my friend esteban by Gerard Manogue

he was first to notice
the ants coming through the front door
“so many so many so many”

i listen to mac miller’s faces
the album we first bonded over
when i want to remember him

at the club, he once said
“she looks like she wants to dance”
pointing to the girl next to me

and he taught me to notice
the bass line of a steely dan song
the sugar of mexican coke
the white flowers on the trees
“so many so many so many”
how to say pain in spanish: dolor

in the back seat of the taxi
he said about making money
“you can either work hard now or later”
with a beautiful woman sitting next to him

he taught me to notice
the yellow flowers on the trees
“so many so many so many”

he said about meritocracy
“what kind of car do you want to drive?”
when he first pointed out
the ants coming through the back door
“so many so many so many”

the old folks on the subway
laughed as they watched him
down a bottle of yogurt-flavored soju

--

Gerard Manogue is a poet from Southern California. He is sending out poems to little magazines again after a long hiatus. He loves the English language. See his other work at gerardmanogue.wordpress.com

Anything by Philip Athans

It comes down to faith, to belief, and
centuries of a single repeated message
reinforced by parents, teachers, politicians, clergymen,
                hucksters.

The power of,
a leap of, and ultimately
taking comfort in
                faith.

And that to doubt is cynicism, arrogance,
a transgression
against our most cherished
                belief,

that Keith Raniere is the Smartest Man in the World™
that David Koresh is Jesus Himself (Isaiah, 41.13)
that L. Ron Hubbard discovered the Bridge to Total Freedom®

All the rest of them,
all the same,
building on one proven
                fact.

If you can get them to believe in God,
it shows
they’ll believe in
                anything.

--

Editor and author Philip Athans has been a driving force behind varied media including Alternative fiction & poetry magazine and Wizards of the Coast. He lives and works in the Pacific Northwest.

At Our Convenience by Anthony Ward

As temperatures rise,
The world heats up-
In consideration to the future of mankind
Having expelled too much gas to the atmosphere-

The bloated ocean will expand its dominance over the land,
Force us to run for the hills,
Shelter from the war-torn weather that will reign over us
In the extreme environment of our hostility.

We only notice extinction in its bloom,
Never see its growth while it’s happening,
Only determine the difference after it’s gone.
Putting off our tomorrows what we didn’t do today.

We put out nature for of own convenience,
Welcoming the warmer winters.
Not wanting to know,
Like an addict
Denying they have a problem,
Until it ends up being your problem,
While we continue to indulge ourselves,
Escaping the gravity of the situation
As we try to reach our space.

--

Anthony loves the way words sound through silence. He is inspired by the nature of the world and the expression of art as humanity decrees to discover itself. He writes to express the overwhelming beauty of the natural world with the inspiring admiration of artistic creativity. He has recently been published in Shot Glass Journal, Jerry Jazz Musician, Dear Booze, and Mad Swirl.

Indecision by Linette Rabsatt

My heart said yes
I felt I was ready
I was like
We got this together
With the heart as the lead
I didn't have time to heed
Or the need to obey
Conventions or tenets
The heart was the superior organ
That told me to leap
And never follow the course
But the brain
Who I feel is mostly insane
Wanted me to stop
And be careful
Reminding me to be fearful
But I want whimsy
I need spontaneity
I need to feel less pressured
To do better
When the brain kicked
My heart in the privates
I almost felt that the sound
Was heard in public
I was torn and confused
Not knowing which road to choose
Or who to listen to
My body stood stationary
Confused by the impulses
Twisted and confused, riddling with convulsing
Passion halted by indecision
I gave up and made no move forward
Stuck

--

Linette Rabsatt is a Virgin Islands poet with roots in the BVI and USVI who began writing in 1996. You can find her work in her Kindle book, "Be Inspired: Poems by Linette Rabsatt," in Pulse Poetry Magazine, on her blog, Words of Ribbon, and on the Visual Verse and Micromance Magazine websites.

a snuff film by J.J. Campbell

these are the days
where the pain
breaks you down
and leaves you
in agony

where the beautiful
women are ugly

and the clouds
bring you joy

the more you
wish for death
the further it
seems to be

the shotgun in the
corner is there for
a reason

life has become
a snuff film

depravity that
would make
the devil blush

nightfall in
the mountains

listen to the silence

--

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is a 3 time Best Of The Net nominee and was recently nominated for The Pushcart Prize. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Synchronized Chaos, The Dope Fiend Daily, Yellow Mama and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

