braille for fellow madmen more often than not each synapse is a demon’s whip crack my brain lashed over & over throbbing bloody welts rising against my skull the dirt coroners one day the maggots will carry out yr autopsy their final conclusion a string of belches
Bradford Middleton
THESE 4 WALLS These four walls have closed in for Me of late, keeping me captive as we Enter yet another period of lockdown. Word has come down that we shouldn’t Even leave our homes but for some it’s Becoming so damn difficult. We, who Work the kind of job that keeps us all Going, often live in single rooms and Are often alone and it’s hard as I wake Every morning knowing the only voice I will hear all day is whoever is on My radio as I sit here struggling with These words as my 4 walls close in.
Bruce Mundhenke
This Tiny Peace I sit at my window, In this tiny piece Of the world, Content with the scenery, In no hurry at all, No need to go fast, Alright to go slow. This is my portion, In this time and place, To have time to consider, And contemplate... The plan to create A new world to rule, Is progressing at light speed, With no need to fool, The minions at large, Signed on for the ride, But once they consider, And realize their plight, They will no longer be able To think for themselves, Or turn back the tide. In the end there’s no worries. This too will pass, The cyber connection, Not meant to last.
James Eric Watkins
Illusions of Invincibility Time seems to rise and fall like the tall-grassy memories of man's youth. In this lifetime I’ve seen men at their weakest moments, so low that cracks on dirty wet porches towered above them and again, on the summit of their most triumphant accomplishment. And now, looking back I can see that the greatest differences in those men were not the strength of their bodies or the money in their pockets, but their thoughts. I’ve suffered so much pain and the loss of men that I often wonder when I might crack and fall. We called each other brothers. We were related by commonalities and friendship, a need to be around others like us who understood. We all had our own stories, some sadder than others. But we would grow to understand that the blood flowing inside our veins does not define our brotherhood. Some of us would also grow into feared men, some sooner than others. Like men in war, we bonded as brothers in arms. Some conquered their worlds with illusions of invincibility. Many of them are gone now. And now that the end is in sight, all the illusions I once shared with them subside into the past like so many of their faces have.
Daniel Klawitter
Sinner’s Song All the things I conquer They come back like fate. And the things I treasure Become the things I hate. I want a heart like Jesus But I ain’t no saint. See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. I wrestle with my demons But I sometimes let them win. And if you don’t believe me Just ask dear Rosalyn. She will say I’m spineless Even though I’m a vertebrate. See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. I surely ain’t no angel I never claimed I was. And sometimes if I’m drinkin’ I’m a little more than buzzed. The preacher man on Sunday Said “God don’t make mistakes.” See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. I make my resolutions But I know my will is weak. I have the best intentions But I think I’ve sprung a leak. I’m like a broken building, You forgot to renovate. See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. I used to have more courage I used to be admired. I’m not sure how it happened But now I’m just so tired. If you gave me a kingdom I’d surely abdicate. See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. We all have our temptations And mine has long black hair. I know that she’s no good for me I know I should beware. Of course, I shouldn’t meet her No, I should not fornicate. See my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. All the dice are loaded And I won’t play the game. All the lies exploded And now there’s just the flame. A candle in the darkness Helps me to contemplate. But see my fallen halo? I pick it up too late. Yes, all the things I conquer They come back like fate. I know I should resist this But still I hesitate. And in my weed-choked garden No good seed will germinate. See my fallen halo? I picked it up too late.
Howie Good
Re: Vision “I’ll lick stamps,” I told the gargoyle from HR during the job interview. “I’ll lick whatever you want.” He shook his big, ugly head no. And as quick as that, I found myself back on the street. It had just started to rain when Jesus appeared. My first thought was that he looked nothing like his picture. & Horror is everywhere. If you go searching for some way to escape, you’ll just end up in a 24-hour McDonald’s beside a woman with fangs and a mustache. I’m not there even when I am, head crooked to the right, as if listening to the Carter Family sing “Wildwood Flower” via my metal fillings. & You who believe the most astounding lies, who wipe your behind and then sniff your fingers, the moon could look to you some nights like a shiny gold button dangling on a loose thread, but it never does.
Stephen Jarrell Williams
Outskirts Always thinking ahead outskirts of a typical city of now many with crimson tattoos sown into wrinkled foreheads loosening my belt finishing my potato chips and Pepsi chaser heading back to the new wilderness after voicing my opinions to those that will listen stirring a gathering crowd sticks and stones against my thick scars but something about me holds them still perhaps tired of killing others I shrug squint hearing angels in my head my fists filled with heaviness many wondering how the world came to this several miles out I’m thinking I’m free but someone sent the hounds after me I crawl into my cave temporary home possibly my final tomb but I believe I’m safe plenty of dog biscuits in my backpack always thinking ahead for a few more minutes to live.
John Tustin
FUNERALS, LOVE AFFAIRS, DEATH I’ve written more poems about funerals than I’ve attended funerals I’ve written more poems about love affairs than I’ve had love affairs I’ve written more poems about death than I’ve ever died
Randall K. Rogers
Don’t Know If I Hit That Bugger (A Christmas Poem) In solitude realization dawns higher than suggested great works consider your meditative mind playground for seasonal joy. Merry Holidays Happy Christmas Have a bang-beat, great-go, big-haul, rip-roaring, neck-or nothing, every time a bulls-eye, bell-ringin beatnik Christmas! And mighty Hanukkah! groovy Kwanza! chillin’ Ramadan! the blackest of Satan fests! Jains celebrate non-violence to microbes Noel!
Ken Rutkowski
The Beatnik Cowboy 