Thursday, January 10, 2019

Whiskey Drowns

WHISKEY DROWNS
By M Lynn
Almost out of whiskey
She said she wouldn't miss me
Her memory fills my sorrows
Drowning in no more tomorrows
She said I never listened
As the tears on her face glistened
I shut her out, now I'm freezing
Just can't take her leaving
Almost out of whiskey
Tomorrow it's gonna hit me
The alcohol numbs the pain
As I hang my head in shame
She said I didn't really love her
From the truth, she was further
Just didn't know how to show it
And i didn't mean to blow it
Almost out of whiskey
She was the only one to get me
In misery with my bottle I will sit
Til I'm able to drown it
***
Hello, my name is M Lynn and I have been and avid reader and writer of poetry since the age 14. Influenced early by totally opposite poets, Edgar Allen Poe & Dr. Seuss. Poetry has been my outlet to express my innermost thoughts, life events, cope with personal traumas and tragedies, and flash fiction.

Melanie Browne

Posing  In front of "The execution of Lady Jane Grey"

By Paul Delaroche,
we take selfies,
first mom and then me

We get confused,
telling each other loudly
"This is one of Henry's wives,"

But no,
it isn't

Honestly,
it's an easy mistake
to make,

We had just seen
Henry's bulbous
portrait &
that puts one in
the mind of
executions

& slender
thin
goose necks

One of her ladies in waiting
holds what appears to be a rosary
a look of deep horror on her face

But here at the art museum
we make it a fun occasion
if there had been champagne

We'd have drunk it

***
On without End

He heard the bells,
those bells

He told his mom
& sister,
"I hear bells,"

He drank too much bourbon
and wasn't religious
but they were there,
the bells

One day he wandered
toward St. Luke Street
following the bells,
and drank a beer
tucked tightly
into a corner

He was tired,
even his voice
was tired,
almost too tired
to mouth
"I'll have another,"

& as he stumbled home
the bells stumbled
with him,

tripping over his
front stoop
and into his cold bed

and with him
the bells, those bells

***

Melanie Browne is a poet and fiction writer living in Texas. 

A Cleansing Rain

"A Cleansing Rain" by Amelia Hartz

They say that rain is a cleansing thing,
it brings forth flowers we love in the spring.
But rain I feel for those who've died,
ignites their voices, their unheard cries.
The rain was made for life, oh yes,
but also for those who were never blessed.
The cold wet drops, like salty tears,
it shows those broken that God is near.
For with each storm, a rainbow unveils,
and those who are sinking can set their sails.
The flood rains bidding to sink or float,
just promise in downfall, don't sit and gloat.
So if you splash in puddles for glee,
or sink to drenched pavement to take a knee.
Remember that rain is life's own gift,
when waters rise, don't sink, but drift

***

-Bio- 
I am a full time housekeeper for the Gunnery and a part time ABC certified dog trainer from Connecticut. I have been writing poetry and short stories since I was in middle school. I have always been a women of little words and never fit in. I am a quiet and sensitive soul though my gothic appearance says otherwise. Writing was always been my vent for words I could never say or express. It is a big deal for me to come out and share my work as I have faced much negativity for my dark sense of writing. I hope that one day my pain on paper can be a comfort and console for others who are struggling so they feel less alone. 

The Poem

"The poem" by Adam Crotts

Greatest ever written
No words ever said
The rhythm
The rhyme
Holding hands
Showing love till the end of time
Looking into each other’s eyes
Living life knowing it will end
Always being best friends
Through hurt and pain
Knowing the best of love
Something that can't be wrote
love songs
poems
they are just simple notes
loves bond
That’s something that can never be broke........


Adam Elijah Crotts, 38 years old with a love for the simple things in life. I grew up in a small community known as Walnut Grove with a population of about 1000. I still live here today with my family. Work a rough job and write my way through the day. I started writing when my first marriage started heading for trouble and was told to just put it on paper and keep it for myself. My second wife told me to stop writing all together that no one cared or would like it. I'm remarried now and we share 7 kids between us and I write anything i want, when I want, and share it with whomever I want. Hope my writing speaks to someone, somewhere, even if it's only for a moment.

