Morning of February 12, 2024

 

bot-to-bot transfer    my tea is cold

~Patrick Sweeney

at the end of the world is a bartender

all mortals must perish.

~Fhen M.

fulfilling my duties at the emergency exit

~Patrick Sweeney

strange tunnel

repeats my question

from a year ago

~Sharon Ferrante

plural marriage

in the name of god

and profit

~Jerome Berglund

she says if you quit poetry nobody will notice

~Patrick Sweeney

cross the waters of death

find the boatman on a mountain peak.

~Fhen M.

he held dear the tyranny of lineage & habit

~Patrick Sweeney

electoral politics

crawling under the house

to die

~Jerome Berglund

dark moon where bad dreams go

~Maria Quernel

howling moon my inner wolf

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

Noble Prow

 

My nose would make a good poem it’s punchy and pointed bumpy ride which offers a hero’s

journey worthy of Joseph Campbell fashionably nonlinear lots of twists and turns where it

sticks itself rarely fails to surprise.

 

making

a stock the

other tusk

~Jerome Berglund

warm but itchy…

wearing your gift

I think of you

~David Josephsohn

first red:  palm-cutting sprocket from the chassis of Danny's toy truck

~Patrick Sweeney

lab-grown diamonds rescheduling fall harvest

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

dark circles

eyes sipping suns

the earth burnt

crisp

~Vishal Prabhu

shattering her every dream a single act

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

their loss

more pâté

to go around

~Jerome Berglund

not a bad way to go, mesmerized by the algebra of conic sections

~Patrick Sweeney

Morning of February 8, 2024

eliminating

violets with chemical weapons

suburbia

~Joshua St. Claire

late stage capitalism

advertising the sturdiness 

of disposable plastic cups

~Joshua St. Claire

touching every

aspect of my life

cat hair

~Amber Winter

sometimes

my last-dreamed dream

wakes me

~Jennifer Gurney

come to our rescue / oh flying maker of new / you winged magician

~Charles A. Perrone

Right hand replaced with a pig's foot

flesh torn from his stomach

a thief of taxpayer’s money.

~Fhen M.

have your faith

just don't expect me

to swallow it.

~linda m. crate 

A poem started from climbing a mountain

ended in a Greek garden.

~Fhen M.

Saturday wardrobe

built entirely

on comfort

~Jennifer Gurney

february dawn

a haze…

coffee and ink

piano notes—

spilling wildly

into spring

spring frost

writing poems…

again

~Grace Moon

She

      smiles, kisses, hugs, believes

         out of ashes roses grow;

         out of madness sanity and peace come;

         from dark times a glittering, priceless diamond 

             will brighten the world.  

 

Who?

Her.

~Suzanne Austin-Hill

beloved tradition

fake-mustache photo booth–

fourth grade valentines

~Jennifer Gurney

ripped-apart Valentine heart

its pieces placed within

the body's chalk outline

~John J. Dunphy

 

Evening of February 6, 2024

 

epics written and abandoned, finely chopping garlic

~Patrick Sweeney

I've drastically underestimated my own fanaticism

~Patrick Sweeney

sentience poking at the tender spot

~Kelly Moyer

the widowhood of spiders at lunch

~Patrick Sweeney

pellets of sleet on the balding ex-manager's clean scalp

~Patrick Sweeney

fake and yet the shimmer of her death

~Kelly Moyer

cutting

deeper than we should

rusty knife

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

my pal digs deep

knows I deserve the full

six feet

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

 

the sailor

returns unexpectedly

storm surge

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

Grief may come

for some in waves.

Mine comes with a

baseball bat.

It hits my head

out of the park,

then runs for

home plate.

~Nolcha Fox

Poetica

If a poem falls

onto a page


and no one reads it,

 
does it make

a sound?

~Steven Bruce

the principles

we champion

hotel breakfast

~Kelly Moyer

downsizing my wardrobe

a mini skirt reminds me

I have up sized

~Wanda Amos

 

still wind, this chaos in my

memory stirs

the moonlight

~Debarati Sen

 

shooting for the stars

child points his new .22 at

the night sky

~John J. Dunphy

 

 

Midnight Verse XXI



Why fret existential thunders

when all we are is a fleeting dream

between two slumbers.

~Steven Bruce

Morning of February 4, 2024

in this neat suburb

where residents conform

the sudden hubbub

when a ring of toadstools

bursts out of the lawn

~Keith Evetts

community sounds nice in theory

~Noah Berlatsky

A Creator’s Wish

Down on me the universe presses

into the microverse I release my stresses.

Planning new lands

with cerulean sands.

As I sit on a boulder,

my imagination a-smolder.

Would that I could create

something, which could luxuriate

and remain till the world’s bygone

like this boulder I sit upon.

~Bernardo Villela

this way daily passing on

~Keith Evetts

once it was real childhood

~Keith Evetts

kingfisher the useless words

~Keith Evetts

Shadowed

I don’t know why that dark reflection

likes to stick to my feet.

Maybe it was the gum I stepped in yesterday.

~Nolcha Fox

A circular copse

Of denuded trees engaged

In pagan rites

~Bernardo Villela

chipped nail paint —

mom’s guitar lessons

in full swing

~Debarati Sen

paradoxical insomnia

nursing

the misogynist's monkey

~Kelly Moyer

stone's throw

a roadtrip

to the afterlife

~Kelly Moyer

Evening of January 30, 2024

that good stretch —

outside your comfort zone

but not too far

~Jennifer Gurney

sifting through cast offs—

I find treasures

from your discards

~Jennifer Gurney

Sardonic quips;

Laughter is Sirius

At the full eclipse.

~David Mitchell

Wounds

when commanded to stop the tirade

told he is a monster

he lies down to nap

curled up like a small child

~MarthaEllenJohnson

Non-viable

Non-viable. She bled out in the parking lot.

“Women always get the short end of the stick.”

~MarthaEllenJohnson

Poseur

Poseur. He lectures.

Points to a painting.

“The claustrophobia of life.”

He glances at me.

Knows I know.

Hates me more.

~MarthaEllenJohnson

Nobody will come

Nobody's coming back

Nobody will rise again

There's not enough air for anyone

No one has enough love

~Mykyta Ryzhyk

(Originally published in Ice Floe Press)

this poem

will not be written

by anyone because the author

will go to the supermarket for vodka

 

and never come back

~Mykyta Ryzhykh

(Originally published in Tipton Poetry Journal)

mom sews a vagina for her daughter like a red rag for tears

mom wants soldiers to give flowers to her daughters

the cemetery is silent about flowers

daughter collects khaki and throws it into the toilet

daughter screams that she does not need such flowers

graves are silent about the dead

~Mykyta Ryzhykh

(Originally published in Rat's Ass Review)

An old woman views

a woodblock printing and sighs

to think of the past.

~Keech Ballard

childhood memory —

filling in the blanks

left by snowflakes

~Ana Drobot

fingers in machine / lack of care will lead to bad / damaged rings

~Charles A. Perrone

Guard Dog with a Mind of Winter


The boy rolls snow

into the shape of the puppy

he lost.

~Cheryl Snell

Arty Party


The butler took our coats.

Then he took our clothes.

I kept my stilettos on.

~Cheryl Snell

You Asked for It

Elvis replicates himself

while performing Hound Dog,

outnumbering the audience

baying at the moon’s hologram.

~Cheryl Snell