Then and Now by Stephen Jarrell Williams

They steal your brain and heart control
pushing it up against a wall
your room not yours anymore
bare feet getting stamped upon

dare not look out your window
their beam will lock onto your knot
never knew it was there
little electrical spasms pinkish red

don't think too hard or you'll cry
the first touch of your first lover
she left you when you drifted too far
cloud lines over the horizon zone

please make them go away
someone scratching at your door
is it a cat or a scene from a horror movie
down deep in the dark smelling ashes

okay, I'm coming out of it
back in my room
wait
I never left it

someone breathing inside my closet
they've always been there
playing with their mouse
Mickey Snitch

and I take a deep breath
shaking my head of long hair
I'm trying to be a hippy again
Laguna Beach and bikini girls

the sharks having diapers on
trying not to pollute the sea
they kept track on who to vote for
always grinning with white sharp teeth.

-

Stephen Jarrell Williams has had over a thousand poems published here and there and distant places where the light still glows. He can be found on X/Twitter @papapoet

Hydrated by Dominik Slusarczyk

I

I push the Pepsi button. There are a number of clunks from inside the machine. I bend down and look into the little drawer. There is a can of Pepsi waiting for me like there should be. I pick up the can. It feels nice and cold. A cold drink is exactly what you need on a day like this. Some idiots drink tea and coffee when it is sunny. When it’s hot what you really need is a cold can of fizzy drink.

The sun beats down on my head so ferociously it makes me feel a little faint. I pull the ring pull and there is a fizzing sound as the can opens. I take a little sip of the drink to test how it is. When I have confirmed that it is delicious I take a massive gulp. I already feel better, less light-headed, more energetic.

I continue my walk to the park. I think about how all my friends will be drinking beer. They would be having much more fun of they were drinking Pepsi.

II

I grab another beer from the box. We don’t have any fizzy drinks left so I have to drink stupid beer. I flick the cap off the bottle and take a sip. It tastes musty like old books. I grimace slightly. They say you get used to beer and start enjoying it if you drink enough of it but I am in my mid-20s and I still don’t like the taste. Maybe I haven’t been drinking enough of it.

The girls are drinking gin and tonic but they are almost out of gin. They are talking about going to the shop to get more. There is most of a box of beer left so we don’t need any more of that. I think about asking them to buy me a nice can of coke but I do not ask because I don’t want to look stupid. You are not supposed to like coke more than you like beer. That is what my friends say anyway.

III

I press the Fanta button. The clunks inside the machine confirm that the machine has  understood my command. I bend down and look into the little slot just as the orange can slides down into it. I pick up the can and open it immediately. I am so thirsty. It is too cold today.

A fizzy drink is exactly what you need on a cold day like this. The cold air always dries my whole mouth out. It is important to stay hydrated.

I continue my walk to the pub. I think I am going to drink vodka and coke even though my friends will make fun of me for drinking a girl’s drink.

--

Dominik Slusarczyk is an artist who makes everything from music to painting. He was educated at The University of Nottingham where he got a degree in biochemistry. His fiction has been published in various literary magazines including moonShine Review and SHiFT – A Journal of Literary Oddities. His fiction was selected in Fictionette Monthly Flash Fiction Contest.

Spider on the Windshield by Ace Boggess

It stares at me as into an aquarium
where I’m the great white shark
kept separate from other fish.
It recognizes violence in me,
always present, though masked by fear.
Not much larger than the head
of a cotton swab,
its armor looks like wet sand
on a sidewalk at twilight.

It knows I’m watching it watch me &
begins a journey from the center out,
goes up then down, left then right.
Wherever it travels,
it finds my eyes already there.

I press the button twice for washer fluid,
a blue deluge,
rubber blades swiping
as in the hands of a child playing surgeon.

--

Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.

Racking Up The Points by J.J. Campbell

ever been kissed
by an alien

taken into the clouds
and shown another
dimension

these drugs seem
a little stronger than
what i was smoking
in my youth

back then

the colors would bleed
into a village of idiots
running around like
tomorrow was the only
thing we were ever
guaranteed

now

those colors are lasers
pointed right at me
and i’m stuck in a video
game, somehow with
still good hand eye
coordination

racking up the points

i just want a quiet corner
and a shot of jack

a woman with a long
cigarette and a short
memory

--

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know where the bodies are buried. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor, The Beatnik Cowboy and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Asphyxiating Eternity by Merritt Waldon

Asphyxiating eternity
Filtered

Eyes bleed sleep death
Action coma

Holy phlegm
Orgasm holocaust

We burn
Tongues impaled

Bodies of love

--

Merritt Waldon b 1974. Madison, Indiana. Has been published in numerous publications nationally and internationally. He has 5 books of poetry. His first: Oracles From A Strange Fire by Merritt Waldon and Ron Whitehead. (Cajun Mutt Press, 2020). He lives in Austin, Indiana.

Arizona Skies by Wayne Russell

The souls are sidewinders,
breast stroking through
Arizona skies.

They have colors, some
are pink, others blue,
and marmalade orange.

They are swimming, those
souls, off to the finish line
of the apocalypse; incoming.

I sit and watch from my
decrepit porch, my swing;
creaking as the chain links

pop; innocent like pearly bones.

I spot a rat, scamper through
the brambles; dry sparse land,
like snake skin.

