Friday, 27 July 2012

Kyle Hemmings

Crazy After All These Years
The husband chased hurricanes under the beds of other women.
At breakfast for one, her orange juice leaked from Styrofoam cups,
the ones on sale at Wal-Mart. She thought: Love is no good.
It either strays or stays too long. A friend, who was still blind-sided by storms,
suggested the Caribbean. There she fell in love with a dwarf addicted
to speedboat racing. She felt good about his custom tailoring, his tinny laugh
at the foot of her bed. During a race, he fell over and drowned. She returned
to the mainland, drank everything from glass. From then on, nothing floated.

Kyle Hemmings is the author of several chapbooks of poetry and prose: Avenue C, Cat People, and Anime Junkie (Scars Publications). His latest e-books are You Never Die in Wholes from Good Story Press and The Truth about Onions from Good Samaritan. He lives and writes in New Jersey.

Thursday, 26 July 2012

A.g. Synclair


having wasted
too many hours

mounted hard to the wall
perched like a feral bird

on the twisted lips of a
static yellow warning

the prose will come as a
wailing stream of conscious

you will find yourself swallowed whole
like a drunken clam

a sidewinder in the cold sand
a flashback in red

A.g. Synclair is the editor and publisher of The Montucky Review, a journal of poetry and prose. His work has appeared in numerous publications, both online and in print. He lives, writes, and otherwise collaborates in southwestern Montana with his partner in crime, the artist and poet Heather Brager.

Wednesday, 25 July 2012

Sofia Eliassen


 I found our picture
among old letters, papers

and clutter

you would be pleased
to know that I paused


remembered our failed
attempts at a


and the delusions
that a shared


was somehow important.
I placed it with the old

gas bills

and newspapers that
I had kept for forgotten


if we were to meet again
I think we should smile


before passing
silently by.

Sofia Eliassen

Monday, 23 July 2012

Matthew Dexter

Menudo is for Sundays
heads hanging from a bridge
palm fronds splintered
hurricane lightning
and further inquiry suggests
that bloggers shall be silenced
by the machetes of deaf reckoning
the corral of the tourism industry
cowers in the sculpture of neglect and rot.
Matthew Dexter lives in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. Like nomadic PericĂș, he survives on a hunter-gatherer subsistence diet of shrimp tacos, smoked marlin, and cold beer.

Sunday, 22 July 2012

Anthony Ward


I remember the ol’ factory odour,
The smell of sulphur flaying the air.

My past constructed more by the present.
My sentimentality smoothing my memories,

Removing burrs until decorative-
Enough to display.

Polishing them as I bring them out
Of the cabinet of my conscious

Passing them around to let others see
The things that made me what I am.

Anthony Ward tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Enhance, Drunk Monkeys, Speech Therapy, Thousand Shades of Grey, Turbulence, Incandescent, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

Saturday, 21 July 2012


Punch Judy
inside the stripped tent
he and his wife
re-enact the domestic life
of mr punch
cursing each other
in swizzle talk
whilst battering
the wailing baby
then things start to get
a bit banal
and a crocodile
in no time the law shows up
now it’ll definitely all kick off
cue mayhem
untold amounts
of cranium destruction
goo splatter
over the little kids sitting
cross-legged on the sand
sporting ice cream moustaches
that’s not the way to do it
they demand their puppet show
tensions rising
danger could be
they’ll destroy sand castles
blow up inflatable toys
play at beach invasions
cast pebbles into desert storms
Born East London but now residing amongst the hedge mumblers of rural Suffolk, P.A.Levy has been published in many magazines, both on line and in print, from ‘A cappella Zoo’ to ‘Zygote In My Coffee’ and many stations in-between.  He is also a founding member of the Clueless Collective and can be found loitering on page corners and wearing hoodies at

Friday, 20 July 2012

J.S. MacLean

Perfect Couple

One is plump, tetrahedrally tumid,
crispy flesh the texture of ostrich
and the color of Bo Derek.
Other somosas are greasy and limp,
like something flung in a scullery.
Broken; chicken peas of genius
infuse the olfactory cathedral
and swell like cavern rumors.
After the rapture the plate is immaculate;
the one gone like original sin,
like never was, like the dream at dawn.

