2 by Katie Lewington

politician snaps
photo with tourist

a politician is not a celebrity

they are educated
and entitled by money
briefed –
puppet
a
hand continually up his
arse

snap photos of hotel cleaning staff
a soldier –
policeman –
your mum

Katie Lewington
Katie Lewington is a UK based writer and has been drafting, editing and rewriting her bio since she started submitting to literary magazines and journals two years ago. It isn’t as if she doesn’t know who she is, she just isn’t sure what is relevant. Her creative writing can be read at https://katiecreativewriterblog.wordpress.com or https://gumroad.com/katielewington She can be contacted through Twitter @idontwearahat

The Line by Helen Freeman

Every month – tears.
I’m late again. Hurtling up, tingling,
certain. Then boom,

a stained fall.
Cobalt dye injected,
gelid plastic intrudes.  More likely
to win the lottery, doctors say.
I dig deep for the railroad switch,
Rio streets, Chinese orphanages,
all accounts cross-checked, doors and windows
cranked open for scrutiny. Then this,

this fluttering,
this clear fuchsia line.

Version 2
Helen Freeman published a collection of poems, Broken, in the recovery time following a severe road traffic accident in Oman. Since then she has completed several online poetry courses including ModPo and the Poetry School. A Third Culture Kid brought up in Kenya, she now lives in both Edinburgh and Riyadh.

Warm/Hunger by Daniel de Culla

We realize the No-Man
No-Woman land
Between Warm/Hunger.
It’s actually the No-thing
That held us in bond
Without a concrete tense
Straddling the precipice
Between Life & Death
As a valid chasm.
Warm & Hunger are
On the same plane
As receiving blanket
In one hand
A basket and shovel
In the other
Seemed together
As ephemeral ghosts
In our miserable
Existence.

Daniel de Culla
Daniel de Culla (1955) is a writer, poet, and photographer. He is also a member of the Spanish Writers Association, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review, and Robespierre Review. He has participated in Festivals of Poetry, and Theater in Madrid, Burgos, Berlin, Minden, Hannover and Genève .He has exposed in many galleries from Madrid, Burgos, London, and Amsterdam. He is moving between North Hollywood, Madrid and Burgos, Spain. His address is in Burgos, just now. He has more than 70 published books.

Dirty Work by Gary Hewitt

Wakey, wakey
Rub eyes,
Screw Mrs.
Grab clothes

Empty bowl
Swallow cuppa
Work, hustle
Crew’s waiting

Invade house
‘Alright mate’
Abuse bitch
Ransack jewels

Split earnings
Liquid lunch
Push, shove
Smash glass

Smack bouncer
Make escape
Doner, chips
Upchuck gutter
Give finger
Drive home
Fondle Mrs.
Kill lights

gary-hewitt
Gary Hewitt is a raconteur who lives in a quaint little village in Kent. He has had over 90 short stories and poems published and has performed to several live audiences.

 

Minnesota State Fair by Mike Finley

I wait outside the Port a Potty for the 7-year-old boy
inside to finish, and when I go in, there is boy pee everywhere.
It is like the first few moments following the monsoon.
It is a 360 degree bombardment, nothing was spared.
I used to be a boy, I know they have a powerful stream
but even standing up they are so close to the seat,
you would think they could aim for a better result.
Or maybe this is intentional, a kind of declaration.
Powerless in the greater world, they let loose their stream
behind the pulled latch, grim determination on their pusses.
I daub the area with toilet paper and gingerly lower myself
onto the damp, like a sad clown making way for the next act.

Mike Finley 2
Mike went to a picnic but there was nobody there. This sort of thing is always happening.

Untitled (again) by Michael Zone

Walking through plastic ashes
Declaring independence from brain tendriled webs
I saw through lies
and took a dive through liquid time
swirling in mind gyrating concepts
mechanical horse-head warriors
battling in golden Trojan form against
spectral spectrum soaked reptile gods
from the 5th dimension swallowing
chrono mind time of being
carving out electromagnetic weapons of mass regeneration and conversion
from empty space
with the potential for forever
piercing the sky with sonic boom war cries
feathered helmets sketching the nature of fallen clock-faced minions
in fighter jets
crashing and burning in the logic of nothing
slaying for everything
in the senseless sense the human calculator
in the dollar bill business suit and tapeworm eyes stood revealed
someone not quite unlike ourselves
wondering and wandering among the willows
unweeping

Michael Zone
Michael Zone is the author of Fellow Passengers: Pubic Transit Poetry, Meditations & Musings and Better than the Movies: 4 Screenplays. His work has been featured in Because Eileen, Dead Snakes, Horror Trash Sleaze, Three Line Poetry, Triadae and The Voices Project. He scrapes by in Grand Rapids, MI

And We Are Hiding Now by Natalie Crick

For some time they sat in the cornfield
And spoke like dull mice
About what would be done.
When the sun, a ruined fruit

Ripped the dilute garden growth
And spread a red alarm over tall shears
The eldest was heard to say
“Bury them in the cellar.”

Skins of lice lamented
Over the pulsing stalks,
Their drones blanched in the air
Curdled and hot.

The house was distant and brown
Weeping a creeping shadow from within,
That seemed to warn: ‘Keep Out’.
A blaze from the forgotten.

Old plastic swing swung over the perimeter,
A goodbye, flinch.

The sky was high and blue.
In the giant shoots
Lurking softly and surreal,
Two ducklings on the gilded shore.

The sea was swimming with flushed young men
Severing feathered heads
With long silver scissors.
Pointed thorns in a paper box.

The woman roared like the man.
“Stop”, said the girls
With frilled socks.
Once the heavens were purple

Like a bruise, the corn
Grew cold and wet.
The house stood waiting, a deadened bulb
With a swift march

They advanced through the field,
Cutting stems.

Natalie Crick
Natalie Crick has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry is influenced by melancholic confessional Women’s poetry. Her poetry has been published in a range of journals and magazines including Cannons Mouth, Cyphers, Ariadne’s Thread, Carillon and National Poetry Anthology 2013.