There are mountains in the
distance; all the dead ones
know me by name, they sing,

songs of celebration and of
remembrance. I shall take the
path less traveled, that gravelly

death trail; the path leading me
away from this lifetime and up
into those Arizona skies; where,

those sidewinders are morphing,
into the souls of the next sunbeam;
some fragrant, radiant elixir.

--

Wayne Russell is a creative writer that was born and raised in Florida, he moved to Ohio in late 2016. His first book of poems, "Where Angels Fear" was published by Guerilla Genius Press in 2020 is available on Amazon; his second book of poetry is titled "Splinter of the Moon" and will be available via Silver Bow Publishing in early 2024.

Beauty Is Your Burden by Kevin M. Hibshman

The after party doldrums take hold somewhere around four AM.
There is a question mark engraved on your glistening forehead.
I could employ many trite adjectives to describe your well-rehearsed performances but is that fair?
You have so many expectations to live down.
The entire future is waiting outside the door and it is completely indifferent to easy smiles and soft bribes.
I think of your oft-used slogan: “Things will always work out with time.”
“One way or another,” I hesitate to add.

--

Kevin M. Hibshman has had his poetry, prose, reviews and collages published around the world. He has edited his own poetry journal, FEARLESS, for the past thirty years. He has authored sixteen chapbooks, including Incessant Shining (2011, Alternating Current Press). His latest books: Cease To Destroy, Just Another Small Town Story and The Mirror Masks Nothing, a co-authored book with John Patrick Robbins published by Whiskey City Press, are now available on AMAZON.

In Wild Hunger by Joan McNerney

Longing for blackness searching tunnels
tasting empty wells. How many times?

Ten times ten times ten. Ten thieves
have stolen our souls.

Lost in ignorance with plastic eyes
cosmetic sneers, they find illusion
in their own reflections.

Seven times seven times seven.
The shards of their mirrors are crushed.
Slivers of glass will be their food.

Many are lost to poverty stranded in
pools of despair. They crouch in
corners, eating the air of distrust.

Three times three times three
faith hope charity.
Which is the greatest of these?
Do you know true charity?

Tracing old constellations to find
nourishment. Though I have heard
the great silence, stood in golden warmth
filled with pure light...I am not yet free.

One times one times one.
In wild thirst, starved by sorrow,
in tears...I search for solace.

--

Joan McNerney’s poetry is published worldwide in over thirty-five countries in numerous literary magazines. Four Best of the Net nominations have been awarded to her. The Muse in Miniature, Love Poems for Michael, and At Work are available on Amazon.com. A new title Light & Shadows has recently been released.

Eagle Versus Ostrich by Eric Chiles

Remember that Franklin
first suggested the wild
turkey as a national symbol.

Implication freights
avian analogies.

Do we soar above it all
or scratch subsistence
from the duff?

But here we are, fluff
obscuring reality
like a cock fight dust-up,

a veritable he said she said
fouled nest of twisted
meanings, scam worthy
of perhaps the greatest
flim-flam artist
of a generation knowing

his constituents are clicking
their remotes to another
channel, mimicking

the ostrich, head buried
in the sands of distrust,

internal voice mumbling
fake news fake news fake news
hoping for the next
commercial break trip

to the fridge where
an eagle eye spies
that left over piece
of American pie.

--

After a newspaper career, Eric Chiles began teaching writing and journalism at colleges in eastern Pennsylvania. He is the author of the chapbook "Caught in Between," and besides Disturb the Universe Magazine, his poetry has appeared in such journals as Blue Collar Review, Canary, Gravel, Plainsongs, Rattle, Sport Literate, Tar River Poetry, and the Voices Project.

Intimate Enough by Richard LeDue

Like a knock on the door,
a cold morning ruins our summer heat,
leaving us reaching for blankets
and something to talk about
other than the weather forecast-
our nakedness inviting goosebumps
more than passion, our socks on the floor
seeming lost now, instead of abandoned
as part of being alone together,
when we turned night into a closed window
that kept our love safe
and intimate enough to still answer
the door in a timely manner.

--

Richard LeDue (he/him) lives in Norway House, Manitoba, Canada. He has been published both online and in print. He is the author of ten books of poetry. His latest book, “Sometimes, It Isn't Much,” was released by Alien Buddha Press in February 2024.
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Richard%20LeDue/author/B09DX9YL4T

Leftovers by Kushal Poddar

To David Lewis


The rubber tube that breathes life
into the tired tire of my rusty bicycle
has patches on itself. A call
comes from the crow. It is the time
when the girl throws the leftovers
from her upstairs window. Sun reclines.
The fire tipped trees ferry
the whispering of desire.
Leftovers are life. Life is leftovers.

--

The author of 'Postmarked Quarantine' has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of 'Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe. https://twitter.com/Kushalpoe

A Brittle Silence by Bobbi Sinha-Morey

A brittle silence hung in
the air that my heart slowly
acquiesced to and everyday
I begun to taste it, too. No
nectarine spilled its drops of
poignant juice on my tongue
and no human touch ever
assuaged me; in my oneness
I felt no more magical balm
and my hope disappeared
through a sieve after so long.
I felt fastened to my bed for
hours each day in my malaise
til in the pale light of morning
it was perhaps a little feather
or a half written prayer that
swept my forehead, its rare
stroke against my skin that
averted my path to heaven.

--

Bobbi Sinha-Morey's poetry has appeared in a wide variety of places. Her books of poetry are available at Amazon.com and her work has been nominated for Best of the Net Anthology in 2015, 2018, and 2020 as well has having been nominated for The Pushcart Prize in 2020.