / free of blemishes / free of hair

~Mark Gilbert

sweeping generalisations under the carpet

~Mark Gilbert

new moon deciding if we dare

~John Pappas

sprinting for the train

something called

melting cheese

~Mark Gilbert

morning after election

my neighbor's flagpole

~bare

~John J. Dunphy

The Past

The three-letter word God, the five-letter

word night, the night in which I remain

offshore, the glass I stand in

the herringbone vest I button

the high room from which I go down

the door into a place where day and night are one.

~Peter Mladinic

 

Morning of November 9, 2024

 

 

ON A HOT SUMMER’S DAY IN THE CITY

 

Women look out

from upper floor

tenement windows,

elbows resting

on the sills,

eye-bags lolling

on their cheek-tops.

~John Grey

 

hero's journey

at least there's no line

for the loo

~Kelly Moyer

 

ground glass

the future as divined

by my crystal ball

~Kelly Moyer

 

wrinkly pumpkin

past its prime

election day

~Kimberly Kuchar

Recrudescence

 

...and he's back.

~Kimberly Kuchar

 

 

rustling leaves

i sow

my own seed sound

~Kelly Moyer

rolled oats awakening to the daily quaker message

~Kelly Moyer

GRIMM

 

In a fairy tale,

a giant rat devours a princess

and a prince’s eyes are blinded

by a witch’s claw.

The story frightens some kids,

enlightens others.

~John Grey

QUANDARIES

 

The first time

I ever got close to a butterfly

I didn’t know

whether to squash it between my fingers

or gasp, “How beautiful.”

 

Destroy or cherish?

Intervene or let be?

Quandaries come upon us all the time.

This is one of the more common ones.

~John Grey

lovers' embrace

the intimacy

in duck and cover

~Kelly Moyer

lodged in her gullet

a lone

kernel of truth

~Kelly Moyer

checking my carotids nature or nurture

~dan smith

solving

for y

lost love

~Kelly Moyer

the stealth

with which i inhabit this body

ninja skills

~Kelly Moyer

MOTHERHOOD FOR A MALE POET

 

Today,

I gave birth

to eight poems,

five naturally,

three by C-section.

Most were recently conceived

but one was kicking in my womb

for years.

~John Grey

 

 

 

Buy our merch:

https://www.zazzle.com/store/five_fleas

Afternoon of November 4, 2024

 

 

internet out(r)age

~petro c.k.

Dirty streets,

Looking for a savior

Shadowed nights

~Sarah Mahina Calvello

why do

you continue

to serve

overripe

undercooked

apologies?

~Keith Snow

off-strip motel

the flutter

of tattered curtains

~M. R. Pelletier

minivans

we haul more ass

than we used to

~M. R. Pelletier

Gen X'ed

all my punk friends

are dead

I sold out

by staying

alive

~petro c.k.

persona non grata

after

light

the

spots

still

visible

on

a

lantern

fly’s

wings

~Anthony Lusardi

carapace

cicada killer—

my summer youth

my fear of death

buzzing along this highway

until i reach the shoreline

~Anthony Lusardi

as election heats up the podium melts

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

election night

our bottle of champagne

unopened

~John J. Dunphy

barricades protecting voters from voters

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

morning after election

the ballroom's ceiling balloons

unreleased

~John J. Dunphy

 

Pushcart Prize (Poetry) 2025 Nominations

(Oct 27)

two quadrums

single bed.         single clap.

that buzzing        the ending

in my ear.                 of a life.

~Mark Gilbert

(Oct 24)

time travel

if only

i’d go back

a day

and keep

my mouth

shut

~Tom Blessing

(Oct 20)

unedited

I want to say love me

love my text,

consider converting

all the selfies

on my dating profile

to screenshots of poems.

