Hymn to a Heavy Pour by Jason Baldinger

a blond walks up
orders a scotch
frazzled from a long drive
she says as much
I’m a heavy pour
listening to her tone
I’m sure to pour heavier
hand her here drink
remind her its strong
but it’ll steady her
take it slow

she smiles
it’s a smile that could
keep you warm for a winter

I never witnessed the ceremony
I imagine bride and groom
anointed in plaster dust
fresh harvest
from alien gypsum fields

the people I wait on
just blurs
little strings of light
on a run. I pour heavy
some show panic as I hand
over a fresh drink
I only remember the orders
of people who greet me
with a smile

I may have danced
accidentally

accordion and clarinet
wrassle a cover

You’re just like an angel
mother and groom dance

Your skin makes me cry
we’re thumbing our noses at tradition

Cause I’m a creep
I’ve heard a whole cookie will give you the jeebies

I’m a weirdo
exhausted
can’t unwind enough
to even get high

I don’t belong here
feeding pizza to a creek

ramshackle campfires
trying to stuff memories
of life or life together
at inception. Tonight
is full moon stars
celebrating life and time
slowed down, sped up

to the bride and groom
there is only time
as it settles, the future
is a heavy pour
of beauty kicking
only a little dust

Jason Baldinger
Jason Baldinger is a poet hailing for the Appalachian hamlet of Pittsburgh. He’s the author of several books the most recent of which, the chaplet, Fumbles Revelations (Grackle and Crow) is available now, and the collection Fragments of a Rainy Season (Six Gallery Press) which is coming in September. Recent publications include the Low Ghost Anthology Unconditional Surrender, Uppagus, Lilliput Review, Rusty Truck, Dirtbag Review, In Between Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, Winedrunk Sidewalk, Anti-Heroin Chic, Nerve Cowboy Concrete Meat Press, and Heartland! Poetry of Love, Solidarity and Resistance. You can hear Jason read some poems at jasonbaldinger.bandcamp.com
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Revelations by Talon (R.M. Engelhardt)

Post structural dark decay at the end of another post modern day
Sleep

To dream in the shadows
To fear the news
The media
To remain
Alone

Dear God
This poetry
This poverty
These remnants of
Hope
All fading
A reckoning
Of sorts
Merely
Waiting for
The return
Of something
Lost

Pockets
Full of miracles
Memories
Scattered across
A landscape
Of faith

These revelations
That come to me
At night
Without
Saviors

Post structural dark decay at the end of another post modern day
Sleep

In the embrace of
Unseen angels
That haunt our
Dead &
Abandoned

Souls

Talon ( R.M. Engelhardt)
Talon ( R.M. Engelhardt) is a poet/author minister who over the last 20 years has been published in such journals as Thunder Sandwich, Full of Crow, Rusty Truck, Writers’ Resist, Dry Land Lit, Hobo Camp Review & many others. He currently lives & writes in upstate NY where he hosts a monthly open mic called “The Troy Poetry Mission” http://www.rmengelhardt.com http://www.troypoetrymission.com

Ashes in Nevada by Ferris E. Jones

I will come for you,
the dreams will know again,
the vast green scenery.

I will come for you,
no judge of gold sitting,
just hands to hold the past.

I will come for you,
to carry you home quiet,
to rest in peace at last.

Ferris E. Jones
Ferris E. Jones writes poetry and screenplays from his residence in Seattle Washington. His work has been published in Se La Vie Writers Journal, Write on Magazine, Outlaw Poetry, Degenerate Literature 17 and other literary periodicals. He is the recipient of two Grants from the Nevada Arts Council and published several collections of poetry, including To Burning Man, Oh the Path that Followed and As the Toad Sleeps. You can learn more about Ferris E. Jones by visiting http://www.inquisitionpoetry.com

Wallflower by M.P. Powers

He’s one of those guys
you see at the bar all the time,
but never quite realize he’s there, so little
is the impression he makes on you.

You’re not the only one. No one seems to notice him.
He kind of moves about the place like a shadow,
now attaching himself to a party
of three near the pinball machine – standing behind them
pokerfaced – now sitting bent up in the corner,
his bland eyes panning to and fro.

