Friday, February 21, 2020

The Recital

"The Recital "by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

A children’s recital.
Taking turns at the piano.
A matronly instructor standing over each child.
A thin milling of parents half-seated in the front room
of a modest house.
With a doorbell that lights up after dark.
Listening half-attentively while the children
strike each note in noticeable fear.
A table of cookies and refreshments just feet away.
A tower of overturned plastic cups awaiting false thirst.
The hands need something to do when they are not clapping.
Then it is home to bed.
A school night for each of our dear little Mozarts.
The matron instructor closing the lid on her piano.
Cleaning up bunched napkins of cookie crumbs
and partially filled cups.                       
There will be no more music.
A sudden creaking of stairs under the weight.


Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian born author presently residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario Canada. His work has been published both in print and online in such places as The New York Quarterly, Windsor Review, Vallum, The Antigonish Review, CV2, Horror Sleaze Trash, Evergreen Review, Your One Phone Call and In Between Hangovers.

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Monster To Society

"Monster To Society" by Jerry Langdon
Sleeping in ice.
Here I stand.
Life in sacrifice.
Once it all began.
Human exile.
Monster to society.
Stamped as vile.
That's not me.
Nightmares subside.
Now I dream,
Fear and peace co-reside.
Unable to scream.
Death forgot me.
Once collected.
Forever free.
Once resurrected.
Walk behind the veil.
An eternal blasphemy.
Though death may hail
'Tis not for me.
A soul without a home.
Now sleeping in ice.
In dream I roam.
My life in sacrifice.
What was will never be.
Bereft of a safe return.
Memories stolen from me.
It makes my blood burn.
© Jerry Langdon 2019

From South-Western, Michigan, Jerry Langdon lives in Germany since 1992 after spending 8 years in the Army. He is an Artist and Poet. His works bathe in a darker side of emotion and fantasy. He has released 4 books of Poetry titled "Temperate Darkness“, „Behind The Twilight Veil". "The Rollercoaster Heart" and Death and Other Cold Things"
              He publishes a monthly E-Zine in pdf format called Raven Cage Zine which is purposely in that form to allow it as free distribution. Raven Cage is broke down in to Sections making its content diverse.
              You can Visit Jerry's personal page where you can find his Art and writings.
and his Zine at:
              His poetic inspirations are derived from poets such as Edgar Allen Poe, Robert Frost and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, as well as from various Rock Bands. His apparently twisted mind twists and intertwines fantasy with reality.

Must I

"Must I" by Sher Chandley..
Must I
Step out of
My own shadow
Come out of
The warm dark
Seek the sun
Grasp better times
Or hold on
To what I got
Heed the call
Of the siren
Remember the joy
Of the past
A pilgrimage tour
Will I return ?
But oh where
Will I go ?
----------------------------end part 1-
So many, many
Places and faces
Voyeur my orgies ?
Seductions, erotic lusts
Like the poet said
The other day
No heartbreak, love
Straightup -even sidewise
Absolutely nothing on
But fishnets and boots
Sucking a lollipop
No, not now
I have love
Go backwards further
Wander in mind
Maybe the drunkards
Or the addicts
Had to leave
Lying on the floor
Lost their legs
Or the parasites ?
Yes and no's
All very false
Now blowing hot
Now cold blowing
With the mode going
Or the poets
Writing what's so dear
Yet none want to hear
Or the starveling
All skin and bone
A pinch won't feel
So down-at -heel
-----------------------------end part 2
Maybe the gallery
Of philosophical imaginaries
Conversations with past people
Picknickers in my mind
At times so sublime
Greed at large
Goods free of charge
So pleasurably indecent
With repugnant bearing
Such evil daring
Or the king of riches
Mourned your might
Knowing your pride
An ash heap of the night
Or hope , friend to all
Waiting maybe in vain
For fortune to attend
Such sanguine power
Will all that's best
Really be ours ?
Or even fear
Trying to escape bounds
All ruin making
Hedging horror all round
Enough of slinking
Place to place
Looking face to face
Won't be daunted
By past wonder haunted
See that trickster
Master of false deduction
Mad unwise obstruction
I will look for the sun
Reach for better times
---------------------------------end part 3
Won't be driven
By the stress and strain
Of a nostalgic past
Live alone and apart
Give no one my heart
I want to scratch
My deepest ground
For in my nothing
All may be found
Even to the highest
Mountains I ascend
Or to the oceans end
I will my way wend
Waves succeed waves
In the shuddering doom
In the silent depths
Dolphins will be seen
Clouds will float ,
So will sun , moon and stars
Though I walk dumb
Into the future
Filled with the past
A happy wanderer
I will still be
When to my end I come
For every now and then
Be it a then
Or be it a now
I dance on tables
And roll on the floor .
------------------------------------end part 4
@ Sher Chandley
2019/09 /06

