New Poetry by Bruce McRae

The Self’s Portrait

One portrait has no ears or hands.
In one portrait the eyes have gone
to wherever it is eyes go on autumn evenings.

Here’s a mouth that’s said too little too late.
Here’s a nose that ought to know better.
No beard. No scar. No symmetry.

An eyebrow’s lament. Light pooling on a chin.
That unfortunate hair lost in a forest.
And this portrait, of the self, of the self’s self.
Which resembles a heart-string and sings like a bird.


- Bruce McRae 2015

Pushcart nominee Bruce McRae is a Canadian musician with over 900 poems published internationally, including Poetry.com, Rattle and The North American Review. His first book, ‘The So-Called Sonnets’, is available via Silenced Press and Amazon. To see and hear more poems go to ‘BruceMcRaePoetry’ on YouTube.

New Poetry by Pijush Kanti Deb

I Have a Drum

I have a drum
grammatically well tuned
as per the universal norm of  sweetness,
a keen longing to beat it
dancing and singing
traversing each and every cavity of human sense
and unfortunately a weakness too
as I lack an ethically authorized hand to beat it
but in the process
my young heart permits me
to purchase the authorized hand
in exchange for
my beloved money and self-respect both
while my old soul restricts me
saying
‘’No self respect --- no life in a life
so let your drum be beaten by others’’


- Pijush Kanti Deb 2015

Pijush Kanti Deb is a new Indian poet with around 261 published or accepted poems and haiku in around 90 nos of national and international magazines and journals [,print and online] like Down in the dirt, Tajmahal Review, Pennine Ink, Hollow Publishing, Creativica Magazine, Muse India, Teeth Dream Magazine,Hermes Poetry Journal, Grey Borders, Dagda Publishing, Blognostic  Black Mirror Magazine, Dissident Voice Journal , Indiana Voice Journal Aji Magazine Calliope Magazine and many more. His best achievement so far is the publication of his first poetry collection,’’Beneath The Shadow Of A White Pigeon’’published by Hollow Publishing is available on AMAZON.

New Poetry by William G. Davies Jr.

Probity

The sun slants, avuncular;

warming that side

of your rib cage,

opening for a little while

the path through woods

where darkness gathers

on either side

with gold lapels.

- William G. Davies Jr. 2015

William will be appearing at The Writer's Nook at the Little Buffalo Arts Festival at Little Buffalo State Park for a reading October 3rd. He will also be signing copies of his collection, "Before There Were Bones" at The Perry County Council Of The Arts building in Newport, Pennsylvania October 10th.

New Poetry by C S Hughes

In The Tropics

A mystery and a revelation 
An orange sunset burns my fingers
Stars blazon the bruised night (words blazon like stars)
A Van Gogh or Gauguin join-the-dots
Spelling strange characters
To which
The poet humbly submits
They are so much bigger than this
Sharks beneath glass green seas
Savage rantum scantum 
The genius of turning back
And asking questions
And the chance again to taste
Your coconut flavoured skin


- C S Hughes 2015

C S Hughes grew up on both sides of the tracks in ochre towns and charcoal cities. When he was young he hoboed across the country by thumb and freight train, before spending several years in reading and study. He has lived in parks and palaces and worse places, publishes innovative poetry pieces illustrated with his own photography and digital artworks in iBooks, and has occasionally had a story or poem published on paper. He writes commentary on popular culture and edits at nerdalicious.com.au 
He says he is getting older but no more wise.

New Poetry by Donal Mahoney

Fast Food at Midnight

A drunk comes into McDonald’s

staggers to the counter

is waited on by a young lady 

who looks like his wife

years ago when he proposed.

Drunk says nothing, just stares,

mouth agape, until the 

manager hustles forward,

sensing a sale

leans over the counter 

says to the drunk,

“Want fries with her?”