Recognition

"Recognition" by Sandrine Franceschi


My name is Sandrine Franceschi, and I'm 28 years old. Poetry runs deep in my soul, as I started to write as a little girl. Although I probably misspelled a lot of words during that young age, my poems were, and always will be, my sanctuary. All my poems are created from my heart, and reflects on something I felt or still feel. Emotions are endless and so are my poems


Wednesday, January 9, 2019

One More Chance


"One More Chance" by Julie Mishler

For one more chance
Would you?

Give up everything
To hear his voice
To see his face
What would you give?

For one more chance
To change it all
To fix the wrongs
Make things right
Could you forget the past
All the pain he caused?

For one more chance
Would you risk it all
To hear his laugh
See his smile
Can time heal
All that has been broken?

For one more chance
Would you sacrifice
To kiss his lips
And whisper his name
To feel his body
Would it still feel the same?

For one more chance
What would you do
If you only knew
Things would change

He would be
The man he said he was
The man you fell in love with
The man you have missed and longed for
The man who held all your dreams
In the palm of his hand

For one more chance
What would you give?

Julz
© JMM 14

Julie Mishler resides in a small Pennsylvania town. She has always had a way with words, but started to write and share those words publicly in December 2011 after strong encouragement from family, friends and fellow authors. Prior to releasing her own book of poetry in 2014, Julie wrote poems/pieces for a number of other author's books, anthologies and has done personal commission pieces for display in people's homes. When Julie isn't working on a new poem, quote or spending time with family, she enjoys reading, photography, art, and music.


Amazon page:

Author page: 

http://bit.ly/2xu5xYc



Tuesday, January 8, 2019

Saskatchewan Sky

Saskatchewan Sky

By Michael Lee Johnson

Saskatchewan
sky,
just a preview of love,
chip off
an edge of
prairie
chip an edge off
winter-
and opening
multiple eyes
toward spring.
They-lovers, find themselves
near evening bush fire-
great seal fish and open lake,
cuddle together-
so wonderful there-
where she comes from,
where did she go to
from here.

***

Michael Lee Johnson, has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards for poetry: 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016 & 2 Best of the Net 2017, 1 Best of the Net 2018.  He is published in 38 countries. He has 178 You Tube videos.

Emailpromomanusa@gmail.com

Official Poetry Site: http://poetryman.mysite.com/



Friday, January 4, 2019

John Patrick Robbins


"Fairy Tales And Empty Truths"

I remember those long near sunset rides, where she always hung her feet out the window.

"You know sweetheart one of these days you just may lose cute little feet hanging them out the window that way."

She always paid me no mind just leaned against me.

"You know one day you better marry me or I'm break your heart your heart."

Those days may as well have been a lifetime away.

She never lost her feet.

But I damn sure lost something.

Some people just never pull them self from wreckage.

The junkyard of this life holds more stories than the library.

Mine is just one of many.
That began so sweetly once upon a time.


***


"Online Dating"

I met a woman off a dating site .
She was weird and a drunk,  and asked strange questions .

I closed my account the very next day after having a lengthy conversation with her.

Online dating wasn't for me .
Besides there was only room for one alcoholic in a relationship .

And I wasn't in love with myself enough to actually want to date a female version of me.

I loved women I just had a natural gift for either pissing them off or driving them away.

Love was never found in a app.
But trouble and crazy fuckers seemed in an overabundance.


John Patrick Robbins


Is a bar room poet whose work is always unfiltered he also stands as editor of both.
The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers.

He is also the author of two books "Smoking At The Gas Pumps by Soma Publishing" and "A Cold Beer Beats A Warm Heart by Alien Buddha Press".

His work has appeared in.
Ariel Chart, The Mojave River Review, Red Fez, Blue Pepper, Blognostics, Synchronized Chaos,  Outlaw Poetry Network, Rasputin Poetry Thread, Piker Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, Inbetween Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, Spill The Words, Academy Of The Heart And Mind.