The other is green, chunky, and sloppy.
The lamb of good does not hide or create
beauty in gristle and bone.
It is mild and pure, soft and sultry,
wallowing in palak
with protein essence
to assimilate as sacrament.
The spinach, garlic, ginger, and meat
permeates and assimilates the mouth;
unimaginable, like the first life
that bloomed  in Panthalassa.

 J.S. MacLean lives in Calgary, Canada. He has had poetry published in a variety of publications in Canada, the USA, the UK, and Australia. His first collection, “Molasses Smothered Lemon Slices” is available on In his spare time he works.

Thursday, 19 July 2012

Tobi Cogswell

Kick the Can

A lovely tumble of spires
and spikes marked their
territory in the backyard
grounds of the old house
in Greenville, just down
the street.

They played every day,
only stopping when the first
neighbor kids mom called
“come home for supper”.
They knew that call meant
everyone, that play was done.

It was time for manners,
placemats, eat the four outside
leaves of the Brussels sprouts
and napkin the pork chop edge
to the dog.

She tries to remember
how one boy was so brave,
she always wore a pink
dress to play in, he’d take out
her collected stickers gently,
one by one, her ankles blinking
with tiny red dots…

She still hates Brussels sprouts
and still loves pink.
She recalls those days
at the oddest times,
a walk in the canyon
when thorns ignite her ankles
as if they were a gift,
the innocence of summers
she can barely recall.

Tobi Cogswell is a two-time Pushcart nominee.  Credits include or are forthcoming in Illya’s Honey, REAL, Iodine Poetry Journal, Slipstream, StepAway (UK), Turbulence (UK), Front Porch Review, Rufous Salon (Sweden), Alligator Stew (UK), Ballard Street Poetry Journal, Bacopa, Compass Rose, The Broken Plate, Border Crossing, I-70 Review, Incandescent (UK), Agenda Poetry (UK) and Pale House - Letters to Los Angeles. Her latest chapbook is “Surface Effects in Winter Wind”, (Kindred Spirit Press).  She is the co-editor of San Pedro River Review (

Wednesday, 18 July 2012

Neil Ellman


We oppose each other
you and I
but we are one
and form a line
of stars, a constellation
of antonyms, paradox
and counterpoints
the union of our souls
in syzygy
we complement
and contemplate
each other’s hold
the push and pull
wibble and wobble
of gravity  
as if we were
in love.

Neil Ellman lives and writes  in New Jersey (USA).  He has published numerous poems in print and online journals and anthologies throughout the world, from Australia to Zimbabwe, and from the United Kingdom to Nepal.  His latest collection, an e-chapbook, Double-Takes, is available as a free PDF download from Fowlpox Press in Canada.

Tuesday, 17 July 2012

Cassandra Dalton

The Ascension of the Street Poet

The famished and the thirsty
The weak and downright dirty

The children of the storm
And the clutch of plagueist swarm.
Mt tongue in purring fashion
With a breathless beating ache
Whispers of  the future
When the earth begins to shake.
And now my fingers tremble
As the harpies fly above
That the only one redemption
Can come from our hate of love.
The scratching in the metal
The namesake on the door
The only way is up
While we're sprawling on the floor.
The ask is growing frequent
As the outstretched hand does grasp,
A torturous conclusion
That human kind can't last.
I like the Armageddon,
And the fact the end will come.
And I welcome it with smiles,
When I see what we've become.
The saintless and the gory,
The bored and still the sane,
The ecstasy of horror
While dishing out the pain.

Cassandra Dalton

Monday, 16 July 2012

Howie Good


We kick
the dog
off the bed.
The moon’s 
looking in.

