Hum Ram Chunk And Divide The Wealth Over Your Shoulder by Robin Wyatt Dunn

hum ram chunk and divide the wealth over your shoulder
each pinion exact as a knife
into your limbs:

bear the burial to bond the light to your tongue
to taste the air

which lamp and which girl
knew the depth of the mountain
who rises over the mud?

Robin Wyatt Dunn
Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in Los Angeles. In this picture he is holding his tiny chapbook MARY, from Rinky Dink Press.

“Ripeness Is All” by Sofia Kioroglou

Always be a noble man
even on a foundering vessel
stand aside and let the frail fill the life-boats
Accept death calmly
and endure your going
hence even as your coming together
There is nobility in the world,
not everything is darkness
ergo ally yourself with the good.
“Ripeness is all”

Sofia Kioroglou is a twice award-winning poet, journalist, writer and prolific blogger residing in Athens, Greece, with her husband Peter. Her work can be found in print and online, most recently in Galleon Literary Journal. To learn more about her work, visit:

I Met A Lonely Woman by Eddie Awusi

I met a lonely woman.
To whom hope was a luxury.
She was a maiden to misfortune.
Her dress, an interpolation, of curious eras:
Half medieval, half stone age.
She stood bending, like a moon walker
Tired of this realm of man.

Mid-term of life, her song was soured.
Sheaves of grieves
Were the harvests of her world apart.
Sowing in pain and reaping tares.

I met a lonely woman –
Haggard, bereft and worn-out;
Unkept and disheveled.
Staring like an apparition.
Clutching at life,
with shivering resolution.

Eddie Awusi is a Nigerian writer of Isoko extraction.
 He graduated from the prestigious Delta state university,
 Abraka in 2007, where, he got a Bachelor of Arts degree
 in English and Literature. He has been published in Dissident
 Voice, The Australian Times, Tuck Magazine and other
 numerous magazines and anthologies. The pen and paper;
 are his playmates.

Virally Concerned by Lawdenmarc Decamora

Ooga-booga, a cure-song for chikungunya!
I went out for a walk to hear the virus,
an eyeless virus that nattered yada yada
yada; the lungs at their feet howling in pain
as the morning grew on flu that flew
across Grouplove Park without recovery.

Ooga-booga, don’t sing for the feckless
and shit-faced mosquitoes! I held my hand
up for your return, for your silence
that has been killing me, and for all
the bouncy gigues crammed in this fix
I held out my hand crying Please, please.

Ooga-booga, the scarred body chimed
at the least instance at six before nine;
there was a banker attending an art
exhibit, I thought philistines were allergic
to a darkened room with moisturizers,
for I have been all my life freelancing

the whale of being OK, and oh—as if
your silence were killing me.

Lawdenmarc Decamora
Lawdenmarc Decamora is a graduate student of literary and cultural studies at the Ateneo de Manila University (ADMU). He holds an MFA in creative writing and has been a fellow of prestigious regional and national creative writing and criticism workshops in the Philippines. His poems and short stories were published in Mad Swirl, TAYO Literary Magazine of California (Issue 5), WE ARE A WEBSITE Literary & Art Journal of Singapore, Cruising Magazine of Manila Bulletin, To Voice My Own, Paper Monster Press, and BUKAMBIBIG Issue One: “Crowds”, among others. His long poem “Dude” is forthcoming in the winter 2017 issue of TAYO. He also has presented papers in international and national conferences. He is currently a faculty member and a research fellow of the oldest existing university in Asia, the University of Santo Tomas (UST).

Why It Doesn’t Snow Any More by Thomas Fucaloro

Politics always
prevents the storm
by creating
an earthquake,
a foundation
crumbled in
wake, prosperity
cannot weather
any storm
because they are
the storm
but the weather
channel calls for
sun and nice and flowers
to sooth you in like prozac
and an ice cream cone drip
realizing the storm is too hard
to muster and it’s easier to weather
someone else’s storm while you sit back,
repair your foundation, get into politics and run
for meteorologist predicting different patterns in thought
and following trends while setting goals to meet those trends.

(Title-George Carlin)

Thomas Fucaloro
Thomas Fucaloro is an NYC poet. He has 2 books out by three rooms press, his latest one, “It Starts from the Belly and Blooms” has received rave reviews. He has graduated with an MFA at the New School for Creative Writing. He has been on 5 national slam teams. He is a co-founding editor of Great Weather for Media and NYSAI press. He is a writing coordinator at the Harlem Children’s Zone. He just recently won a performance grant from the Staten Island Council of the Arts and the NYC Dept. of Cultural Affairs.

Status by Stefanie Bennett

Walking the rainbow’s trellis,
Sun slung via my right arm
And moon at my left…

Whoever says
Does not offend

When levels
Of sanity extend,

Take that rainbow:

Beautiful to a fault.

S.Bennett 026
Stefanie Bennett has published several books of poetry, a novel & a libretto & been nominated for a Pushcart + Best of the Net while working with Arts Action For Peace. Of mixed ancestry [Irish/Italian/Paugussett-Shawnee] she was born in Queensland, Australia. Stefanie’s latest poetry title ‘Blanks from the Other World’ is due late 2017.

Who Needs TV by John Patrick Robbins

I sat there my feet upon the cooler in that old rocking chair I snatched from the landfill.

It was worn like me but not ready for the grave.
I viewed the other trailers on the court each was a little world unto itself .

The old retired couple always tending there yard.

The teenage couple and there screaming kid and constant fighting over every little thing under the sun.

The prick next door with his blasting music always working on a truck that was always breaking down .

Yet the godammed radio never stopped working blasting bass vibrating windows .

Simple people hate silence.

And me I just sat back watching the chaos who needs TV when you have life .

Why have some canned laughter or bullshit drama written by some group of people all trying to squeeze gold from a turd.

I had the drama , I had the mystery of not knowing what would happen next.

And just then the newest addition to the neighborhoods door flew open as a black cat went running down the street .

Its owner in her night shirt and panties chasing down behind her.

She had a great ass that jiggled with every sound made as her bare feet slapped against the ground .

The cat was faster than a cheetah.
The new neighbors stepped on a piece of broken glass and began cussing while bouncing up and down on one foot .

Her night shirt going up a little further with every bounce almost exposing her breasts .

It appears I had comedy as well all in one show .

I often hurt myself chasing pussy as well .
The new neighdoor looked at me as I smiled .

Fucking weirdo mind your own business .
She said as she half walked half pogoed into her trailer slamming the door behind.

I cracked another beer took a huge gulp who needs TV when you have the chaos of life

It was a strange view to this world indeed.

John Patrick Robbins
John Patrick Robbins Is a writer ,Comedian and full time drinker who’s writing is largely influenced by people and stories I here’s around him everyday. Stay crazy .