H. Edgar Hix

 

Sarah Jane

She cut her hair: a tiny rebellion.

He didn't say anything when he got home

except, "I see you did it." They didn't

make love for a week. But she had gotten tired

of brushing it three times a day,

and she wanted to see her ears.

 

 

 

 

 

 

H. Edgar Hix

 

Galatea, Live

Pygmalion found Galatea's first white hair

as she gave him love in the white estuary

where the river Acis melds with the sea.

He plucked it and showed it to her, saying,

"You're returning to granite." She took it,

dropped it into the water and said, "No.

Your dream is turning to dust. I am alive."

 

 

 

 

 

H. Edgar Hix

 

 

Rider

She is riding the angry bull at the rodeo

but she thinks she's on the mechanical bull

at the bar with her friends waiting to buy her a beer

when she finally hits the padded floor.

Her hand is slipping out of the rope.

Her cowboy hat is already pulverized in the dirt.

The audience is yelling. Screaming.

She's getting thirsty.

 

 

 

 

 

Rupprecht Mayer

 

 

A Contact

It was most agreeable how you approached me without knowing me at all. I'm at a loss as to why I did it, but your spontaneous return of my embrace assuaged my every doubt. Straight from the beginning our intimacy was anything but pedestrian. That we're both yet unshavenwhat are the chances? My cheeks tickle as well, but from hence forth we can avoid all such irritation. Flying leg scissor grips I had only thought practicable among professional wrestlers! I do worry about my glasses, crammed as they are in my breast pocket. Perhaps, with little ado, we could relax some pressure exactly there? I've never been one to take anything the wrong way, but it would gratify me dearly if you could remove your elbow from my groin. I indeed acknowledge my sympathy for you, without knowing why, some things being unaccountable. Today, close contacts are said to be of such growing importance. Regardless, we know each other very well now, and that is a major gain, even if we must shrink our connection. Your nostrils are somewhat moistyif you could loosen your headlock, I could lend you my hankie. With only a few words we have forged a unique relationship destined to endure any lengthy estrangement. Please don't misunderstand me, but I would like to briefly free myself in order to open the window. I sense your dampish breath against my neck. What a surprise that two of our feet could fit inside a single shoe! Your hair is, as they say, thinning, but that bothers me not in the slightest. You have somewhat bad breath, but I'm already excited to examine, dotting my thumb, your curious teethmarks. Only this morning we collapsed into each others arms, and it seems the time has arrived for a coffee break. Brief separations can mean a world of good even among married couples. I am willing to proceed a step further and say that every separationalso the final one!can be a blessing in disguise. I'm sorry, but I've handed out the last of my remaining business cards. My appointment calendar for the next few years is also frightfully crowded. Of course, long term, our mutual reward is that neither of us carries anything contagious. Of this I am quite confident.

 

Translated by Eldon (Craig) Reishus

 

 

 

 

Jon Densford

 

 

The Big Z.A.

When the Big Zombie Apocalypse
slouches in, everything from A to Z

will be devoured.  Utterly all.
 
When the last jar
of peanut butter cries out,
you'll wish you'd learned  
how to skin a squirrel

because there won't be any Wikipedia
or YouTube
no signalno juice 
and soon no more squirrels anyway ...
just an occasional Zombie Rat.

Your John Hancock on a check
won't be worth a Hancock's John
no matter what your Zombie Account
balance shows.  And the Zombies
won't help you unlock your safe
deposit box to fondle those scraps
of your indelible, inedible gold.

 

 

 

 

 

Jon Densford

 

 

Cypress Gardens

dreamt of water skiing

with you but your rope

was too long

way longer than winter

and we were standing in shallows

water too shallow  

to float even empty skis

 

standing side by side

on four old wood

Dick Pope Tiki Masters

long sticks on slick mud

 

waiting for this boat

driven by the Devil Himself

to "HIT IT!"

 

we were wondering

if He could

snap up that slack

without breaking your arms

 

 

 

 

Ronald E. Shields 

 

 

Passage

When I die

set me loose on the river.

Let it carry me in its soft brown hands.

The Mississippi has been my home,

from hobo camps to tugs, barges and docks.

I have worked its length and width.

The crows can pick my bones clean,

drop them in the headwaters.

In eighty days I will be washed into the sea

free of this world

and its dark passage.