Instill one
or two drops
in eye(s)
as needed
Howie Good is a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz. More of his poetry can be found at

Sunday, 15 July 2012

Brian Le Lay

This Train, Hoboken, Last Train

At some point I'll have untied
The knotted shoelace
The disordered alphabet
That is New York City's subway system,

Won't need to grip the bacterial silver railing
For balance because my calves will know
What curves are coming before I am a tempest
Thrown into the stern-faced Korean woman's lap,
Set her scoliosis blazing, her plastic bag
Of exotic fruits and white asparagus
Torn open like a fishnet stocking,

Which of us swaying like a second hand
On an analog clock, in the third car
From the engineer, will change the world?
And who will smash what amenities were worked for?
And who will be there to claim irreconcilable differences,
Unstop the mascara plaster from her ducts
Drag out the tears before an Eyewitness news-van?

Some will be married on an early spring Sunday
Under a latticework of false vinyl roses,
Some on a summer Saturday,
On a backyard patio where a hornet's nest
Under the deck bustles dizzyingly
Like a miniature New York,

They are all clustered here in passing
Under the flickering lights and effluvium,
Whatever they are, most wish they were not,
Many of those who don't become,
Wish they had
Though only when it seems too late.

Brian Le Lay is a poet based out of New York City. His first book of poems, Don't Bury Me in New Jersey, is available from Electric Windmill Books. His work has recently appeared in The Rusty Nail, Hobo Pancakes, and Drunk Monkeys. He blogs at

Saturday, 14 July 2012

Yevgeniy Levitskiy

The Pinnacle

The pinnacle
of abstract leaders
tilt the progression
board of institutions,
the intuition of
mother’s scapegoat milk,
climaxes the elderly
children of ancient times,
light shining on
exposed bosoms and
blossoming flowers.

Tired eyelids speak
and tight lips hear
as the tire marks
eliminate contestants
on game shows. 

Yevgeniy Levitskiy has received a B.A. in English-Education from Brooklyn College, and is currently pursuing a M.A. His writing has been published in The Smoking Poet, Green Briar Review, and elsewhere. His forthcoming publications include "The Books They Gave Me" (Free Press/Simon & Schuster), Downer Magazine, Everyday Other Things, Eunoia Review, BareBack Magazine, Poydras Review, Bursting Plethora, Misfits’ Miscellany, Blue Lake Review, and ken*again. He is currently at work on a middle-grade novel.

Friday, 13 July 2012

Nicky Ellam

Poems are music without guitars

They normally have titles 
but this simple song 
doesn't need one 
to describe

the waiting,
the clock's hands

the minutes feeling like years
as your last gasps of breath
rattle around the room. 

Time ticks slowly around my watch
as I remember our evenings together 
when I would sit close to you
reading aloud from your favourite books.

That was when I was younger 
and would write letters 
when I couldn't come
for an extra-sweet, extra-strong cuppa - 
the way we both used to drink it. 

That was before I started letting
an essay or party 
shove you to last in the queue 
falsely promising to visit
next week
next month
next never-ever
because there was always 
something more important to do. 

You're gone now.

We gave you flowers 
and had a post-service sandwich 
while they talked about you 
and told me I'd being given your stereo
because we both liked music - 

you, with your opera and trumpets
me, with my drums and rock-classics
but I'm too scared to use it

because I'm sorry 
I can't sing a happy tune for you. 

Nicky Ellam is an English undergraduate at Hull University. To her family's disappointment she has somewhat elusive career prospects. In her spare time she co-edits a printed zine called Eclectic Eel. Nicky has had work published by, Rain Dogs and Incandescent.

Thursday, 12 July 2012


Welcome to Humber Pie, a poetry blogzine (that's a word, right?) based on the banks of the Humber River. The Pie seeks to publish poetry in diverse styles and on diverse subjects from around the world. Why not spend some time with a nice slice of Pie?