New Poetry by Taya Boyles

The Souls We Stand On

If I had enough chalk. I’d give my mom

wings but I was unsure if I could hold her hand

and draw without breaking the line.

There was nowhere to go but whoever would hold me.

I may have found flesh covering wires,

as long as I was imprinted.

I’ve always been a sucker for shrines.

You’d have to build 60 million rituals

and dig trillions of holes to bury the souls we stand on.

Still, I would not last under the weight of one.

I held a buttercup to my chin

and it was translucent, but not promising.

I left to find some daffodil seeds to replant

because weeds could grow anywhere.

- © Taya Boyles 2023

Taya Boyles is a writer in Richmond, Virginia. She is currently a senior pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in English at Virginia Commonwealth University. Taya's writing journey started at just eight years old and has come far from misspelling glue. Her poetry and flash fiction have appeared in literary magazines such as Split Lip Magazine, Vermillion, Pwatem, The Rye Whiskey Review, Hot Pot Magazine, Radical Zine, and more.  

New Poetry by CLS Sandoval

Burning Down*

Close up on withering sunflower 

Pull out to reveal a head stone 

Her black eyeliner as clean and dark as twenty years ago 

And her blond hair as perfectly pressed 

Her voice as pretty and pure as when she was a teen  

Skateboarding in a tank top, suspenders, and a tie 

She sings back-to-back with him 

He’s covered in tattoos with green hair 

Banging on his drums 

I still burn for you 

Her body stronger now after years  

Of battling Lyme 

Her music and faith saved her 

Then she found this man 

He was to be her third husband 

But like their shared anthem 

They couldn’t last 

They went  

Up in flames, up in flames

- © CLS Sandoval 2023

CLS Sandoval, PhD (she/her) is a pushcart nominated writer and communication professor with accolades in film, academia, and creative writing who speaks, signs, acts, publishes, sings, performs, writes, paints, teaches and rarely relaxes.  She has presented over 50 times at communication conferences, published 15 academic articles, two academic books, three full-length literary collections, three chapbooks, and several flash and poetry pieces in several literary journals.  She is raising her daughter and dog with her husband in Alhambra, CA.  

 

* Inspired by Flames by Mod Sun featuring Avril Lavigne 

New Poetry by Jim Conwell

Absence

How many went missing? Most. 

One way or another. We have talked 

of that time but who wants to try and 

imagine the reality? It lives as 

an absence; not spoken of, not even 

known of. An unfillable hole.

There were many holes then

and they were filled, 

with the multiplying dead. 

Mass graves, everyone slung in together. 

Let God sort it out. He chose 

to do nothing about what was killing them, 

so it’s His problem. 

The thought no one dared to entertain, 

so I will entertain it for them.

Outside, it is raining. A bit.

- © Jim Conwell 2023

Jim Conwell’s background is London Irish and the themes of exile and dislocation are strong in his work. He is published widely in magazines and in three anthologies. He has had two poems shortlisted in the Bridport Poetry Prize and was recently longlisted for the Brian Dempsey Memorial Pamphlet Competition. 

 

New Poetry by Leah Mueller

Scam Avenue

 

Imagine going for a walk and

encountering all the scammers

who send you bogus email

every day. Instead of reading about

 

your miraculous ten million dollar

inheritance, or a formula

that will stop hair loss dead

in its tracks, you see a person

 

approaching from the opposite

end of the sidewalk. He catches up

with you, flashes an oily

salesman’s smile, and says,

 

“Antivirus software has expired!

Your computer is already at risk.”

 

You dodge him easily, like he was

a rubber ball that someone threw at you,

but over the horizon, you spot

 

another man, heading straight

in your direction. He raises a hand

to get your attention and yells,

 

“Were you injured by contamination

at Camp LeJeune? I offer free

consultations. Call me now!”

 

You dash across the street and hide

behind a building, but there is no escape.

A cluster of people lies in wait, smirking.

They always knew you’d show up.

 

One of them wants to enlarge your penis,

even though you don’t have one.

Another is convinced that you need

a timeshare vacation in the Yucatan.

 

They charge towards you, relentless,

until you pry their hands off your body

and run away, without looking back.

 

You wish the scammers weren’t real;

then you could just shut off your computer

and go outdoors to escape. Perhaps

it’s a good thing you stay home after all.

- © Leah Mueller 2023

Leah Mueller is the author of ten prose and poetry books. Her work appears in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Citron Review, The Spectacle, Miracle Monocle, New Flash Fiction Review, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, etc. She is a 2023 nominee for both Pushcart and Best of the Net. Leah's flash piece, "Land of Eternal Thirst" appears in the 2022 edition of Best Small Fictions. Her contest-winning poetry chapbook, "The Failure of Photography" will be published by Garden Party Press in Summer, 2023. Website: www.leahmueller.org.