The Time I Saw My Father Cry by Joshua Walker

It was quiet—
that hospital quiet,
clean but heavy,
like someone holding their breath
and refusing to let go.
My father sat
on the edge of a chair
like it might buckle
if he leaned too far
into grief.
The machines beeped,
but only the machines listened.
I never thought he had it in him.
Emotion, for him,
was an oil leak—
patch it fast, 

pretend it never happened.
But there it was.
One tear.
Slow.
Like it didn’t want to leave
but gravity said otherwise.
He didn’t wipe it.
Didn’t explain.
Just stared at my brother—
still breathing,
like his body hadn’t gotten the message.
That’s when I learned:
men don’t cry when it hurts.
They cry
when it can’t be fixed.

--

Joshua Walker is a freelance poet and literary outsider based in Oklahoma City. Known online as The Last Bard, he writes raw, form-shifting work that bridges myth and modern struggle. His poetry appears in Potomac Review, Southern Florida Poetry Journal, Solarpunk Magazine, Libre, and more. He was awarded a Bridport Prize Bursary in 2025 and currently has over 310,000 followers across five platforms.

In Dallas, Dreaming of Dublin by David Clear

Ah, another anniversary has come and gone Johnny me boy.

I’ve stopped keeping track.

Wise. Pass me another ale, would ya?

So different 61 years on, grandpa. So, he shouted out, “I am not resisting arrest.” Today they would have just shot him right there in the theatre.

They were both waiting. Yes, 61 years ago they couldn’t dispatch a team as quickly as they do today, so the cops had to wait. Do we kill him right away or find out if he’s hidden anything? Poor Lee, not really poor because he signed on willingly. Ooh, we have to stop the communist menace blah blah.

Anyway, he was hoping “someone will come forward.” Someone came forward alright, that very next Sunday morning. Lee hadn’t hidden any documents; he trusted his handlers would. And they did, for decades. Easily.

You’re sounding a little cynical gramps, he smiled, cracking open two more ales.

Johnny me boy, try to remember what you remembered.

“Mr. President, it’s time to deplane.”

“So, this is it. But it’s not too late. Nobody is going to make me get off the plane and get in that limo. I could just order that we turn around and go back to Washington. And then I see them, the faces behind the faces that will betray me this day. I’m an undercover agent in enemy territory. And I’ve neglected to maintain secure backup. I am a marked man now, have been since Cuba surely. This is a war with no front lines no uniforms no way of telling good from evil. 58,000 boys, many still children this morning, are also marked.

“Jack, c’mon, let’s go.”

Jackie looking so beautiful in her pink suit. I’ve been so awful to her; she’s put up with so much. She’s strong, she’ll go on. I can see in her eyes now that she knows, and that she knows we have to go through with this even though neither one of us knows why. Like me, part of her is saying, close the goddamn plane doors and get us the hell out of here! I do not want to have to stand next to that murdering bastard while he winks at his buddy standing off to the side.

But then, we’re outside walking on the tarmac. Jesus, we’re running out of time. But the people, the normal, good, decent people look so happy. Does it have to be today? Such a nice sunny day?

Then we’re in the car. There’s one of my agents holding his hands up, dumbfounded as to why he’s being called back to not run alongside. They weren’t all in on it, only the ones that had important roles to play in getting it accomplished. Remember guys, we get the body out of Texas as soon as possible, we don’t let anybody stop us! Shoot them if you have to, we’ll call it national security. Jesus, that’s all we need is a legitimate honest autopsy! Oh, and don’t forget that bucket of water to splash on the back seat.

When Cornwallis surrendered to Washington the band played the world turned upside down. How could the mightiest empire on earth have lost to these rabble rousers? How could the mightiest military empire on earth be unable to defeat a country the size of Maryland without an air force?

Well, one because victory was never the goal, the goal was making fat cats fat and happy. Yeah, and some of them actually believed the anticommunist mind game. Beware foreign entanglements said GW. No matter how much money and self-righteousness there is to be had.

How would we know what was possible if the impossible didn’t happen periodically? The end of the selling of indulgences, the inquisitions, the witch and other dissident burnings at the stake.

Birthing of a new consciousness; painful and bloody. The old guard never wants to go, always fights off the new to hold on to its power. Check in at the campus in Ohio soon.

So now not just the 58,000 but cities will burn, literal and figurative bombs will go off inside the country, the bodies will pile up. Nothing will be the same. Not necessarily always better but never the same. A group consciousness the depth and breadth of which no one really understands but nevertheless cannot and will not be stopped.

