In The Streets With No Name by Peter Magliocco

If someone seeks a special solace
do your words move softly
on the palette of unspoken need?
I was one with the homeless
at such times, when words failed
to express the inexpressible
those summer nights wandering
in a barefoot homage to streets
going nowhere yet everywhere
in geographies unmapped tonight
drunk on nature’s sweet song
sung by nocturnal creatures writhing.
Give me a steed, even the broken nag
yearning for his somber pasture
& no more this aimless ramble
through an inferno of suburbs
where shooters target hollow malls.
I was one with the homeless
& still am, in twilight’s rock and roll
lyrics spew out the words to live by
as rhythm sways its vibrant path
over silent crowds in the cul-de-sac
of living memory’s forgotten sounds.

Peter Magliocco
Peter Magliocco writes from Las Vegas, Nevada, where he edits the lit-zine ART:MAG now and then. His recent sci-fi novel is SPLANX from Cosmic Egg Books.

Whiskey by Danielle Dix

There is no hiding behind gates
of arms and shut eyes
as the mind mourns its murderer
and the lungs ache to sigh,

no binding quakes with stiff white gripping
for calm within from parasitic kicking,
digging, writhing, and ripping
starving for starting the cycle’s beginning,

and no finding the time buried
as the heart heaves uncovered
the weight given back
by a false lover.

Now the rain coming down is much too clear.
I sit in a tin with bullets in my ears.
Drawing back from the heat I was dreaming
to look down at my body freezing.
All the while my mind still grieving,
for what devil left it bleeding.

I am a poet with a tendency to focus on challenges that people create within themselves. While adventures steal my money and impulses drive my mind, I am compiling a set of poems that I hope will not fall prey to abandonment in a cardboard box. I have been published in Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine.

I Remember Driving Across by Paul Koniecki

bandages of
missing night
in black
or blue
two lost
lanes the
only chance
we have
is the
one we
brought with
us rest
stop sex
she said
jesus christ
satisfies me
orally with
his tender
washroom mouth
the instant
i come
all my
sins are
forgiven the
hay bales
and the
empty water
towers scream
in the
seventh grade
gordy schenk
told me
his favorite
super hero
was wonder
woman with
her blue-eyes
and bracelets
of submission
hidden in
plain sight
that changed

(for Joe Brainard)

Paul Koniecki is co-curator of Pandora’s Box Poetry Showcase at Deep Vellum Books in Dallas, Texas where he also hosts the monthly open mic series, The Vellum Ouroboros. Most recently his chapbook, Reject Convention, was published by Kleft Jaw Press and his poems have appeared in a variety of journals and anthologies since 1985. Noted director Richard Bailey’s film, “One Of The Rough” contains several Paul Koniecki original poems and was shown at The Berlin Experimental Film Festival in December of 2016. When he isn’t writing he is dreaming of being reborn as a poetry tree. His motto remains, “I want to write a book of poetry to chase down loneliness and punch it in the face”.

The World Through The Telescope by Jonathan Beale

All the world seen through some Russian short film
The clowns comic nose and pathetic expression
Cold and dark he lives in the black – and – white world

Scattered the fleshy white petals of a golden orchid
The reflection from the well gave no clue no hint:
As the earth pertains to this doctrine –

Jonathan Beale
Jonathan Beale has poems published in Penwood Review, Danse Macabre, Poetic Diversity, Down in the Dirt, Mad Swirl, Deadsnakes, Bitchin Kitsch, Pyrokinection, Ygdrasil, Van Gogh’s Ear, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Jawline Review, Bluepepper, Jellyfish Whispers, The Outsider, and Yellow Mama. His work has appeared in such books as ‘Drowning’ (Scar publications) and ‘The Poet as Sociopath’ (Scar publications). He is currently working on his second volume. His first collection of poetry ‘The Destinations of Raxiera’ is published by Hammer & Anvil. He studied philosophy at Birkbeck College London and lives in Surrey England.

A hui hou (until we meet again) by Wanda Morrow Clevenger

we were in route to Maui
for a family wedding
when Eunice passed

and I knew it would
happen just that way,
happy and sad
glommed onto
either side
of a infinite fine line

I hadn’t seen her
she didn’t want anyone
seeing her–her seeing
her in their eyes–
I understood this
more than anyone knows

I so wanted to see
her children again
full grown
remember their voices
when we were all
young and possible
hug their hearts
with an A hui hou
Maui breeze

there is a DVD
lent to me
in the yellow-ware
napkin holder
on the cherry server
in the dining room
titled Celebrating
the Life of Mom that
I will need to return
but haven’t yet found
the courage to watch

Wanda Morrow Clevenger - Copy
Wanda Morrow Clevenger is a Carlinville, IL native living in her husband’s hometown of Hettick, IL, population 200 give or take. She’s placed over 422 pieces of work in 149 print and electronic publications. She is currently attempting to sway a publisher into accepting her full-length poetry manuscript. She hasn’t seen any pigs fly by so believes she’s still got a shot.