 

 

 

 

Bailey Share Aizic

 

 

Commitment

My bottom drawer contains relics of boyfriends and girlfriends past: a Clash t-shirt that I borrowed to sleep in, a necklace I couldn’t wear after the split, a scrawled poem on a sheet of notebook paper.

 

 

 

 

Louise Robertson

 

 

At the Open Mic

You say I wrote this poem today;

I prepare for a pigeon,

head cocked. Or I was

scared to write this;

I prepare for doors swinging

open and shut. Or

I wrote this years
ago; I prepare for oranges,

an earring, clover. Or I cried
all night
; I prepare for walls
that vibrate, people fighting.

Or This took me ten years;

I prepare for a tool

with a groove on the side

made by your palm, where you

pushed the lathe,

every day, for ten years

until now, we have the poem.

 

 

 

 

Louise Robertson

 

 

Sleep Debt

I owe 19,673.5 hours of sleep. Sometimes
when making a deposit,
I fold 20 minutes away
for later. Soft, shiny bills.

When I'm dead, they can use
any extra coins to close my eyes.
Call it even.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Contributors

Bailey Share Aizic is an editor, comedian, student, and human person based in Los Angeles, California. She’s also a poet, but you knew that already.

 

Jon Densford is from Memphis and is stocking up on non-perishables, duct tape, iodine pills, waterproof matches and clean white socks. He can still water ski despite advanced age.

 

Karen Greenbaum-Maya had a nightmare that her alma mater started offering a business major. www.cloudslikemountains.blogspot.com

 

H. Edgar Hix is a big fan of narrative poetry, particularly Kipling, Millay, and Poe. If you’d like to see his 77-line, award-winning, narrative poem, you can check it out at this site. It was published in Priscilla Papers in 2011.

 

Rejected by his academic peers for incidents that have resulted from his brazen narcolepsy and two-spiritedness, M. A. Istvan Jr. is a dedicated teacher of philosophy at various Texas institutions.

 

Dave Malone is a fifth-generation Ozarker who teaches occasionally at Missouri State University-West Plains. He is the author of six books of poetry, the most recent O: Love Poems from the Ozarks (TS Poetry Press).


Rupprecht Mayer was born near Salzburg. After living and working in Taiwan, Beijing, and Shanghai he resettled in Bavaria. He translates Chinese literature and writes short prose. English versions appeared in Agni Online, Ninth Letter, Right Hand Pointing and many other journals. His contribution to this issue was translated by Eldon (Craig) Reishus.
 

Ian Mullins casts his net from Liverpool, England. He only keeps the stuff everyone else throws back.

 

Robert Nisbet is a Welsh poet living in a small market town which is 15 miles in one direction from the small cathedral city of St. David’s and 20 miles the other way from Dylan Thomas’s Boathouse. He has poems published in the USA, in San Pedro River Review, Red River Review and elsewhere.

 

Darrell Petska's writing appears in The Tule Review, Mobius: The Journal of Social Change, Red Paint Hill, Star 82 Review, and a variety of other publications. Darrell cut short his career as a university editor to be the arbiter of his own words. He now is in Madison, Wisconsin.

 

A year ago, Tim Philippart sold his business and retired to write. He ghost-blogs, writes poetry, and nonfiction. He loves writing and wishes he had not waited decades to pick up the pen, although others might not agree. Recent publications include Silver Birch Press, Pure Slush and the Indiana Voice Journal.

 

Stella Pierides, born in Athens, Greece, now resides in Neusaess, Germany and London, England. Stella’s work has appeared in Modern Haiku, Frogpond, and elsewhere. Her book In the Garden of Absence received a HSA Award (books published in 2012). She manages Per Diem: Daily Haiku for The Haiku Foundation.

 

Louise Robertson has completed the following checklist: Journal publications (Crack the Spine, Zetetic, Gyroscope, and others). Poetry event organizer. College. MFA. Awards. Slam teams. Full-length book (The Naming Of, Brick Cave). Trouble sleeping. Tries to be nice. Likes biking and swimming. Hates running. Does it anyway. Loves her two kids.

 

Born into an itinerant family Ronald E. Shields has spent most of six decades on the run. Married late in life to the vagabond daughter of a New England schoolmarm his heels have yet to cool to life on the road. Recently published in The Linnet’s Wings and www.poetryontherun.com.