• Desire Remains, Memory Distorts – krista schwimmer
• The Prisoner – Jim Smith
• Dear Artists of Los Angeles – Pat DeBonville
• Based on a True Story – abigail templeton
• Lost in the overcast – Roger Houston
• Bare-naked… – Marie Lecrivain
• Pleasures I have known – Honeybee Henderson
• Steve – Panos Douvos
• A Cannibal in Venice – Sharon Shapiro-Snow
• Fingerprints – Pasquale Trellese
By krista schwimmer
It is easier
watching my body
grow older since when
i was all fire & moonstone
i loved the beautiful men.
It is easier
of course, because memory
continually entertains –
a secret confidence tells me
my body was fully revealed
at her ripest time.
What i mean
is the body remembers
despite the age
& is filled at once
with amazement & angst.
What i mean
is desire remains
& even when i fight it
the heart continues
to pound out
its own fierce way.
By Jim Smith
They took him prisoner
when the celebration was over.
The limos arrived at his house
bringing famous men
and twitchy bodyguards.
“Congratulations Mr. President,”
said the man with the TV face.
“Here’s how it will be
Your speeches will be cleared with us
Any questions, just ask
Rahm or Tim or Hillary,
they know the drill.”
When he protested,
they complimented his pretty wife,
and his beautiful children.
Then they talked about Kennedy.
He had so much potential.
What a pity he defied them.
And wasn’t it a shame
about Bobby and John, Jr.
“You see, Mr. President,
the business of America is business.
Your role is to speak on our behalf,
That’s why the CIA, the NSA,
the military and Wall Street
have taken the place of Congress
and the Office of the President.
It’s just more efficient.”
We’re so excited that you won.
It will be great working with you.
Dear Artists of Los Angeles
By Pat DeBonville
Art is not
created to elicit
pleasure from the many
Art is creation
it is a wealth beyond
Art has no motives.
And all of the best
have always known it
And all of the best
would rather starve
Based on a True Story
By abigail templeton
I took you to
an Indian Restaurant
You did not want
to hurry curry.
All your doorknobs
were loose, all the paint
was in chips, only the fire
had escaped. Don’t forget
to check for ticks. O
Chicken Tika Masala,
o garlic naan
and envelope. You
lick your fingers,
checking for sand,
a chickpea on your
good tooth. When
the moon drove you
home you had enough
for a two cigarette tip.hhhhhhhhhh
We must have walked
for hours believing
in the boardwalk
psychic and her
promises of water.
Lost in the overcast, I grope my way Through mounds of vague ideas this cloudy day. I heft them with both hands, to get a feel For obscure meanings, bordering surreal. No stranger to these parts, my way’s well-known. Created for myself this twilight zone That you see here. It very nicely fits. I wear it proudly. Hanging by my wits, Tread lightly through this landscape, on my own. Acknowledging that soon it may be gone, So I pause to enjoy it, to conceal Double entendre here and there, at will. My mother says to go outside and play. Obedient am I, this cloudy day…..Roger Houston, Venice
By Marie Lecrivain
easter-egg-colored coiffed beauties frolicking in front of the George C. Page Museum on a cool Sunday afternoon make one fail to notice the putrid smell rising of the tar pits nearby; the photographer searching for the best angle through a camera lens while his assistant keeps a watchful eye on the street for the manifestation of law enforcement; the google-eyed passengers through the windows of the # 20 Metro Bus as it rolls by; the enterprising middle-aged security guard as he whips out his cell phone to record ten seconds of video for later that night, where, in the privacy of his dingy bachelor pad, he will replay in time to his rhythmic ejaculations; and make one forget to notice me composing the lines of this poem in my head, while I smile quietly.
Pleasures I have known
By Honeybee Henderson
Ocean mist dancing in the moonlight
Bright stars twinkling with delight
Children laughing as the seesaw bounces up and down
Aspen trees lean and tall with leaves swaying in the wind
Sweet Mollydog shaking her entire backside with glee
A laugh with an old friend
Music pulsating through my veins as my body moves to the beat
The ocean’s tide pulling back the rocks as the waves seep back
A songbirds early morning chant
A long stretch first thing in the morning
Gentle kisses all over my bare body
The sparkle in a stranger’s eye while reflecting on the day’s events
Breathing in nature in the first seconds of the day
Watching the city wake up
Smelling fresh bread being baked
These are the pleasures I have known.
His teeth have popped out like popcorn
sole one stands at attention mid-mug
a paid-up gargoyle club member
anxious about dental demons with drills
let nature take its’ course who cares
while sucking-up soft foods and soup
he squints to decipher nearby stuff and people
fears surgeons keen to cut his cataract
why does he need sight has seen everything already
grudgingly grunts-up ricinus negatives
sits swaying under his raggedy hump
considers it a reprobate old friend
now spits out scatter-gun reports and
recites his strong poems from memory
plus throw-away profundities and ingightfuities
says ever-present eye problem boring but
late bulletin reveals light — bulb moment
eye correction will improve sight and thought
life’s not all crap there’s gold amidst the dross
intellectual-man to the rescue now stands tall
a national historical monument
behind the mucky facade
A Cannibal in Venice
They came like Locusts
Devouring swiftly All
Our Homes, Our Hopes
And Our Dreams . . . . . . . . .
Never stopping to see the Tears
Or feel the Fears. . . . . .
Hear the Screams. . . . . . . .
Destroying Our Lives at Christmas
They could not Take Our Souls Away!
In the depths of recollection
Small joys of youth
The wondrous days of adventure
Winters of eternal spring
In the backyards of rememberance
With all its favors
The clear and uncluttered motion
Of love’s unobstructed things
I find myself falling freely
Passing through time
Through glorious nights of redemption
Afternoons of enchantment
In the first year of discovery
Those important issues
The once and forever fingerprints
Of movements marked in time
In the waters of salty pleasure
Strong waves of tides
Softly swallow the memories
Recall all first loves
In the songs that earmarked the day
Power of persuasion
The steps to young manhood
With all its crossroads
The clarity of choices made
In the angst of not quite knowing
Small days at large
The fruitful hours of young kinship
Summers against the Fall
On the porch swing of each daybreak
The wonder of unremarkable days
The thrill of it all . . . .