The Undertaker Blusters

Morning. The undertaker in my bedroom.
I meet him as I enter. The coffin by the wall
bolt upright. Egyptian-like with bellied head.
An inverted mandolin. He goes to lift it by himself.
It’s small. It’s very small. He struggles.
I help him. We place it on a stand. An incline.
Oh God, I feel, he’s going to exhibit her again
here in the doorway of my bedroom. He swings
the casket open. Today she’s dressed in pink.
The angle is too steep. She crumples.
I rush to pick he up. She gurgles.
I’ve heard of headless chickens. This means nothing.
She twitches. I glare. The undertaker blusters.
Her eyes, I watch them open, focus. She knows me.
Her face is fuller, younger. She shrugs herself to shape
and straightens. I feel me smile. “You’re going
to be alright?” I question. “Yes,” she smiles. I laugh.
“Yes,” she laughs. I place my hands upon her shoulders
laughing. I know something’s not right
before the clock goes.

Daniel P. Stokes has published poetry widely in literary magazines in Ireland, Britain, the U.S.A. and Canada, and has won several poetry prizes. He has written three stage plays which have been professionally produced in Dublin, London and at the Edinburgh Festival. 

My Mistrust

I can’t see it
but I know it’s there.

Creeping through the grass
like suspicion in a leverage
of clever camouflage
patiently blended coiled
and sniperish.

It used to be so unashamed
and loose wearing my own
casual naivete morbidly obese
with hope, but slimmed wiser
without rhyme by the sharpening
blades of the compass and clock.

Maybe because Cathy,
maybe because Claire,
maybe because me?
But now I keep my head
way the fuck down with
a mouthful of feathers

beneath ruptured plumage
unable to hold enough sky
any more, for any more, than
a scatter of tea leaves that
gather mute in chipped cups

that leak futures and forevers
from this hole in my bucket,
dear Ally, dear Margaret,
from this hole in my bucket
that . . . ___ I cannot stop.

Lindsay McLeod is an Australian writer who lives on the coast of the great southern penal colony with his Blue Heeler, Mary. Some of his published work can be found in DRUNK MONKEYS, BURNINGWORD, FINE FLU, FIVE2ONE, A THIN SLICE OF ANXIETY and BEATNIK COWBOY.

The Death of Lorca

_____for Ian Gibson

He dislikes Protestant churches,
big organ instead of high altar,
minister’s sermon in English
facing the congregation; the priest,
back to the laity, speaks in Latin. 

Shoes that do not move remind
him of death, all the dead bodies
he sees as a boy are laid out flat
on their backs, dressed in their
Sunday best, wearing shoes.

He is friends with Salvador Dalí,
Luis Buñuel, and other great
writers of his generation, plays
a key role in a Spanish renaissance
of poetry, drama, art, and film.  

Yet in his hometown of Granada
he is “The Queer with the Bow-Tie.”
As Civil War spreads across
Andalusia he refuses to escape
to the Republican side for fear of
being trapped in a no-man’s zone.

Lorca is arrested. General Queipo
De Llano, the Butcher of Seville,
tells the commandant at Granada
to give the poet, “coffee,
plenty of coffee.”

The Black Squad takes him
to the nearby resort town of Viznar,
favorite site to execute Nationalists.
(one witness cries out, “Murderers!
You’re going to kill a genius!”)

Told he will be shot, Lorca asks
for a last confession, but the priest
is gone. Before dawn he is shoved
in a truck with two bullfighters
and a teacher with a wooden leg.  

They are killed at Fuente Grande,
a famous spring known in Arab times
as “the Fountain of Terror.” Later,
one murderer boasts, “two bullets
in the ass for being queer.”

William Heath has published four poetry books: The Walking Man, Steel Valley Elegy, Going Places, and Alms for Oblivion; three chapbooks: Night Moves in Ohio, Leaving Seville, and Inventing the Americas; three novels: The Children Bob Moses Led (winner of the Hackney Award), Devil Dancer, and Blacksnake’s Path; a work of history, William Wells and the Struggle for the Old Northwest (winner of two Spur Awards and the Oliver Hazard Perry Award); and a collection of interviews, Conversations with Robert Stone. He lives in Annapolis.  www.williamheathbooks.com

Exercise High and Five More Dollar Bin Records

exercise high and five more dollar bin records
at the store i tried so hard to give my money to the shop

first, they opened an hour late
second, they were friendly enough
third, i tried to offer them a tip and they declined
lastly, i listened to the bluegrass and organ music
blissed out on 15,000 steps on my pedometer and
all the things i did in those steps
i saw a bird wading in water
i browsed isles with strategy
like a bird pooping seeds onto enemy nests and
i played a walking game too
my jeans barely fit but there’s
a blessing of the sonata e’s in my head and
no more thoughts in my head about losing weight
about my diet
if this has me eating five cinnamon rolls in an evening then
only oatmeal and mint chocolate protein bars
in slow drawn out rhythmic waves
slow enough the sound never crescendos past
innumerable belly grumbles and a great elevation of mood
i see equanimity on the horizon

Frankie Koni is a gender non conforming mentally ill writer who is published in Asylum: Radical Mental Health Magazine, The Abandoned Mine, redrosethorns and aspires to get in poetry magazine and publish their own chapbook. They are active online on Instagram @frankandthefruit, and under Frankie Koni on Facebook! 

The Reshaping of Clay

Nightly, I dream the pottery
of my fragments
strewn in a forest of fireflies,
brief ashes burning hunger
for what lies above the soil.

I metaphor a self at daybreak
in salamander memory
retrieved from the fire
of my nocturnal disintegration.

I mark the pieces of clay,
numbering each with hope
of reassembly.
My soft pottery
fires itself solid
in a few more dawns.

David Anthony Sam lives in Virginia with his wife, Linda. His poetry has appeared in over 100 journals. Sam’s collection, Stone Bird, was released in 2023 by San Francisco Bay Press. Writing the Significant Soil (Wayfarer Books 2022) was awarded the Homebound Poetry Prize. Six other collections are in print.

Rodeo Poet

Some days it’s all
about riding the bull
staying upright
hands strapped to the
horn of uncontrollable

hanging on when earth
is rotating at full volume

when seeing the clowns
waiting to rescue me
seems too short-sighted

with only seconds left
before a fall
I’m searching for a glimpse
of a waiting poem

a bird a chime a wheel a saint

re-entry before the buzzer beeps

In the past year, Susan Shea has made the full-time transition from retired school psychologist to poet. Since then her poems have been accepted by publications including MacQueen’s Quinterly, Ekstasis, October Hill Magazine, Across the Margin, Invisible City, Poemeleon, Umbrella Factory, and others.

Painting

Colluded over-draft
and the canvas isn’t stretching right.
There’s a red––
and a white line too. Witness this,
the atrophying figure of form.
Can you guess the type?
Do you know this shape?
In here inheres a scene
of the image of our all. Everything is done up in dividing lines.
My vanishing point is everywhere. 

Jimmy Christon (he/him/his) is a writer from Oregon. He was born in Pocatello, Idaho. He has published pieces with ergot., Indicia Literary Journal, and Eunoia. He lives in New York. Catch him on his website, jimmywrites.com.