T. dohrnii by Adrian Slonaker

Turritopsis dohrnii is the spitting image of
a slice of maraschino cherry in aspic
surrounded by slender tentacles identical to
the vermicelli-like branches on
my Aunt Penny’s fiber-optic Christmas tree.
While randy Imperial Romans rhapsodized over Venus,
Vikings and Skrælings skirmished in Vinland,
Wyomingite women menstruated messily into pioneer petticoats,
Polari-speaking sodomites got arrested in swinging London,
and the French Fifth Republic lopped off its last head,
the immortal jellyfish jauntily propelled itself
or reposed peacefully as a polyp,
smugly shrugging off
our necrophobic neuroses.

Adrian Slonaker
Adrian Slonaker works as a copywriter and copy editor in St. John’s, Newfoundland, Canada. Adrian’s work has appeared in Aberration Labyrinth, Squawk Back, The Bohemyth, Queen Mob’s Tea House, Pangolin Review and others.

Spin by Chad Parenteau

Party over
when revealed
all are invited.

dash through
open door.

trip over
own beverage.

Walls of
sound break

Noses scrunch
not everyone
can inhale.

If all
no one does.


Circles spin
off with
out tops.

Chad Parenteau is the author of Patron Emeritus, released in 2013 by FootHills Publishing. His work has appeared in Tell-Tale Inklings, What Rough Beast, The Skinny Poetry Journal, Ibbetson Street and Wilderness House Literary Review. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine. His second full-length collection, The Collapsed Bookshelf, is forthcoming. Photo by Jerry Hoyt




Names Of by Paul Brookes

the stations
Are so similar.
You at one waited, got cold.
I at the other, waited.
Waited, waited.
Decided to walk.
Met each other at your door
As you blinked the lights
To lock your car.
Perhaps you misheard.

Paul Brookes is a shop asst. His chapbooks are The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Forthcoming Stubborn Sod, (Alien Buddha Press).

Submission Unheard 2nd Try by Gregg Dotoli

editors gleefully
rejecting words to be unheard
a proxy poetic deterrence
of graceless gloating rejection
spitting on Art’s fresh buds
the dispiriting crew
keeps em blue

Gregg Dotoli lives in New York City area and has studied English at Seton Hall University. He works as a white hat hacker, but his first love is the arts. His poems have been published in, Quail Bell Magazine, The Four Quarters Magazine, Calvary Cross, Dead Snakes, Halcyon Magazine, Allegro Magazine, the Mad Swirl, Voices Project, Writing Raw and Down in the Dirt.

Outlier by Richard Livermore

A handful of eyes
thrown up in the air

will see what they see
from multiple angles

much like the two
Picasso possesses

in defiance of those
who believe he is

dead and want him
back in the grave.

• 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.

The Nation Is Dead by Robin Wyatt Dunn

the nation is dead
we’re singing it
into the water

my mother is a mountain
I’m moving north

under the sun I can feel the voices speaking to me
ten thousand years

who is it made the world
and what is my place in it

and where does the gravity go,
when it has left my body?

California recedes under the dust
and my boots

and the drumbeats of home

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

Grace by Michael Gillan Maxwell

it isn’t fortune, and it isn’t fame
it’s everyday miracles
that sustain me

a robin singing outside my window
at the end of an endless winter
on the first warm day of spring

twenty dollar bill in the pocket
of a jacket I haven’t worn
for months

one last beer in the fridge
hidden behind
the hot sauce and pickles

a dog’s wet, sloppy tongue
licking my face
in the morning

the first explosion of tulips
a golden riot of daffodils
the ecstatic rhythm

of flapping wings
instead of a dreadful thud
when children fly from the nest

one more cookie in the jar
the last piece of chocolate
a parking space in front of the building

the thrum of a motor boat out on the lake
water slapping at her hull
the murmuring buzz of honey bees

ambrosia of a lilac bush in full bloom
candle in the window, the smell of wood smoke
logs blazing in the fireplace on a cold night

the blues and wild gypsy guitars
freshly ground coffee beans in the morning
a car that starts when it’s 20 below

sheep grazing in a field
horses at the fenceline
the news that my test is negative

the smell of damp earth after a spring rain
the gentle breathing of my bed partner
in the middle of the night

a sign that says
Gas Next Exit
when the tank is empty

the sound of thunder from a far shore
the breeze that rises up before a storm
a 3 point basket at the buzzer

home run in the bottom of the ninth
hitting 21 against the dealer at the Blackjack table
a check from the IRS

the cop
who let me go
with just a warning

an unexpected kindness
a feather in my path
Tibetan prayer flags in the mailbox

all messages from Angels
coming through
the static and the noise

Michael Gillan Maxwell
Michael Gillan Maxwell is a writer and visual artist in the Finger Lakes Region of New York state. His hybrid collection of visual art and prose The Part Time Shaman Handbook: An Introduction For Beginners, was published by Unknown Press in 2015. Maxwell also writes songs, lists, recipes and irate letters to his legislators. Prone to random outbursts, he may spontaneously combust or break into song at any moment. Maxwell can be found ranting and raving on Your Own Backyard at https://michaelgillanmaxwell.com/


That World Inside Our Window by Austin Davis

Hold me close
in that world
inside our window
as the little pink lights
fall from their trees outside

and let the day’s discomfort
spin slow on the tip
of some invisible finger,
like a globe glossed by dust.

Run your hand past
the soft green blurs
spiraling like crystal balls
inside our chests

until we catch the tails
of those two famed trails
that Frost once wrote of.

Crane your neck
and listen with me
for the faint chicken scratch
of Frost’s pen knife
tasting the skin
of some English birch

and watch as both paths
slither beside each other
but never meet,
like the yellow python
and the golden garden snake.

Austin Davis’ poetry has been published widely in literary journals and magazines. Most recently, his work can be found in Pif Magazine, Folded Word, The Poetry Shed, and Spillwords. “The Moon and Her Ocean” was published in 2017 by Fowlpox Press and Austin’s first full length collection, “Cloudy Days, Still Nights” is being released this spring by Moran Press. Check out Austin’s website at https://austindavispoetry.w eebly.com/

Jesus Loves the little Geezers of the World by Carl Mayfield

I can see the people having a good time,
dancing and fondling each other,
waving to Jesus as he belts out the words.

But I can’t hear what Mary’s surprise is saying.
Perhaps this is for the best–
when has a true party
ever been captured by language?

Everyone claps their hands,
falling in love with what they have left,
the song that no one hears
shining in their eyes.

Carl Mayfield’s most recent chapbook is High Desert Cameos. His poems have been published within his lifetime, which still shocks him a little, having no desire for people to look at him.

I Surrender by Eddie Awusi

I surrender to earth;
I surrender to the sky –
Vocal shotguns in hands,
Shot up in defiant submission.

I surrender to the seas;
I surrender to the firmaments;
I surrender to life;
I surrender to death;
I surrender to the world under.

I surrender to my innate yearning,
Bathing in the fragments of my passion.
I weave my days into accolades,
Waiting on a speechless thunderstorm.

I surrender to bliss;
I surrender to pain;
I surrender to my distorted infancy:
Evoking a childhood, I never had.

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.