~Kathryn Reese

(Oct 17)

A Man Called Toothbrush

bristles

at the thought

of death

ignorant

of the fact

Sylvia Plath

would never

write a poem

about him

~dan smith

(Sept 29)

preemptive

i leave my hand

open flat

on the mattress

so i don’t

wake up swinging

from the moon

~Kelly Moyer

(Sept 29)

Nothing.

And then

nothing,

but

in verse.

~Noah Berlatsky

 

Congratulations to these six talented itchy poets! 

 

 

Afternoon of November 2, 2024

 

14 stitches

the mysterious lure of

a nowhere tree

~A.J. Anwar

climate change—

worldwide snowflakes

seasonless

~A.J. Anwar

wooden labyrinth

3D-printed

coral reefs

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

Home

We lived in a ghetto.

In a chawl of our illusions,

in the mind’s megalopolis.

 

Our shanty was built

to be bulldozed.

~Sanjeev Sethi

refugee school

the now

of this woman's voice

~Maya Daneva

alone at the beach

there must be something

the moonlight wants

~Maya Daneva

queue for popcorn

a potbellied man keeps

pushing me ahead

~Tejendra Sherchan

Aren’t I Entitled

I’m an open book

though some pages here and there

are glued together

~John H. Dromey

frayed nerves

election day jitters

hauntingly déjà vu

~Ruth Van Alstine

undecided

I consider unfriending

all undecideds

~Morag Elizabeth Humble

One day there will be…

One day there will be no sounds of suicides.

One day there will be a vast blue sky—

A perfect abode for the innocent.

One day they are all phoenixes with the sound of

First ever freedom.

~Partha Sarkar

paramedic sirens

I wonder

if

it would be

another sudden death

~Tuyet Van Do

chalky hand sprouting

from the ground

candlesnuff fungus

~Tuyet Van Do

Plot Development

write what you know

write what you think you know

make something up

~John H. Dromey

 

Evening of October 30, 2024

                                                       Flea swag available here

 

 

Halloween

I EARLY VOTED sticker on

a tombstone

~John J. Dunphy

I am

the merchant

of stars

~Tejendra Sherchan

as the bees dance

the moon

is pierced in two

~Melissa Dennison

Solitary Wanderer

as a ghost

what I miss the most

my shadow

~John H. Dromey

Old Hall

witches' marks

carved into the walls

~Kimberly Kuchar

birthday cake

still standing

cutting time

~Elliot Diamond

candlelight dinner

a swimming moth

in my soup bowl

~Bidyut Prabha

Sunlit river

No one can see you cry

Underwater

~Sarah Mahina Calvello

Misty leaves

Haunt the window

Days grow longer

~Sarah Mahina Calvello

just

beneath the surface

truth

~Jennifer Gurney

stepping into

the vast wilderness...

I meet myself

~Jennifer Gurney

I am depressed

so I walk the dog.

The dog feels better.

~Noah Berlatsky

he doesn't want to know the secret handshake anymore

~Patrick Sweeney

tripping over a sycamore root on the way to Cézanne's mountain

~Patrick Sweeney

once I wrote it down, the morning glory let me go

~Patrick Sweeney

he spent an inordinate amount of time on the subsidiary elements of his story

~Patrick Sweeney

when the plot is worth unraveling

~Patrick Sweeney

vanishing point the words unsaid around the conference room table

~Joshua St. Claire

our squares

in different circles

mockingbirds

~Joshua St. Claire

another acceptance

a little less afraid now

of dying

~Joshua St. Claire

unwashed

the hand that sewed

sequins on the stinkbug

~Kelly Moyer

a tuft of lint

drifts from my sock

namaste

~Kelly Moyer

needlework

i trade my yarn and canvas

for a voodoo doll

~Kelly Moyer

spitwads and airplanes

i contemplate

a career in physics

~Kelly Moyer

i write myself

as the protagonist

absurdist tales

~Kelly Moyer

chronic illness

fluffing the pillows

of my escape room

~Kelly Moyer

listen

~dan smith