 

New Poetry by Robert Estes

Death Call

I missed it

but my officemate

said that was what

the caller had said

to give the call a name

Not many people whose

death would prompt

a call to me at work

Braced myself

No name attached 

to caller or deceased

Did I call a number

or did my uncle call back?

It was my father’s brother

It was my father’s death

Given the alternatives

that had to be a relief

In a fire it happened

He said it was smoke

He’d seen the body

Not burned

But it was a closed casket

so maybe he meant

not terribly charred

less implied suffering 

Town’s newspaper 

pointed to a cigarette

as the cause

He lived alone;

and I was glad

I’d seen him only 

a month or two before

for the first time in three years

at his father’s funeral

where a cousin of mine

whom I hadn’t seen 

in a much longer time

remarked my dad was

getting through it well.

I knew she meant that he was

sober beyond her expectation,

perhaps some fears,

intended really it to be a 

compliment, and I appreciated that,

though not without a little shame

for both myself and him.                                      

I learned from her

that one of our first cousins

was in prison:

drug-dealing, what else?                                                           

I’d lost touch with that side

Her sister, no longer a nun—

or was she still?                                        

clothes are inconclusive—

sang at that funeral

sang with another                                      

woman who played guitar 

(I wondered)

Now I’m thinking

“Sister” was applied to both

After my father’s funeral

my uncle Kenny

the one who’d given me the news         

talked business on the phone                

(“buried my brother” mixed in),

later drove off 

so drunk I wondered 

if we shouldn’t call the cops

- © Robert Estes 2023

Robert Estes, who lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, got his PhD in Physics at the University of California at Berkeley and had some interesting times using physics, notably for a couple of Space Shuttle missions. His poems have been published by Cola Literary Review, The Moth, Gargoyle, Slant, Tipton Poetry Journal, Blue Unicorn, Masque & Spectacle, Constellations, Loch Raven Review, and Alba, plus that many others.

New Poetry by Carla Schwartz

Praise the Insects

Let me praise the dark red bird, nameless, obsessed

praise the twilight and the off-hand evening

light borrowed and tired

praise the thick young layer of cloud

subway cars full of spring leaves

praise the green flashes painted

on horizons, the cagey rat

slinking past the fence

out the corner of my eye

praise the drunken sleep

that overtakes me

praise the errant thoughts

that ride up the dumbwaiter

lit by a rampant sizzling fuse

as my anvil lids, heavy with sleep

loaded with stones

slur my pen

as    I     nod

slip into a sly oblivion

and back

to praise this evening’s naked

insects—feet of the gods

insects whose puffy nibbles

pique and itch—

insects—food of the birds.

- © Carla Schwartz 2023

Filmmaker and photographer Carla Schwartz’s poems have been widely published, including in The Practicing Poet (Diane Lockward, Ed) and in her collections “Signs of Marriage'' and “Intimacy with the Wind.” Recent publications and acceptances include The Ear, Channel, California Quarterly, Cutthroat, The Poet’s Touchstone, Ibbetson Street, Inquisitive Eater, Paterson Literary Review, Triggerfish Critical Review, The MacGuffin, and Leon. Carla Schwartz is a 2023 recipient of a Massachusetts Cultural Council Grant.

New Poetry by Laurie Kuntz

 

Wishes for English 101 Students

- After Lucille Clifton's poem, "Wishes For Sons"                                                                       

I wish them blank stares, thirty-five at a time,

I wish them the shuffle of bored feet,

fragments, run-ons, and the inconsistencies

of verbs looking for agreement.

I wish them doodles and dropped eyelids,

then the dream of standing naked

in a filled to capacity auditorium,

their lecture notes containing the wisdom of a fig leaf.

I wish them red-ink stains on fingertips,

folders of ungraded papers on Friday night,

later, lost folders of graded papers on Monday morning.

And when they deem themselves ready to graduate,

I wish them the course that they forgot to take.