BIO: I am Sher Chandley from Johannesburg, South Africa. I am an architectural technologist by profession (currently health permitting) but I have studied and done many things and lived in many places. As a product of apartheid, I am given to humanitarianism and environmental causes. I abhor injustice of any kind and detest war and violence. I am an accidental poet having fell into it by chance. I find it a beautiful vehicle for my expression and a mirror of myself and what I see around me. I have had a book published on some of my poems called - Endless Blue -poems by Sher Chandley and hope to publish another one soon. I have an eclectic, holistic outlook and consider myself an earthling above any other identification. Take a ride with me sometime.

Tuesday, August 27, 2019


"COULD YOU COO?" by Steven Fortune
A revelatory pop
and the needle ushers in
the night's aural escapades
in a homemade renaissance
All the jitterbugs have worked
their flutters into sleep
and the foxes have all trotted
off the matrices of festively
exhausted ballrooms
Now I've got you in my flat
and I can hush the big band
to sleep with Lady Ella's lullaby
The golden brown gleam
of the gramophone horn
grants a wavering assessment
of the atmosphere behind me
I see you've settled in
with book in hand tilted
vertically to meet your
horizontal field of sight
and bear your naked upper body
to the incense as it unfurls
smoky swirls on your soft
embedded flesh
I free my imprisoned arms
of the confines of black suspenders
and ask what you are reading
like a child asking for a lollipop
To His Coy Mistress
you reply in an accent that rips
the connotative bounds of
Lady Ella cradles me in playful whimsy
as I lift the book daintily
from your grip and interrupt
the hydroplane of incense
with the blanket of my unbuttoned chest

BIOA resident of Sydney, Nova Scotia, and graduate of Acadia University, Steven Fortune has appeared on CBC radio, and his poetry has been recited on several online shows, as well as appearing in a number of literary journals, both print and online. His fifth book will be released in January 

Cry Somewhere Else

"Cry Somewhere Else" by Brian Turner

She served with eyes 
darker than shadows
and healing bruises.
I asked the question.
She shrugged and said,
"Life ain't easy,"
then caught my look
as I was leaving ...
lowered eyes told me
she didn't need my
instant sympathy.


BIOI'm a deeply serious man who just can't take much seriously. Life passes in a dream mostly and I hardly remember any of it. Don't think I was ever meant to be here really. God's little joke probably ...but I'll get even when I see him

Friday, August 16, 2019


"REINFORCEMENT" by Syreeta Muir

Some love is serrated;
Love that lays a body down, gently,
With, “shh, baby...”“...hold still.”
Applying balm to its own cuts.
Words, so sterile,
Drip from arid lips,
Deserts blown from fingertips,
Banking around fleshy succulents,
Proud love,
Happy to have tricked by reinforcement,
Cultivating whorls,
Standing back, perennially; self-wonder,
Pruning petals -
Pendulus corolla,
Never to be picked.

BIO: Syreeta Muir writes poetry, short, and flash fiction with a focus on folklore, nature and trauma. Read her poetry in TL;DR Press, her flash piece 'The Go-between' at and her poem 'Cutting Teeth' in Fearless Femme throughout November. Find her on Twitter as @hungryghostpoet.

Monday, July 29, 2019

The Hermit of Thought


He had no need to isolate himself on a mountain top
Remove himself to a remote and desolate place
It was futile when they would only travel with him
The skulking memories and thoughts in his mind
Distance was no barrier to the worst of them
Walls too permeable with no sense of security
Pills left him hollow inside with no soul
Feeling nothing at all, not even the good
He sensed a partition growing within
A reaction to adapt to the perpetual threat
Since he could not keep the world out
It would keep his private world safe within
A world where there was comfort in unreason
Where feelings were truth, if only for the day
Where happiness was the highest good
Even if it was transient as the morning dew.
-Wayne Olson

BIO: I started writing in my late teens.  I took to writing short stories at first, then poetry later and love the ability to say much with few words.  I have always been on the introverted side, very comfortable in my own space, so writing suited my need for expression. I have had a very rich spiritual life since childhood which is very much part of my nature, so much of what I have gleaned from those experiences finds its way into my writings.  Poems are my ship’s “logbook” on this voyage thru life.