Leah Mueller

The Futility of Existence Vs Soma

keeps despair
at bay,
for when
it doesn’t.
At times,
the monster
expands to such
cinematic dimensions
that no weapon
can vanquish it.
Then I
take a nap
until it goes away.
At 64,
I’m just glad
to wake up.
Fresh coffee,
maybe a puff
or two.
Fuck it.
Existential angst
is for those
who can
still afford it.
I can’t
be bothered,

Terry Jude Miller

who's your momma

what hip-hop got
it got from jazz
Fountain of frictionless
New Orleans spilling
into gumbo-rich air
and stale beer

all that has to be said
pretending it’s not interested
in talking—heartbeat heat
drop beat feet—who’s
that momma slapping
you up side your head

Billie and Ella
Sarah and Dinah
and too soon dead

Davis and Dizzy
Louis and Hubbard
and Brown—all putting
it down so the new peeps
can pick it up and do
what they do—do what
they do

old school
new school
and blue and blue
and blue

Jc Rammelkamp

Young Love

When we passed the boy and girl 
on the muddy Stony Run path
that cold January day, he in shorts,
a mug of coffee in hand, 
she in her pajamas, slippers,
we remembered young love.

“I don't think I can go on,”
the girl's voice quavered, 
indicating her slippers,
the muddy path.

“I thought you'd put on your boots,”
the boy observed, almost as if
the girl were stupid.

What a prick, I thought.

“I wanted to show you the mourning doves,”
he pressed, as if a romantic soul.

We left them behind us, still arguing.
Not really an “argument,” 
but the tension was palpable,
a conflict of wills.

You took me here to see some fucking pigeons?
I imagined the girl saying,
putting the boy in his place.
At least it could have been a kingfisher, or pleated woodpeckers!
But fucking pigeons? PIGEONS! Really?

“That's a relationship that's not going to last,”
my wife commented 
when we were out of earshot.


Merritt Waldon

Limping toward awakening___

Dream hollow cracked 
Open.            Hammered by
Booming thunder 

Electricity rushes through 

Under golden blue sky
Southern Indiana blooms
A garden from fractured 
Broken skulls 
Infected w immortality

Symbolic gestural moans
Limping toward awakening

Cartwheeling nightmares 
Directed by Tim Burton

Masquerading caravan
Of madness

Dumbing down tomorrow

Howie Good

The Sacred Is Profane

They are more numerous than humans. Some are covered with scales, some with matted fur. Others have eyes all over their heads and bodies. You could not endure it if you ever encountered one. Edgar Allan Poe, who had the misfortune to be somewhat of a poet, went mad just imagining the possibility. They roll like a ball to get where they want to go, often to the graves of those who died violently. Hounds tracked them to the outskirts of town before losing the scent. The Lord has showed us His glory but also His great big ass.

Ken Kakareka

Twitter War

I created
a Twitter acct.
in 2023 –
late to
the game
at the request
of my
new publisher
marketing purposes.
I’d been trying
to put it
for as
long as
I could
but my publisher
was a good egg
and I didn’t
want to
make him
taking me on.
My first tweet
of backlash
from the
writing community.
My wife and I
had just had
a newborn
so I posted
a picture
with the caption:
feels almost
as good
as holding
your own
birthed book. 
The writing community
lost it.
They had
never failed
to see humor.
This is despicable,
one “poet”
Your poetry
is despicable, sir.
What a lousy joke!
another novelist
Your prose
is so lousy
it puts me
to sleep!
I couldn’t
to everyone
I wanted
It would’ve
I doubled down
with a
your own book
is better,
I’ve decided!

Shiva Neupane


As I walked past the mortuary room
The morticians were busy picking a coffin 
And, so were other staff in their roles 
like there is no tomorrow. 
I felt like life is nothing 
But the package of melancholies. 

As I walked past the psyche- ward  
I saw miserable souls being bruised   
Inside the prison of bones and flesh
My eyes welled-up with tears
Upon seeing their pathos-ridden lives. 

As I walked past the Emergency 
I saw the grannies were crying 
Because of their terminal illness 
I fast forwarded my life and implanted 
the futuristic suffering within me. 
Thus, envisioned the borders 
between life and death. 

As I walked past the maternity ward
The mother was crying owing to labour 
Upon receiving the bundle of love
Her tears dried up and smile colonized her
Facial –geography. 
After all, hospital is the fountain of knowledge
To learn the eclectic mix of philosophies
I was enlightened upon observing 
The hustle and bustle in and around hospital.

Kushal Poddar

The Obscene Gesture of A Milestone

Although the lines these lanes draw
meet at the eternity
We do not see that while parallel-driving.

Then, our ignorance holds more truths
than some knowledge and a theory.

We pass a few grazing cows, drills,
a mill without a single operating hand
and some trees withered and waiting.

As we drive the first rain hits 
our car roofs as if 
clouds have borne 
the long-term wait's weight until
We drive past a certain milestone.

Shouldn't it state the distance to eternity?
Instead, one digit almost erased
expresses an obscenity.