Issue #1 June 25, 2007

World and Other Kinds of Peace, Defined

Where is that sense of peace we seem to crave?
We're ever-searching for it low and high.
Most are afraid of death's cold, somber grave.
More peace than we could handle, you and I.
So, back to living peacefully today -
we meditate, we rest, unwind and sleep.
It's temporary, be that as it may -
is peace some gift we're not allowed to keep?
Peace of the mind? A queer, elusive state.
That hum would have to last beyond the whim.
To thoughts of peace we try and masturbate
to no avail, no release. How grim!
Once dead, who knows how peaceful we will feel?
On Earth, peace is that "we can't cum" ideal.

Bryon D. Howell



TOM-CAT, ON THE PROWL

Instinctively,
I flush all my
condoms once
I'm done
with them.

Someone needs to
tell the cat
not to throw
his jimmies in
the kitchen
trash.

And hey,
while you're
at it,
would you
ask him
what -

his secret is?

Bob Boston



Closet Suffocation


So you got what you wanted after all,
no one had to scrape you out of your burning Dodge.
You were spared the tubes in your pickled liver.
Instead, a strong black veteran angel
swooped you in his arms below the green board
where you'd fallen parsing a sentence,
removed the false palate no one knew about
as why you had always talked funny,
and heaved hot male life through you
for thirty futile minutes.

You had to be really gone, for that would have brought
you back if anything could have.

The priest couldn't, not after your years
of scorning the Holy Ghost.
The campus doctor said you were not a student,
so he refused even to try.
And your widow dared not,
exercising herself to forget
her twenty-year seniority and the silence
the two of you'd kept for nine months
since learning you could neither
live the divorce nor speak between the rooms.
So too your professors out West forgot you'd stopped
studying Old English and had given up
on the terminal degree.
Three dozen truckers along the interstate
never really expected you always to be available
with a fifth in a rented room with plastic flowers.
A thousand ex-students continued to desensitize
themselves to their disagreement and unclear reference
which you meticulously had remarked.
A California poet mourned you wouldn't be around
to review his latest book.
A Georgia poet was glad that you would no longer
knock over his motorcycle in a huff.
Some majors got your examination copies
and your nieces took the other books
for mere decoration that you'd devoured.
I kept as a bookmark the requiem cards
your half-sisters had made in Nebraska
and learned to live with the truth
that basically the world took your big secret
as no big news and went on about its business
with no sense of loss that another quean was dead.

Louie Crew

Louie Crew has written four poetry volumes Sunspots (Lotus Press, Detroit, 1976)Midnight Lessons (Samisdat, 1987), Lutibelle's Pew (Dragon Disks,1990), and Queers! for Christ's Sake! (Dragon Disks, 2003).  As of today, editors have published 1,805 of his works.



Walking in Space without Trousers

 

Walking in space without trousers, think of the bobbing bollocks

The girlfriend back home who wants that penis to herself

The parents who would rather not see that again, thanks

He was always a bit of a rebel

These antics in space just prove it

Finally the tabloids come out and say it

Isn’t it a small penis?

Now the world knows

Keith Nunes

Keith Nunes is from Tauranga, New Zealand.  He work part-time in a supermarket after quitting newspaper journalism 12 months ago. Keith has appeared online in Snorkel 4, BlackMail Press (NZ), Flutter, Vintage Poetry Journal (USA) and Sein und Werden (UK).

Naive

How horrid was your first encounter -

With me the monster?

Did you sink into disappointment -

And drown in disbelief -

Choke on fragments

And leave a family in grief?

Have you learned the mighty dollar

Can buy a heart's candor

Have you learned priceless lessons

From the sunlit moon?

Tarah Grace

Tarah Grace was born in Las Vegas, NV and it is there that she lives as a singer/songwriter, creating compelling music and poetry.  To find out more about Tarah's music and poetry visit her website at http://www.tarah-grace.com.  

why's a pussy

called a pussy sara

michelle asked her boy

friend tommy but

tommy wasn’t much

for talking he just grunted

thru his beer & pushed her

on her back again &

slammed that thing into

her middle till she started

whimpering & purring

& then he said that’s

fucking why.

Glenn Cooper

Glenn Cooper lives in Tamworth, Australia and is the author of his latest book Outrun Your Fate.

I Still Think about You from Time to Time

 
where are you now
my former women?

not that I
want any of you
back,

just wondering,

where are you now?

what are
you doing?

I picture some of you
ladies,

the whores,

laying in a bed,

your
legs spread open,

ready to
use
the next poor sucker
who’s willing to
give-in
to your
false innocence

and some of you
yelling
at your husbands who
are sitting
on the couch scratching
their asses

or out of college,

rushing around in
your new suit

for your
new corporate job.

you belong to other
men now  

and
wherever you are,
whatever you’re doing

this one is
for you,
sweethearts. 

Dylan Elliot

Dylan Elliot is an American poet and is the managing editor of the online literary magazine, Getting Drunk with the Muse.  Dylan was born in Buffalo, N.Y. and is currently residing in Georgia where he writes.  He is best known for his raw and at times crude free-verse style of poetry.