December 2015

cropped-ohflogo2r.jpgView Issue vol. 6, no. 10
ISSN 2369-6516 (Print)
ISSN 2369-6524 (Online)

You can also read the poems by scrolling down or clicking the titles.
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Tyler BrownI think my rosemary bush

E.M. CampbellMy Haiku

Brian DockalDance of the Giraffe

Barbara EllisFOOLS for a BABE

Paul HealyBeyond the Borders

Jari-Matti HelppiCome On In

Scot JamiesonSquirrel

Jobin M. KanjirakkatThe Place

Scott Lynch CPAP

David R. MacLeana better way

Luke MarcianoCracks

Lorie Ann MorrisOnce

Nicole MyersDe Profundus

CJ PellernElection Night

Nathaniel S. Rounds Horse Wisdom

Naomi SlaterOf Forever

Elzy TaramangalamSonsy

Ryan TaylorNervous first dates

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I think my rosemary bush is dying
Poem by Tyler Brown

I think my rosemary bush is dying.

The one from the flophouse
down by the docks
Where the men with all the stories ended up.
Covered in windows – well lit, boarded up.
To cover the mass,
All the artifacts
of lives lived
on the wander
and streetwise,
builds up
Makes you wonder,
When you really take account of it.

I wonder if my rosemary is dying
From green heartache
From the separation
From those stacks of time
that surrounded it so long, now
living in cardboard Boxes
and to untrained eyes
garbage to be curbed
if it lives at all.
After all plants feel
And that has to be it
Otherwise it might be me
Who is being neglectful.

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Dance of the Giraffe
Poem by Brian Dockal

Who lays your body down?
Not me.
Who lays your head down?
Not I.
Who lays your heart down?
Me too,
No one.

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The Place
Poem by Jobin M. Kanjirakkat

the wind that blew long ago took
something away, but
walked us to a place
near streams where gods danced
and forest flowers bloomed
among trees whose roots spread far
the wind keeps blowing; asking
us to walk to that place, and
we set out a dozen times; we stop
at the threshold and cry.

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Beyond the Borders
Poem by Paul Healy

Walk with me now upon snow laden branches
Somewhere between time
And a wish to stop thinking.
Feel the branches sway beneath our step.
Your foot, my foot, the wind.

This expanse of snow where towers of ice-wood
Jut like lightning,
Out of calm cloud blankets.
Feel the air kiss your fingertips numb.
Your hand, my hand, the wind.

Turn with me now and gaze at our footsteps
Going back beyond sight.
Open your arms. Look to the sky.
Your body, my body, the wind.

Beyond the borders heat is a chill
And skin contains nothing
But a concrete will.
Beyond the borders it all runs together,
Hands melt, eyes thaw and the sun is a dancer.

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Poem by Scott Lynch

awake in a nightmare
dark and quiet
but for the incessant rush of air
fighting to swallow
to control the panic
the heart racing need
to contain my thoughts and breath
uncomfortable and wanting
to escape my skin
time stretched to eternity
by minutes of claustrophobic fear
forced by harness
by apparatus
by machine
to override the autonomic
to comply
to sleep
noiseless shrieking
all I hear

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Nervous first dates at the Sea Horse
Poem by Ryan Taylor

There is something strange
about the evening
since the morning
I’ve been on its trail
for there has been something
slightly off about me since waking
feels strange and foreboding
guillotines loom over head
as if ignoring
impending truth too long
and it approaches foreseen
with a cautious smile
and the few remnants of my heart
fall under siege
I wish not to lose
nor have destroyed
the artifacts of my heart
not by some unknown girl
I wish not to fall out of shell
dear shell don’t break open
I need to disguise my hatred
I need to bottle my love
save the last drops
lungs desperately breathe
I’m to head down below the sea
drown in the sea horse
sorrows of blues bands
with a sweet blondie.

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De Profundus
Poem by Nicole Myers

I used to smother
under the burden
of barely breathing
in a weighted life
but one daring day
I reached down deep
into my chest where
my heart used to be
found a fist full of nerve
and told myself to exhale
out of the depths
I climbed

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Poem by Barbara Ellis

On my Facebook page
I look quite daft doting on baby Adelaide

In some paintings I have Googled
they gather round the Babe and crib
incurious, expressionless
or just preoccupied.
And if they know some wonder
or some awe, it’s hard to tell.
Even in the stalls of Fra Angelico,
douce Botticelli, Ghirlandaio,
those fond, besotted, humble looks
cannot be seen, those looks that
doting faces wear when they hover
hover hover over babes.
The late north painters, de La Tour
Le Brun, Van Honthorst knew
and sealed that gaze on shepherds,
simple souls.
And I know too that silly stamp
has lived forever and for all.
What image binds us there?
Entranced, out of our minds
when looking on the babe,
we hold our lips apart, drawn tight,
sound out deep-tongued clucks
and croons.
Content as fools before the world we are,
who one day may be wise.

