Afternoon of August 4, 2024

 

The Asemic Vacuum Cleaner Demo Being A Poem In Which I Embrace The Group's Critique That They Don't Understand My Poems And By Which The Lack Of Meaning Is Its Meaning And Because It Is Flawed By Having Some Meaning It Doesn't Have Any Meaning

The cosmic sucking sound of entropy

of worlds being pulled apart gone

is any disordered delight

in deforestation now only

deserted deserts of mind blowing

emptiness forever bubbles bursting

cyclic universes coming and going

like traveling circuses

~dan smith

this funfair

down the helter skelter

on a doormat

~Keith Evetts

brazen fly

killed by temptation

my girlfriend’s lemonade

~Chad Parenteau

he spent his life as a non-playing character

~Patrick Sweeney

opening myself to this umbrella

~Maya Daneva

5:45 a.m.    the complete, unabridged and unexpurgated story of how he put his roof on

~Patrick Sweeney

as a silk flower I might last forever

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

it makes perfect sense that the buttermilk boy would be the one to see the Mother of God

~Patrick Sweeney

flooded with moonlight our sunroom

~John J. Dunphy

sugar ants rushing to the scene of the nosebleed

~Patrick Sweeney

a fly not moving on the hour hand not moving

~Sharon Ferrante

house sparrows bathing in the dust of my walkway edging

~Patrick Sweeney

summer evening

the cumulus behind a house

out-wings it

~Tejendra Sherchan

waiting room…

a butterfly fish

jumps on my lap

~Sharon Ferrante

after the long rain

inhaling

all the earth spices

~Kathleen Cain

swarming bees

at the feet of Buddha…

taking refuge

~Tejendra Sherchan

after his child's death

the 'God'

in his correspondence

downsized

to 'god'

~John J. Dunphy

waves are incessant / they come in just to go out / and still I wonder

~Charles A. Perrone

I blink

my visit

is over

~Jennifer Gurney

 

Morning of July 30, 2024

 

 

 

outdoors

the housefly and I

putting our feet up

~Melissa Dennison

Olympic

flame-throwers

dragons

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

flashing church billboard

‘We love you

Sundays at 10’

~Christa Pandey

blaspheming against tv testimonials as a hobby

~Patrick Sweeney

requiem mass

donning the muted colours

of shadow

~John Hawkhead

they threw half-eaten hoagies at the Hurdy Gurdy Man

~Patrick Sweeney

Love is giving him the top half of the bagel every time.

~Rachel Turney

what if all my

dandelion wishes

come true...

~Jennifer Gurney

muscle memory

each room in the house

with its own flinch

~John Hawkhead

Bastille Day

convict breaks out

a deck of cards

~John J. Dunphy

in the sea

diving into flames

water dragons

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

the bronchial cough of the trash-picking bear

~Patrick Sweeney

no one in my reading group knew how to tie a shoe

~Patrick Sweeney

 

 

Morning of July 27, 2024

 

The Burlesque Dancer

~Kelly Moyer
 
Photography available here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hold for Poet

Thank you

For your patience.

Our poets are helping

Other readers. Please do not turn

The page.

~Noah Berlatsky

it was in the Roman-controlled Antioch

in the late first century AD

that the plagiarist copied his unnamed sources

~Fhen M.

vows

after so many husbands

I know what to say

~Roberta Beach Jacobson

open window

a gentle breeze

caresses my hair

how warm your hands were

on our last meeting

~Fatma Zohra Habis

 

 

 

starred restaurant—

coming and going of flies

at lunch time

~Nicoletta Ignatti

Mud Holes

Just because you see little holes in the mud

is no reason to suspect earthworms were here.

Birthday candles are the same diameter

and mud is a kind of icing on layer years.

~Terry Trowbridge

asteroid

horizon so close you can

see your back

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel

you must be this tall ↆ

to exit the quicksand

~David C. Kopaska-Merkel