Poetry By Ivan Pozzoni

CLEAR THE SECONDS!

From the right-hand corner of a drowsy ring,
a latter-day Carneades,
I witness the slaughter of a boxer long since rung,
forced to back away, never landing a blow,
before the left hooks of widespread corruption.

Clear the seconds!

Second to none, in life I never second
the innocent delusions proclaimed by a notice
where the defeated succumb to a bitter fate:
to take nothing but low blows,
always below the belt.

Clear the seconds!

I exit the scene, the gongs resound,
you set off, sorrow, wrapped in a sarong,
woven of braids like crowns of larch,
vomiting venom into the rivers of a chalice;
you walk on, sweet Aoide, awaiting a jab
from a bastard fate that turns the world’s borders
into a fight club, nailing to the pillory
any of us fighters who dare throw in the towel.

Poetry By Andrew Cyr

Out of Her Mind

Nora hurled words—fastballs,
drowning the subtlety in my voice.
She sank our ship
on troubled waters,
romance or failure
hanging in the balance.
Wedding photos above the fireplace—all smiles.

“She’s out of her Mind” escaped the speakers,
chorus repeating.

Her gripes echoed down the maple hall;
she dragged a knife along the wall,
eyes fixed on me—no fear—
laughter slipped from my lips.
“Stop it,” she said, stomping.
“I can’t hate you when I love you.”
Nora wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“Do it,” I said. “I’ll make it easy.”
She had half a mind—
and a kitchen knife—
to end me for innocent mistakes.
“Not going to fight for us?” She arched a brow.
I shrugged. “What else can I do?”
“Maybe put the toilet seat down!”
She released the knife with a hollow ting.
“And maybe don’t burn dinner.”
She gasped, hand to chest— “I’m a great cook, buddy.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Arms crossed.
Head in hands, sobbing.
“Babe,” I said, rubbing her back. “You’re scaring me.”
“Mom was so right about you.”
I side-eye. “Here we go—”
“She said you’d make me a better person,
and an even better mother.”
“So, I’m being punished because…” My eyes widen.
“Because I’m pregnant.” Her green eyes sparkled.
We embraced.

“Babe?” she said.
“Yes?” I stroked her hand, ears ringing.
“You still need to put the toilet seat down.”
I tickled her until she screamed. “I have to pee!”
“Put the toilet seat down,” I said.
“Fuck the toilet seat.” She laughed, all smiles.

“She’s out of her Mind” faded.

Poetry By Drew Martin

“Punk Rock Ballerina”

Punk rock ballerina
Movin’ ‘cross the floor
Never seen beauty
Wrapped in pain before
Takin’ delicate steps
In worn-out shoes
A graceful agony
Tattered abuse

Punk rock ballerina
Alone on the stage
Her only partners
Are anger and rage
Glidin’ through the motions
In total silence
Expresses every ounce
Of exceptional violence.

Poetry By Monika Dybowska

HAPPINESS

I would like to not exist sometimes.
Just not be.

Is there a switch to the states of mind?
Times when I disappoint a friend
when I don’t give up a seat to an elderly lady
when I don’t do my job
when I don’t prepare for the lesson.

One click to ‘disexist’.
One click to run away
from guilt
from sleeplessness
from worries
from shame.

I dream of nirvana during my sleepless nights
I pray to merciful God to kill me

I want exist NOT

Waves of shame hitting the top of my skull
I want to be gone
I want the easy way

I NEED bravery to reach
for my freedom
I NEED an explanation to my guilts
I NEED the other side of the coin

That is HAPPINESS

Poetry By Raw With Awinnoh

Until Death Does Me Apart

I just can’t accept that this is my fate…
I got kids,
Who barely understands the way of life,
Even if not for myself,
They have needs that are stuck like the door knob!
They won’t go away, they are here to stay!

That fire won’t die easily,
Even when there is no light to hope…
Even if I wished for it to die!

I’ll continue trying,
I’ll push, push and push!
Until I can not push further,
I’ll still cling to that invisible,
Until Death Does Me Apart!

Poetry By Michael Hack

Empire

What do I do
With the first thought
That still belongs to you

When something still matters
Just not to you anymore

What do I do
With the words I would have said
The song I would have played
The thing I would have made
For you
Before I remembered
You stopped wanting the light
From me

There’s a grief
In becoming noise
In watching the things you used to adore
Turn sharp in your mouth
In watching my voice
My need
Become too much

So what do I do
When I built an empire for you
An empire of second chances
Late night apologies
Carefully placed words
The desperate architecture of almost making it work

What do I do
When you leave and I am still here
Holding up the walls
How long
Could we have called that love
How long
Could we keep mistaking damage
For devotion
How many times
Could we burn it down
And call the ash
A beginning

The part of me that knew
The part of me that stayed anyway
Maybe I held on too long
Maybe I made a kingdom
Out of needing you to choose me again

So what do I do
Without the version of me
Who knew how to survive you
What do I do
When the walls come down
What do I do
Without you

What do I do?

Poetry By Bob Richley

A Tale of Two Buildings

The towering skyscraper was about to fall
One blast and it would be reduced to ash
A billion dollars ago it was built strong and tall
A solid investment of a wealthy one’s cash.

Corporations conducted profit making deals
Mergers were signed. Jobs were gained and lost
Ignoring people, places and moral ideals.
Now into history it will be permanently tossed.

A shack still stands weakened by time
Held together by love and joyful laughter
Once strong and sturdy in it’s prime
will remain in hearts now and ever after.

It has seen births and deaths
Triumphs and tragedies in its day
Human hearts filled with the Spirit’s breaths
Who were moved to live, love, laugh and pray.

Two buildings in contrast
One built on profit and greed
The other on love and creed
Only one did forever last.

What life will you build?
One of lust and greed?
One of love and supplying others’ needs?
Will your life be contented or unfulfilled?
I am neither its slave nor its servant