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Come On In
Poem by Jari-Matti Helppi

Slap the slip and bend an ear.
Come on in and have a beer.
Let’s talk of earth and dirty hands.
Let’s tongue our way through many lands.
And eat some wings, I have a lot.
And then my friend forget the rot.
The rot that stabs at each on each,
and stops good discourse at our feet.
The ones that smile with sharpened blades,
that keeps the light in dusty shades.
The ones that feed upon our fear.
Come on in and have a beer.

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Horse Wisdom
Poem by Nathaniel S. Rounds

Make mine an iced, tall enema bag
As I observe this drugstore existentialist
Reading Ezra Pound
Held upside down
by his paper jacket

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Of Forever
Poem by Naomi Slater

Yet, I am nothing but dust
And, a creator of tomorrow
Fuel for the Sun
Sometimes, I know
Very little has meaning
Without love at its core
It’s all random solar winds
Dark patterns of disoriented chaos
The positive response
Of our attracting molecules
Pulling us together
We hold one another
Against the dying unknown
The water in my eyes reflects
The wholeness of forever
From the stars, Colourful, alive
Smelling of aquamarine unimaginable
I see tides infinite in possibilities
Together we are at its mercy
I am amazed at my emptiness
I fill it with the love of the light
The smile in your eyes
The rain waters my soul asleep
Dreaming of the future
Through ever changing perceptions
Of desire and discovery
Our lives come together
In the hope of joyful voices
Yet, I am nothing but dust

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Poem by Luke Marciano

Keep it
you can heal it
feel it forward momentum
I have been walking down the lonesome street
not even a sharp light coming from a lamp
well I feel each unique
moment I tripped on the cracks
because the side walk still has gaps
should I jump over
I am thinking of planting a rose
in our home the earth whats the best
I feel more towards
interesting stress
its kind of like it seems to be the rest
I keep my head tied to what I love
live for
stand for nothing and feel sore
I ll settle the reason I
look out for myself
I ll keep on walking
move towards health

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Poem by Elzy Taramangalam

Do poems start
As a lump in the throat
Or bump in the heart
Grand old poet laureate?

Will we love some one less
When we need them less?
You and I
So ridiculously inept and silly
Were meant to spend
Eternity under the same slab.

With your nose for love
Like a truffle pig
I should be crowned
A sow princess drowned in mud.

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Election Night
Poem by CJ Pellern

Moon towards Her half over thick
Green molded long-ago import elms
Daily let flop too rapid developed limbs
Onto oily fresh asphalt; wind blasts
Off dried out leaf, deadens, re-blasts,
Dresses over Moon in wide variety
Cloud style; Fall cold bone-deep,
Re-enter, lock door behind, lay
Self back down… awake, glasses

Fallen onto lips, “The Jade Mountain”
Anthology slipped from hands, further
Dilapidated, new young handsome Prime
Minister on screen, Moon re-yellowing in
Barren tree tops other side of house

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Poem by Scot Jamieson

Nothing more important
than a squirrel,
to a squirrel.
What squirrels do,
how they look,
what they are.
Nothing compares
in significance,
intelligence, power,
Squirrels’ preeminence
has been established,
and is every day
reestablished with greater
chittering energy.
A Squirrel –
the be-all and end-all
standard by which you will
be measured and found to
come up short;
the focal centre,
besides which
everything else
is of little
or no,

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a better way
Poem by David R. MacLean

There must be a way
to identify sins that harm another,
otherwise than seeing pain
on the face
in your face.

I may need some Tai Chi type training
that would instantly
slap my face silly, but in slow motion
before such thoughtless thought,
thought of transfer
from the murky depths of my brain
down the escalator of my tongue,
for innocent wounding.

I hope I could accept the reminder
calmly and reflectively,
even if the odd time
the master needed to clip
a roughened sandal against my butt;

it would be less hurtful
than inflicting pain on others,
and then, having to face
the echoing shame.

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My Haiku
Haiku by E.M. Campbell

You are my haiku
I wrote you all by myself
You belong to me

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Poem by Lorie Ann Morris

Once, I was young.
Once, I was eager.
Once, I cared.
Once, I’d loved.
Once, I felt rage.
Once, I lived.
Once, I died.

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