One day, after realizing I’d been seeing him
around for ages and knew nothing about him,
I asked my friend Helmut for info. “He can say ‘I’m hungry’
in twenty different languages,”
said Helmut. “He thinks it’ll help him pick up chicks.”
“Do you think it’s ever worked?” I ask.
“He said it has – twenty times.”

Helmut and I watch as he cleaves his way
through the crowd, this tall, tarantula-like creature
that no one
acknowledges or perceives,
which doesn’t seem to bother him at all.
He finds a place to stand by the coat rack
and stares out at the people
as if he too were a piece of furniture.

I sometimes wonder if there are aliens
disguised as human beings among us,
watching and reporting
on everything we do.

If so, does it not seem likely
we’d barely notice them and, perhaps,
that they’d be programmed with the ability
to say ‘I’m hungry’ in twenty different languages?

Helmut and I watch as he stands there
next to the coat rack, pokerfaced,
his soulless eyes
taking us all in.

M.P. Powers 2
M.P. Powers was born in Aurora, Illinois, lived most of his life in various parts of Florida, and moved to Berlin, Germany in 2011. Fortuna Berlin is his first novel and Hallucinogenic Dragonfly Intermezzo is his first poetry collection. Both are available at Amazon.com. He blogs here: https://mppowers.wordpress.com/

Stone Soldiers by Milenko Županović

The place of the nameless
through the gates
into the memory
of the space
a man  with dreams
about the past
the fear of the people
of the unknown
the dreams of his work.
the bloody dreams of a place
without names,
looks back to the memories
of the architects of the past
in the eyes of a man
who is no longer there
the bridge that only exists
in his dreams
the river of books
eleven soldiers hold the stones
on their backs,
the writer of the creature,
their birth, eternal life,
the guard of the ages,
the heart of the creator
in the eye of the bridge.

milenko photo
Milenko Županović was born in 1978 in Kotor (Montenegro). By profession he is a graduate marine engineer, but in his free time, he writes poetry and short stories. His stories and poems have been published by many magazines, blogs and websites, mostly in the Europe, U.S. and in Latin America. In 2010 he wrote and published his first book, a collection of stories, and he also written and published few collections of poems (ebooks). In 2015 he wrote and published his second book , a collection of stories and poetry. In 2016 he wrote his third book , a collection of poetry (published in USA, project ”Poems for all”) His book ”Martiri”was published in italian language. Milenko is an ethnic Croat and lives in the town of Kotor (Montenegro) with his wife and 3 sons.

The Wind by Bruce Mundhenke

You cannot see the wind,
Only the trees it moves,
Again and again and again.

You cannot see the wind,
Only the clouds as they pass,
Again and again and again.

You cannot see the wind,
Only the dust that’s blown,
Again and again and again.

You cannot see the wind,
Only the leaves that fall,
Again and again and again.

You cannot see the wind,
Just the branches that fall from the trees,
Again and again and again.

You cannot see the wind,
It blows wherever it will,
Again and again and again.

Bruce Mundhenke 2
Bruce Mundhenke is an unknown poet who lives in Illinois with his wife Mary, their dog Max, and their cat Gracie. He is an avid reader and finds in nature both inspiration and revelation.

Supermoon by Simon Cockle

Once the hysteria had waned
and the clouds found a window,
you turned out to be nothing
more than spoilt milk.

You hardly loomed above our rooftops,
you were no lunar mushroom cloud
that ushered in the end of days.
No, not even the crime-fighting hero
to save us all; just a pale imitation
of the real thing we saw on our screens.

In the cold expanse above us,
you moved through the stars
with the bluntness of a mountain,
unaware that you were only
a reflection of ourselves.

simon-cockle
Simon Cockle is a poet and writer from Hertfordshire. He writes as part of Poetry ID, a Stanza of the Poetry Society. His poems have been published in Envoi, iOTA, Prole, The Lampeter Review, Picaroon Poetry, Skylight 47, An Algebra of Owls and the London Progressive Journal, amongst others. He was invited to read at last year’s Ledbury Poetry Festival, and will be returning again this year. He teaches English at a local comprehensive school, and has a wife and daughter who nod reassuringly when he reads them his poems. More of his poems can be found at https://simoncockle.wordpress. com/