Mark J. Mitchell

Marrakesh Espresso

All the men left when she reached the rooftop
leaving behind quickly cleared cups. She watched
her city, inhaling spices rising

off thick, black liquid. Her wandering thoughts
roll forth and back. Slow tides. Hot coffee matched
her warm skin. His lost warmth, still lingering

like ginger and pepper in her huge cup.
Other roofs stay empty. Two palms touch
in afternoon breeze. She’ll sit till evening

proclaims prayer. One more cup before she stops—
just teasing her mouth, like his kiss. It’s her much
to ask. Let slow steam rise like singing.

Mark J. Mitchell was born in Chicago and grew up in southern California. His latest poetry collections are Roshi San Francisco (Norfolk Publishing) and Starting from Tu Fu (Encircle Publications). He is very fond of baseball, Louis Aragon, Miles Davis, Kafka and Dante. He lives in San Francisco with his wife, the activist and documentarian, Joan Juster where he made his marginal living pointing out pretty things. Now, he’s looking for work again. He has published 2 novels and three chapbooks and four full length collections. His first chapbook won the Negative Capability Award.

Dan Provost

Not Quick Enough
(Retort to Neruda’s You Start Dying Slowly)

Sorry Neruda.
My demise is a fastball.
Improvement of self-esteem has
dwindled to muffled applause for leaving
the bedroom.

Habits cling to defeated prosperity,
as I stare out a window—eying nothing
but lost children, looking for their parents.

My paths are impounded.
My colors have always been dark & banal.
Self-deprecation or an existence
in torment.
My eyes are dead.
Soul has kept sadness intact.

Dreams, just false, internal slop—feeding
off my fears & inadequacies.

No Pablo,

My death is almost here.
A gift from the demons who laughed
just outside my touch.

Kicking.
Ridiculing.

Found on every
journey I failed
to complete.

Dan Provost’s poetry has been published both online and in print since 1993.  He is the author of 15 books/chapbooks, including the upcoming Wolf Whistles Behind the Dumpster, which will be available in late 2022, courtesy of Roadside Press.  He has been nominated twice for best of the web and has read his works throughout the United States.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife, Laura and dog, Bella.

Thomas O'Connell

Our Ghosts Do Not Say Boo!

They are screaming
In attics
Rattling the chains
Which keep them tethered to the floor

I lie awake
Listening
Out of courtesy
Though secretly wishing for sleep

And then sometimes
Like children
When taking a nap
They will suddenly go silent
And I will wonder, and worry, if they are all right

Thomas O'Connnell is a librarian living on the banks of the Connecticut River in Springfield, MA. His poetry and short fiction has appeared in The Los Angeles Review, Hobart (online), and Blink-Ink, as well as other print and online journals.

John Tustin

The Doe and the Buck

The doe dreams of jumping
into that leaf laden forest
to nibble and nibble

The buck dreams of jumping
the doe

The lioness dreams
they both jump into her mouth

and the lion dreams the lioness
will bring him her kills
and he will jump her
after they’re full

John Tustin’s poetry has appeared in many disparate literary journals since 2009. fritzware.com/johntustinpoetry contains links to his published poetry online.

Tony Gloeggler

Dylan & Baez, You & Me

I’ve heard old broadcasts
of Joan introducing Bobby,
her silky soaring voice
blending with his crackling
croak, seen a photograph
of him smoking a cigarette,
strumming a guitar, leaning
into the microphone, her
standing, a few steps behind
with her head bowed, hand
stroking the back of the voice
of my generation and I think
of your phone call, the night
after Christmas, asking to walk
in the falling snow, walking
all the way to my couch, my bed,
returning two nights a week
for nearly two years, how
you filled mixed tapes
with music new to my ears,
Neko Case, Josh Ritter, Ryan
Adams, artists I still buy tickets
to see, memorized my poems,
all the sad and sexy ones,
brought me a black and white
thick shake the afternoon
of the night your boyfriend
proposed, eventually moved
to Austin, gave birth to three
daughters and as far as I know,
never played Diamonds
and Rust on your cello for me
while I sit, try to write
poems that don’t always
say the exact same things.

Tony Gloeggler is a life-long resident of NYC and managed group homes for the mentally challenged for over 40 years. His work has appeared in Rattle, New Ohio Review, Book Of Matches, Chiron Review, Nerve Cowboy. His most recent book, What Kind Of Man with NYQ Books, was a finalist for the 2021 Paterson Poetry Prize and long listed for Jacar Press' Julie Suk Award.

Kristin Garth

Only Love

Traverse the woods, your hands clenched in fists
to rap upon air you are convinced harbors
the portal to an alternate state in which
he returns to the object of your ardor
instead of your hate. They say it exists,
some women in town, between two oak trees,
discernible by fingers and sound. It
empties the heart of its guile, all enmity.
When you walk through its invisible frame,
you are set free of the past, the weight of
wrath-riddled bones. You smile at a name
without any pain you’d once known. Only
love is admissible in this dimension.
You’ll knock forever to get there again.

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist, the author of a short story collection You Don’t Want This ( Pink Plastic Press), The Stakes (Really Serious Literature) and many more books. 

Jeff Weddle

The Truth About Cats

It is just as you
have always
suspected:

Cats compose poems
in their heads
most all the time,
poems so beautiful
we could not
hear them
and survive.

But they are wise enough
in their indifferent love
never to share them
with those who
provide food

while dogs
poor things

think of nothing
but baseball
and magic
and don’t give a damn
who knows.

Jeff Weddle loves cats but is more or less happy they do not recite their poetry to him. He teaches at the University of Alabama.