Stephanie Goodhue… Think Outside The Box Color

 

Think Outside The Box Color

Ignoring the ravages of time
As they bristle beneath deeply etched wrinkles
Irrevocable vanity is stoked
The fire below is a bloke who misspoke
 
Morning confidence shattered by the magnifying mirror
His words still ringing in her ears
“Gun Metal Grey”
She’s fifty shades away from caring
What the professional colorist had to say
 
Root shock has a way
Of balancing on the edge of a déjà vu all day
Leave it to John Lee and Muddy Waters
“I’m bad like Jessie James”
 
So with untamed hair of gun metal grey
She arranges a dual with vanity at sundown
A challenge of some renown
Where a bourbon whiskey round
Catches the aces and eights by surprise
 
Just beyond tell tale salloon doors
That even the score
Swinging towards grouper-esque lips
In the eighth round
 

Copyright © 2016 by Stephanie Goodhue

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

April Salzano… Carrying Stones

 

Carrying Stones

When he leaves for work, grey
t-shirt, Wrangler jeans, he carries
his dirty lunch box, thermos of ice and water,
mostly ice. I watch him
sling the bag of kitchen trash into the bed
of his rusty pickup truck. I hear it hit
bottom, recyclables not sorted, a bottle
clinking against an aluminum can.
The cardboard will be burned in the woods
along with rotted tree stumps and scurrying
ants turned to ash. Our house is permanent,
a structure with a foundation. It rains all April
long and the basement stays dry. Not a drop
of moisture, relatively few spiders. The ceilings
are eight feet high and it is hard to believe
I am underground. He does not see poetry
in these things, stones on the driveway,
their separate togetherness, the spaces
between them as important as their origin.
He does not understand why it matters
that every day, those stones will be turned
by tires, flattened or relocated. That eventually,
they will cease to be, ground to dust, replaced.
Why I see meaning there. He cannot imagine
pondering what seems irrelevant. Yet he carries stones,
one at a time, from the creek bed, from the field,
the flattest, symmetrical rocks he can find,
places them for a sidewalk, and feels
pride at having placed them where they will
remain forever, maybe.

 

April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania. Her work has been twice nominated for a Pushcart Award and has appeared in over one hundred online and print journals. Her chapbook, The Girl of My Dreams, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. The author serves as co-editor at Kind of a Hurricane Press (www.kindofahurricanepress.com).

Copyright © 2016 by April Salzano

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicholas Stern… The Car Was Alarmed

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Car Was Alarmed by Nicholas Stern

Car Was Alarmed by Nicholas Stern

the car was alarmed
armed and dangerous
a raging road runner
disabled now
by smart circuitry
but not before
deafening neighbors
who will be avenged
by howling dogs
who won’t be silenced
with the flick of a switch
 
life was simpler
I suppose
when all you had to do
was fall off your horse
and piss under a crescent moon

 

Copyright © 2016 by Nicholas Stern

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jason Constantine Ford… Underneath The Stars

 

Underneath the Stars

Despite a lack of man made lighting
Underneath the stars within the sky,
Your presence is a charm inviting
Us to seal moments that cannot dry.
 
As we are standing on a boat made of steel
Gently sailing through waters still,
You take my hand as I begin to feel
The depths of love remaining tranquil.
 
With one hand of yours already held in mine,
The darkness of the night no longer seems
To be so dark as stars intertwine
In a display of sparkling gleams.
 
From your hand outstretched, I see a flash of light
Emitted by a silver phone you hold.
The picture you took fills me with delight
In a presence that shall never fade as old.

 

Jason Constantine Ford is from East Perth in W.A, Australia. He works at a book shop and has over fifty publications of poetry in various poetry magazine, ezines and journals from around the world. He has a traditional approach to poetry as he is dedicated to the cause of rhyming Poems.

Copyright © 2016 by Jason Constantine Ford

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

B.Z. Niditch… The Jazz Poet – Passing By

 

THE JAZZ POET

Line by line up
crowds are in the shadow
in the sax riffs
of my new translations
feeling their body of joy
as the music sounds
from landscaped heirs
off islands of the sea
where adventurer tourists
on a large ocean liner
hear me in an opulent time
playing smooth sax
in the cool night air
risking my new melodies
by once frozen lips
on rowing
words of memory
no longer poisoned
by motionless lovers
nor abandoned by absence
for warring times
of fiery alarming devotions
under cold sleepy covers
now my good gestures move
as red and orange leaves us
with voices embracing Fall
when everything is new
in voices of water and wings.

PASSING BY

We are passing
to another season
with fresh sunflowers
in our garden hands
poetry will survive
all barbed wire
of poisoned jealousy
beyond villages
of freezing grey
as in a Hardy novel
watching departing feathers
counted on flying wings
on tall grass ravines
and murmuring shadows
from tall branches
as a mourning dove sings
by a sailor lost at sea
at the light of a tumid river
and now at peace
we’re trying to make amends
after a tourist jaunt
though the coppery rain
quickly covers us over
with clay sky memories
of a new Autumn
leaves us by cool rocks
under a shadowy orchard
wanting new friends.

 

 

B.Z. Niditch is a poet, playwright, fiction writer and teacher who resides in Brookline, Massachusetts. His work is widely published in journals and magazines throughout the world, including:Columbia: A Magazine of Poetry and Art; The Literary Review; Denver Quarterly; HawaiiReview; LeGuepard (France); Kadmos (France); Prism International; Jejune (Czech Republic); Leopold Bloom (Budapest); Antioch Review; and Prairie Schooner, among others. His latest poetry collections are “Lorca at Sevilla”,”Captive Cities,” and “EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE” published by Penhead Press

Copyright © 2016 by B.Z. Niditch