- © Laurie Kuntz 2023

Laurie Kuntz  has published two poetry collections (The Moon Over My Mother’s House, Finishing Line Press and Somewhere in the Telling, Mellen Press), and three chapbooks (Talking Me Off The Roof, Kelsay Books, Simple Gestures, Texas Review Press and Women at the Onsen, Blue Light Press).   She has been nominated for three Pushcart Prizes and one Best of the Net. Her chapbooks, Simple Gestures, won the Texas Review Poetry Chapbook Contest, and Women at the Onsen won the Blue Light Press Chapbook Contest. Currently residing in Florida, everyday offers an opportunity for a much needed political poem. Otherwise,  happily retired, she lives in an endless summer state of mind. Visit her at:  https://lauriekuntz.myportfolio.com/home-

New Poetry by Jason Melvin

Capture

for my fortieth birthday

Mom made me a photo book

me and Dad mostly

or was the intent

so few shots to choose from

certainly not enough to fill a book

toddler-me asleep on his lap

him with his 70’s haircut

white t-shirt, jeans, short beard

the healthy image of him

strong, the way I remember him

a few from that last Florida vacation

10-year-old me

towhead bowl cut, Mickey Mouse T-shirt

the one where he’s 37

looks 57

him and his two boys

capture it while you can

at the start of his treatments

None of him at my wedding

dancing with my wife 

none of him with my children

them on his knee

pulling at his beard

all we have is glossy paper

and so little of that

I’d love to hear his voice

but no one ever captured it

- © Jason Melvin 2023

Jason Melvin is a father, husband, grandfather, and metals processing center supervisor, who lives just north of Pittsburgh. He is a later-in-life storyteller, having first published in 2020. His work has recently appeared in Roi Faineant, Zero Readers, Jake, Olney, Punk Noir and others. His poems were nominated for Pushcarts by Bullshit Lit and Outcast. His first chapbook, Wrong Things, is available courtesy of Bullshit Lit. He can be found on Twitter @Jason5Melvin, Instagram @JasonMelvin5 and on his website at www.jasonmelvinwords.weebly.com.

 

 

 

 

New Poetry by John Bartlett

some boys

- after reading The Boys are turning into Men by Omar Musa

the boys are Sundaying and

RDO-ing with tinnies and stubbies

testing the air with their braggery

not to mention some wankery

voices akimbo with oathery

Davo and Johnno and Stevo

just don’t give a buggery

admiring each other’s tattoo-ery

later they’ll be footying and some  high fivery

even a bit of shitfuckery

along with  noworries-tooeasy

other boys are listening to the wind’s words

they’re leaning into starlight and discovering tears

some boys are learning pity          some

boys are turning into men

- © John Bartlett 2023

John Bartlett was the winner of the 2020 Ada Cambridge Poetry Prize and Highly Commended in the 2021 Mundaring Poetry Competition.  In 2023 Ginninderra Press will release his second full collection Excitations of Entanglement.

New Poetry by Erina Booker

Speaking the Unspeakable

two little boys

took a ride

on the sensor-triggered

car park security gate

it went up & up & up

as programmed

holding & squashing

the boys like fruit

the one still alive

managed to beg

“help me God

help me God”

the trust, the belief

he uttered was dismal

beyond measure,

& then repeated by his father

“the Lord gives

and the Lord takes away”

profound & simple

at the same time

shocked by this level

of belief

but also hearing the maxim

that raised

this earthly tragedy to

the heavens…

& gave them the power

to endure

- © Erina Booker 2023

Erina Booker is a Sydney/Tweed Heads based poet, whose life revolves around Poetry. She has published 11 collections, recites at public functions, belongs to poetry & writing groups, presents seminars, judges competitions, & also publishes in anthologies, & online. She has a major is Literature & Composition within her BA, & post-graduate studies in Counselling taught her more about the value of the pause. Her work may be found in Amazon, Lulu Press, & InHouse Publishing. 

New Poetry by Lynn White

Only Joking

"It was just a joke”

you said

the night you came back,

a typical wind-up

that we should have known better

to believe.

Of course you weren’t dead!

It would take more than a few cigarettes

to extinguish your flame!

“Look”, you said,

“I’ll give you a hug”.

And you did,

a good solid one,

not spiritual

not virtual

but real.

So we all had a laugh

and a pint

and then you left

again.

- © Lynn White 2023

Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She was shortlisted in the Theatre Cloud 'War Poetry for Today' competition and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net and a Rhysling Award. Find Lynn at: https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

New Poetry by Paul Hostovsky

That

After that he lost his sense of humor.

It wasn't that nothing was funny.

It was just that that wasn't funny.

It was just that. That and a world that

could allow that to happen. Nothing

funny in the world after that. Before that

everything funny in the world was only funny

because that hadn't happened yet. And yet

it had happened. And it had been happening

in the world ever since the world 

had begun. How to reconcile that

was the question. How in the world to 

laugh with that in the world? That was

the riddle, the conundrum whose answer

was once a clever pun but now was just

this bruised silence, this dumb twitching,

this tongue cut right out.

- © Paul Hostovsky 2023

Paul Hostovsky's poems have won a Pushcart Prize and two Best of the Net Awards. He makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter. Website: paulhostovsky.com