pes planus (the feet trilogy, part ii)

gaining momentum
circling the answers
a hollow conundrum
sticked to the wall

dear you, dear me
we all got way way more
than what we bargained for
a pain in the ass has turned itself into a major accomplishment

in all sincerity, at this stage in life
you would normally ask “what for”
and I would typically say “look around, look inside”
so you can go figure it out for yourself: the answer, dear, is always a new question

just as plain as that
just as plain as flat feet
and on humid days
the pain gets even worse


j. g. laszyck (Columbus, OH, 1976)

corns and calluses (the feet trilogy, part i)

pretend that nothing happened
pretend I was not there
pretend the hills were watching
and kisses were thin air

pretend you never liked it
the vision blurred, lens flare
lest we forget the tantrums
provided at daycare

impaled on your own spear
pretend you could not bare
being razed without much ado
while no one really cared

pretend you sailed the oceans
and death was well aware
pretend the liability
of whom a fate has dared

mobsters, crooks and petty thieves
eyeballing what you share
and then all hope was lost
barricades and warfare

pretend the end is hollow
pretend you don't compare
pretend it's now or never
you vanish, I declare

pretend a world of sorrow
a tear here, a smile there
pretend, for god's sake, just pretend
under the knife, forever


j. g. laszyck (Columbus, OH, 1976)

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nigel pendleton (Syracuse, NY, 1977)

failed attempt at a song lyric with the word Jesus on it

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm not any good
Had so many girlfriends
With none of them could
Be honest, stay longer
Than a year or two
Now they all walk past me
Just like strangers do

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm not worth of him
Been wasting my own time
Been dumping my dreams
That I know much better
Than this empty life
Than this going nowhere
And letting you down

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm dying to ask
Why has he been absent
And gave me his back
If he is your saviour
Why won't he save me
From living this nightmare
And rotting within

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm not any good
I don't deserve pity
No more further proof
'Cause all I've been doing
For the last few months
Is watching The Wire
On cable reruns

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm fond of my sins
That my soul is wasted
All scars well concealed
That my back is broken
My credit score ruined
From drinking my ass out
And playing the fool

Why don't you tell Jesus
I'm not any good
That I'm not worth of him
That I love you too


bryan proctor (Laconia, NH, 1976)

point

Always write poetry that gets to the point
point.
Never write poetry that misses the point
point.
Only include details to connect to the point
point.
Don't waste words that don't relate to the point
point.
Always write poetry that gets to the point
point.

Hey, is that a squirrel?


henry kellogg (Boston, MA, 1990)

fairy tale

Dedicated to all who wish for nothing more
than to marry the one they love






The white picket dream,
I share it too.
But mine contains two dresses
with two bouquets,
and a flower boy.

Our images differ,
But keep the same outcome.
To be forever
hand in hand,
with the one you promised
forever to
in a white dress.


tiffany r. ragsdale (Mt. Vernon, MO, 1988)

throw him a curveball

Late at night
when streetlights silhouette inebriated youth
I sit alone in my living room
under my favorite blanket
riding cotton waves with flattened palms
like grease traversing a rose petal.

Sure, sometimes it’s lonely
sometimes it’s sickening
and sometimes it’s just another night alone.

But every now and then
I hurl the blanket to the floor
pop open a bottle of wine
and hunch over a legal pad
clutching a pen that secretes blood.

Blood as black as ink.


cliff weber (Santa Monica, CA, 1986)