Making the turn on Elm, Christ, I’ve waited too long. I know it will be quick at least. I could be sailing off Cape Cod, I could be reading a spy novel, I could be with Mary. Dear Mary, I’m sorry, I know they will get you too. Is this my punishment for all that? Is it too late to just come clean and resign? Wait it out several years and then become the talk show circuit darling like that future guy who did far worse? Jackie will divorce me, she has principles. But I’ll get to visit the kids, collect my pension, retreat somewhere to Greece to write my memoirs. Or just stay beloved, however flawed, for a few more minutes. I did some good things. But I guess I did more that were worse. I know I did. I’ll have to come back.

Did it happen already? Have I left this body? Everything is moving so very slowly; a single strand of Jackie’s hair moves on the breeze like the laziest ripple of water from a stone’s throw.

And then, finally, and God Damit, don’t you know they miss! Again, and again! Hey, maybe I can get out of this. Guess they hired some amateurs. Save money for the CEOs, as is and will be the custom. Or maybe the shooters are having second thoughts, wouldn’t that be a hoot? I read somewhere Joan of Arc’s executioner was quite upset with himself afterwards.

Hey driver, how many shots will it take for you to friggin’ speed up and get us out of here? Other guy up front, the governor is howling in pain, think maybe you’d jump over the seat and shield me? Or just keeping looking ahead? Slowing down now? Why the hell are we slowing down?

Hey driver, what the hell are you looking at? The getaway road is in front! Oh, right. Then the brakes go on! The brakes, yes. Driver was told, if our guys are too inept to hit a moving target, go ahead and make it easy for them. Make it child’s play, for that is what we are, children of the devil.

You shouldn’t have to stop too long. Got it? Okay, now, speed up! Good job. But what’s so unusual about it all, really? Et tu Brutus? Our mob buddies are always getting whacked by their close associates, follow the money. Even now Ruby is being told his job is take out Lee or else.

Why did Jackie crawl on the back and try to get away? Because she knew she was sitting in the bull’s eye. The car was stopped, dead! Yes, and except for trustworthy secret service agents, likely all the other passengers would be too, soon. Fewer talking witnesses. She knew I was gone; she knew she had to try and save herself for the kid’s sake.

Ok now, enter the secret service heroics- push her back and take off at 90 mph.

And so there we are at Parkland finally. Not much more to say, not much more to do. Getting sleepy, peaceful. Will miss holding John and Caroline. But we’re right here dad. John, Caroline, you’re all grown up, you’re beautiful.

Traipsing thru a field in sweet Ireland with great-great grandfather Patrick.

That’s what I remember, gramps. Since then, I’ve just been wandering around here, kind of lost. And drunk. I gave it the old Harvard try, I thought. What good did it do?

Well, Johnny, it birthed a new consciousness. Like you said, raw and bloody. But a stone in a pond the ripples of which are still going. You’ve visited the plaza with me from time to time. So many people are absorbing those ripples each in their own way, and ….

Don’t mean to pee on your parade gramps, but Buddha, Jesus, etc., yeah, they all raised the collective consciousness. Then the tsunami of evil bastards wiped it out and we had to start again.

Let me ask you this, what if an alien ship landed on the White House lawn with an HD video of how the whole thing happened- (you know they have a copy) from the secret early planning stages at the Texas ranch through to the actual shooting, all the suspicious deaths afterwards, and they said, there it is earthlings, now what are you gonna do about it?

He chuckled, good one gramps. Thing is, that video would also show the pot, the acid, the starlets, the painkillers, and all the rest. Yeah, I could have done a little more with the time I had. Just take some sensible precautions, but no, truth be told I thought I was Caligula, maybe again, rich and powerful and invincible. I’ll likely be happier reincarnating next time as a potato farmer.

Now they both smiled and laughed and drank in the sunshine but neither was drunk, just happy.

Oh Christy, is he here already?

Afternoon, gentlemen, I’ve got some paperwork here for a reincarnation. Do I have the right man?

You do, he said, I know it’s time for me to go, just like I knew then. I’m hoping this time though not for martyr but potato farmer?

Hmm, the man said,

“I show something different.”

“See ya later Johnny boy.”

--

David Clear is a child of the 50's, nurtured by the 60's, inebriated by the 70's and 80's, married in the 90's, and since the 00's writing while keeping a day job. Originally from New England, he has one online work published at amazon for .99. What a deal!