- Donal Mahoney 2015

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/

New Poetry by Joseph Reich

Getting through the daze

Recently been having this vision

of the whole Peanuts gang nodding

out on heroin, heads really hanging

perhaps around that poor crestfallen

Christmas tree where all the pine

needles have posthumously fallen

with the fizzling lights, droopy star

teetering on top, all messed-up around

the mound by that makeshift lemonade

psychiatrist stand, or that wall where Linus

and good ole Chuck Brown make their final

stand, bow their heads, grief-stricken, contemplative

and question, Socratic method, kind and compassionate

their existence, contented. watching days pass right

in front of them, and see both their perspectives, their

moods and behavior, then crash with elbows eternally

leaned-up, head in hand and earnestly, existentially

discuss dreams and goals, resolve conflicts and try

to figure out the futile, impossible problems of the

world, the pained and perplexing suffering soul

exchanging thoughts and ideas and future plans

right where the seasons change, but scene always

seems to remain the same, the trees and leaves

and tops of bleak twinkling roofs, steeples,

temples, mosques, mausoleums, streets

and lamplight sputtering with a pastel

sun falling, big bulge of breathtaking

moon rising, turning from day to evening

leaving simply those stray starlit stoops

with a whole wistful windswept village

swept up in blessed silhouetted geometric

forms and images of the sobering season

The hyperactive and psychotic and driven

Snoopy who I never  much cared for

his overconfident personality

Marcy and Peppermint Patty

finally finding each other

Pigpen misunderstood

underestimated

Franklin the black

kid never taken in

Lucy the loud mouth

who just never shuts

the fuck up, but who

knows maybe I’m just

going through some sort

of mid-life crisis of sorts

most likely not and am just

trying to find ways to cope

and catch up on everything

I believe I missed out on

from a very complex

and competitive

overbearing 

and overwhelming

passive-aggressive

impossible Jewish culture

does that make sense at all?

And so thus maybe just prefer

seeing the whole Peanuts gang

strung-out on dope, not saying

a whole hell of a lot

a bunch of distant

disobedient dwarf

dope addicts

completely

out of it

contented

centered

blissfully

nodding out

to that brilliant

bee-bopping piano

and brush drums

of a mean and

moody magical

Vince Guaraldi solo

building up then fading

off in the background

all of them naturally

shuffling home

on their own

by their own

choice and

volition

pace and

space and

time and

leisure in

a constant

state of flux

through the fading

glow and opaque

drizzly autumnal

leaf piles of some

divine dwindling

disappearing season.

- Joseph Reich 2015

Joseph Reich has been published in a wide variety of eclectic literary journals both here and abroad, been nominated five times for The Pushcart Prize, and his books in poetry and cultural studies include, "A Different  Sort Of Distance" (Skive Magazine Press) "If I Told You To Jump Off The Brooklyn Bridge" (Flutter Press) "Pain Diary: Working Methadone & The Life & Times Of The Man Sawed In Half" (Brick Road Poetry Press) "Drugstore Sushi" (Thunderclap Press) "The Derivation Of Cowboys & Indians" (Fomite Press) "The Housing Market: a comfortable place to jump off the end of the world" (Fomite Press) "The Hole That Runs Through Utopia" (Fomite Press)  "Taking The Fifth And Running With It: a psychological guide for the hard of hearing and blind" (Broadstone Books) "The Defense Mechanisms: your survival guide to the fragile mind" (Fomite Press)

New Poetry by James Walton

DNA

there’s a madman in the square
people are closing their windows
he’s crying out he’s found the code

of how the house smelled of oranges
when we made the almond flour cake
and the scent rained through every room

stirring in a wing flap heart beat
not the dull flat bottom skiff of ducks
slumbering off the scoria embankment

but the savage embrace of a hurtling beak
I stalled face on in mid air unafraid
as the rushing gust pierced and passed

the skins fall away in pulsing forensics
my nose is buried in the aromatic aftermath
of how the house smelled of oranges


- James Walton 2015


James Walton lives in South Gippsland. His collection, "The Leviathan's Apprentice" has just been released through Strzelecki's Lover Press.

New Poetry by Rob Walker

sinister minister


the retired clergyman from the states ejaculates
a laugh of embarrassment  at everything

his philosophy as cut, dried & packaged as a tour

somewhere in the uk midlands he asks about australia 

what’s it like to live on the other side of the planet so
isolated                  & far from everything?

i reply that everything i need is quite close


it occurs to me that every one
thinks their hometown is
                                                                                          
universe’s                                       singularity



- Rob Walker 2015

New Poetry by JD DeHart

Space

Is this space we find

the quality of one mind

or co-created

by our observance of it

When we leave

and drive away into

separate dark places

does the space continue

(do we)?

- JD DeHart 2015

JD DeHart is a writer and teacher.  His chapbook, The Truth About Snails, is available from RedDashboard.