Pay Less Attention. Play Smart. by Gary Lundy

to win unlikely under any circumstance. now the attendant wants all or nothing. an artist hopes to sell at least a small print. reduces price.

chill air promises frost in next few weeks. they play with the children ask only they learn to resolve conflicts peacefully. a hard iron to bear when quarters are required.

the melody engulfs us in our solitude. yet another woman murdered because of misperception of others. life invites destruction as a saying may go. deliberately avoid two random pages when reading a new book.

never the same again. slow down notice the various poses they reveal. it won’t be long now. yet the thought of not unsettles. all black they dress to oppose the sun. glide into position with modicum of grace.

less telling than their effort to exhale. apricots vary to degree unnoticed organic. mistakes add toward a later correct hour. a sudden smell of bleach clears the sinuses.

awakening to new isolation and rebound closets. an old black and white landscape. a violin sans strings knocked as drum beat. they gather to dance. how suddenly confidence reduces to insecurity.

their smell fills the memory. file away among items to be opened later. on such occasions two reduces to one without agreement or copy matters. wide feet and short legs. open sky eyes blue.

Gary Lundy’s poetry has appeared most recently in The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Beautiful Losers, Vallum, The BeZine and Fragmentarily/Meta-Phor(e)/Play. heartbreak elopes into a kind of forgiving, was released this past July by is a rose press. He is a queer living in Missoula, Montana.

The Taste by Dan Abernathy

Beauty is all around,
it is everywhere I look,
but I tire of looking into a false expance.
I enjoy the flaws and the scars
of broken down dreams
and fragmented false promises.

The numerous stumbling bumps
Into the catastrophes of life
that make people real
and give birth to vibrant thought.
I like people who drink cheap scotch,
with a splash of water.
Not for the taste,
but for the bite
and the way it makes them feel.

It is the numbing effect
that gives a reprieve
from the thoughts and feelings
they are hiding from.
I say all this because sometimes
I, too,
tire of drinking red wine
and want spiced rum,
on the rocks
with two twists of lime.
And please
do not hand me
a fucking straw.

Dan Abernathy
Welcome to the chaotic and often strange life of a Quasi, Clumsy Spiritual Warrior, Dan Abernathy. This Renaissance man is known as an outlaw poet, artist and purveyor of words, a junkyard philosopher, and a vagabond searching for a pure hedonistic meaning for his of life. His voice, be it in his words or in his art, is a collection of oddities, fascinations, desires and obsessions – a road map of sorts, tracking the life of a man that can’t and won’t fit in. “His poems are a bit like a well fingered bowl of mixed treats in a dark bar – filled with some salty Charles Bukowski, some chewy Hunter S. Thompson, and a little zap-a-hooty sweetness ala Dr. Seuss (tossed in just for the kiddies…er, ah, not that I’d recommend this one for any mother’s son.” – David Vaughan, an artist, writer from the Pacific Northwest coast. Abernathy makes available 98% of all his perspectives, be they fluid and random thoughts, or meandering and incomplete rants to the masses. They other 2% he keeps to himself, archived and a gift for the scholars and naysayers to decipher. Abernathy has published two books of poetry, Looking For Security While Wearing a Loincloth and I Don’t Shave on Sundays. He is also the Editor/Publisher of The Contributor, a monthly newspaper of free speech, art, travel, the spoken word and other oddities that should be revealed.

Like Harry Fox by Sofia Kioroglou

It takes two to tango
and two to foxtrot
so woo me smoothly
like Harry Fox
but don’t you dare
step on my toe
You know what they say-
two can play at that game

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:

Better Late by Richard Livermore

When I bent towards dusk
and mounted the moon
on the wall for the night,
only the time the clock struck one
of the servants gave me away.

Convinced the idea was not
as good as it seemed at the time
and had to be placed
in its proper perspective
after we opened our eyes,

what we saw was on
the horizon and seemed
to suggest that something
rather than nothing existed
and it was waving goodbye.

• Biography: Richard Livermore was born in Sussex in 1944. He went to various boarding-schools and left at 15. He joined the Army, but was discharged 6 months later. He went from job to job and in 1974 to Newbattle Abbey College in Scotland. He has lived in Scotland ever since, except for 5 years in Spain. He has had numerous poems published in magazine and webzines in Britain and the USA, plus books by Lothlorien, Diehard and Chanticleer Press. He is presently retired.


Poem 4 by Margarita Serafimova

Death, who did not expect,
is looking down at
its deed.

Margarita Serafimova
Margarita Serafimova has published one book of poetry, “Animals and Other Gods”, in the Bulgarian (Sofia University Press, 2016). Her second book, “Demons and World”, also in the Bulgarian, is forthcoming in April 2017 (Black Flamingo Publishing, Sofia). In English, pieces of Margarita’s have appeared in Outsider Poetry, Heavy Athletics, Anti-Heroin Chic, the Peacock Journal, Noble / Gas Quarterly, with others forthcoming in The Voices Project and Obra/ Artifact. Margarita is a human rights lawyer. Facebook: MargaritaISerafimova/?ref= aymt_homepage_panel.