Wednesday, March 28, 2018

New Poetry by John Rock










Morning Fire On The Beach

looking at myself these mornings
through a sunrise and morning tea
close to being able to say the word autumnal and see it
among the villages of gulls
like a raven who dropped a thought he picked up on the road
that became this fire

gulls facing each other in a ring
and dousing their bodies
so easy to be together
and apart
but ultimately someone who multiplies
like snowflakes
and is found by the surface of mirrors

one raven among the gulls
could be a crow
but I’m gonna say it’s a raven
cause it’s morning
here it comes
another neighbor
every
moment


- John Rock 2018


In love with water-spiders, ravens, and sunsets, and ecstatic dance, John Rock lives in New Mexico.  More poems, audio poems, novels and plays for free at johnrockpoetry.com





Sunday, March 25, 2018

New Poetry by John Bartlett










The Blue

The blue of the ocean snatched up by sky
Fog smudges this perfect landscape
I wait to be called by name
The violinist on the street oblivious

Fog smudges this perfect landscape
Apple-trees glow like stop lights
The violinist on the street oblivious
As children sleep, buried in dreams

Apple-trees glow like stop lights
Crowds surge like advancing tides
As children sleep, buried in dreams
The sea drifts on with no guilt

Crowds surge like advancing tides
Somewhere a single gull complains
The sea drifts on with no guilt
A small boat on a vast canvas

Somewhere a single gull complains
I wait to be called by name
A small boat on a vast canvas
The blue of the ocean snatched up by sky


- John Bartlett 2018



John Bartlett‘s non-fiction and essays have been widely published and were collated into an e-book, ‘A Tiny and Brilliant Light’. He is the author of two novels, ‘Towards a Distant Sea’ and ‘Estuary’, a collection of short stories, ‘All Mortal Flesh’ and e-book,  ‘Jack Ferryman – reluctant Private Investigator’, sequel to ‘Towards a Distant Sea’, has just been published. He blogs regularly at: beyondtheestuary






Bluepepper would like to apologise to anyone out there who has been unable to submit to us over the past week. The problem has only just been brought to our attention and has been rectified. We can only offer this as a cautionary tale to anyone out there predisposed to believe the hype of a certain gargantuan software company barking at you that their product is safer and faster than the tried and trusted.


Sunday, March 18, 2018

New Words and Images by Wayne H. W Wolfson

Night Sketching

I had my sketchpad out. There had been no plan to work but I enjoyed the lines of her body. She was large but seemed indifferent to any possible judgement to be made by the other party goers.

Before stripping out of her clothes, she put some lipstick on. Somewhere she had found a candy apple red swimming cap which she also donned. 

Occasionally as someone drifted through the room, they would stop and watch for a few moments as she struck a new pose. When the voyeur was about to leave, she batted her eyelashes and puffed out her cheeks in a kewpie doll kiss.

 One of my favorites was when she made a fist, pulling her elbow back past her hip while making her other arm extend out past her head like an Olympian shot-putter whose task had just been completed. There was also a series of flamenco steps, my pencil her partner.


"Against the glass 2" watercolor & paper 7x10

The flesh of her cheeks and areolas became flushed, echoing the color of her rubber cap. Going into a semi-squat, palms resting on her thighs, she let a stream trickle out with a soft giggle.

Heinrich had come in to see if I needed anything. He pushed his glasses back up his nose with his index finger. 

“Yes, yes, very amusing. Now I later must clean up piss for the sake of art.”

There had only been a few pages left in my pocket pad, now also used, but the night remained young. 

finis


- Wayne H.W Wolfson 2018

Visual Works of Wayne Wolfson





Thursday, March 15, 2018

New Poetry by Jeff Nazzaro










South LA Cul-De-Sac

His backyard abuts the tracks. 
Sitting on the stoop, black-and-white 
mutt at his feet, he smokes and watches
the trains go by, 
Downtown to Long Beach, 
Long Beach back Downtown,
through the heart of the city
and past his fence.

Little old houses of 
turquoise, pink, and white
cling for life to the
life clinging back in the
cul-de-sac next door.

The signs on the market 
are faded. The taco shop
went bust. The pretty girl
in seafoam green
makes her way 
to the edge.


- Jeff Nazzaro 2018


Jeff Nazzaro lives in Southern California, where he writes poetry and short fiction. His poems have appeared in a handful of online and print journals, including Rat's Ass Review, Thirteen Myna Birds, and Cholla Needles Magazine.