Monday, April 20, 2015

Ye Olde Networking

Likest  Thou My Facebook Post?

Remember now, while resting in thine seat,
How friends who hath the fame of being true
Inform themselves of what their friend doth eat
And sundry other things that friend might do.
Perforce thou needest soon that "Like" to click
If in thee doth a mote of mercy live.
For seconds, as if swords, my heart now prick
Whilst wait I for what's only thine to give—
A "Like" to say thy care for me is great,
As care that hath a holy man for God,
When showing care of thine for my update
By clicking that's akin to heads that nod.
    If likest thou not my new Facebook post,
    Of myself, anon, I'll make a ghastly ghost.

by Paul Burgess
in Volume 3 Issue 2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC

Monday, April 6, 2015

All About Alliteration

Abysmal Abbot

Abbot Adam, an adamant activist,
antichrist's avid antagonist,
acclaimed as attaining advanced abstention,
absorbed an assistant's abject attention:
Anthony, adept, adolescent,
accepted apparent abasement.
Abbot Adam arranged an assignation,
announced anodyne alcoholization:
"Alcoholic availability!
Assistant, apprentice, activity!"
Anthony – addled, aggrieved and
adaptable – affirmed agreement,
arranging apt availabilities.
Adam absorbed absinthe avidly.
Alcoholized Adam articulated:
"Accursed abnegation, abominated!"
Adam's abject, abyssal allusion:
"Adolescence assures absolution!"
Awaiting amorous activity,
adrenalin addled Anthony.
Adam added: "Adonis, abnegate
abnegation, avidly anticipate
appealing, alluring affinity,
alertly amusing abdominally!",
- "Appealing? Appalling abominably!"
affirmed Anthony accusatorially.
Abbot Adam announced: "Apt assistant!
Act, arrange abbot's anal amusement!"
Anthony, accusatorial: "Apery!
Alcohol adder, apocalypse apogee!
Anal attacks? Against any agreement!
Adipose ape, antic accompaniment!
Atrocious anaconda, alas and alack!"
Amok: an aflamed absinthe attack
assassinated Adam absolutely.

---

Spicy Stuff


Sophie, savory seductress,
serving salty slinky sweetness,
startling starters sensitize,
sensational soup sips surprise
starved sybaritic sickos soon.
Some sybaritic sickos swoon.
Stonking scuffles, screwball's swag:
snappy, snazzy, stewing stag.
Salsa sagas, soup spoons splash,
steamed swede, smashing squashes smash,
sirloin, sliced skillfully,
sage sage, spearmint, savory,
sour sorrel, sweet sensation,
spicy snapper's scintillation,
sashimi supernovas sate
sinner-spinners, saturate,
saffron salmon, stylish seafish,
succulent satay's scent, spuds swish.
Splendid spicy scallops steam,
sizzled, spattered sinners scream:
"Sophie, savvy sorceress,
sacramental scrumptiousness".
Scintillating secrecy:
stoolies sigh submissively.
Sweet, sagacious, salty Sophie,
slyly serving slinky slurpie,
sainted Sophie, sickos sigh,
scream "salvation," sanctify,
say "Salaam, side salad, seafood",
solemnizing Sophie's sainthood.
Splendiferous satiety,
sinners snore sedately.
"Alleluia" articulated Anthony.

in Volume 3 Issue 2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC

Monday, March 30, 2015

For the warm weather (if you've got it yet!)

Worst Fig
with apologies to Edna St. Vincent Millay
My popsicle melts at both ends;
   It will not last till noon;
But on my toes and on my friends—
   It drips a bold maroon!

by Laura Garrison
in Volume 3 Issue 2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC

Monday, March 23, 2015

A sad kind of funny

Ayyy!

at my funeral
i want it to be
something like
a theme funeral
like maybe an
all pirate funeral
and everyone's
gotta dress like
a pirate or slut
or fare maiden
and use those
pirate and slut
and fare maiden
accents gotta
get really loud
and raucous
off some real
poor rotgut
whiskey
maybe
a fight
or two
break out
and decide
whether to bury
or forget to bury
my ass every
one drive home
drunk as skunks
every man for himself
still in their eye patches
and pirate costumes
have to not be a
total asshole or
grownup and
drive home
within the
speed limit
so the only
ones if they're
idiots take out
themselves
and then like
some absurd
and psychotic
surreal chain
letter chain
of command
have another
one with a
similar like
theme maybe
perhaps more
appropriately
something
like super
heroes


-------

Episode Zero

one day the whole
world's gonna just
explode and it's
gonna all be i mean
we're all gonna be
on a big flatscreen t.v.
all perfectly prepackaged
and wrapped up in a box
sticking out of a shopping
cart pushed by a big piece
of white trash at walmart...

in Volume 3 Issue 2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC

Monday, March 16, 2015

Get Ready for the Festivals

Washer

If Lady Macbeth had the advantage of an automatic washing machine
How different the Scottish play would have been.
There would have been no need to consult witches on the brew
Required to remove stubborn blood stains and make a kirtle new.
The Chamberlains could have been framed for Duncan's murder,
Hands washed and clothes round the washer without a murmur.
No nightmares on the battlements, or falling out with Banquo
Just watch the drum of fabrics swashing to and fro.
Macbeth could load the drum or his good lady,
Then relax with a glass of wine and not look quite so shady.
Perhaps a rub with soap or a biological detergent
Would stop MacDuff returning from exile resurgent.
It is a shame that Glamis, or Cawdor there might be
Didn't have a washer from Amazon or Curries.
So the Lady wrings her hands at some imagined blood clot,
Sleepwalking to the bitter end with, "Out, out damn spot!"
by Clint Wastling
in Volume 3 Issue 2

Buy a Copy

Return to the Online TOC