she was a vision...








she was a heavenly creature
practiced in the art
of fellatio
self-gratification
and exotic dance.
she could go on for hours
and not break a sweat.
she wrote colorful poesy
for only her eyes
to see.
she wore a tattoo
of a pixie tied in ribbons
between her shoulder blades
and the day she left
was unseasonably warm
as the leaves
blew away
dying
like the love she had for me
becoming only a vision
floating in the breeze.


Keith Wesley Combs

Thought Life

 

The thought lives a life

of its own.  You wouldn’t know

from the skull, like everyone else.

Inside, there’s a needle, inside,

there’s a wire.  Inside.

The thought is taking out a mortgage,

trimming the front yard, dragging

planks to the side of the road. 

The thought is taking up residence.

Soon, there will be a neighborhood

welcoming party, cocktails, words

without words.  Meanwhile, the thinker

will be wandering somewhere, a new

thought:  Now, where did I put that?

 

Away to the Other

 

You’ve got to know kung-fu, my childhood

tells me.  In case you need it.  One day,

you will need a grapple hook.  You will drive

like a king.

The adventure you find in adventure stories

will be your own.  Must rescue, must

stay cool and placid in the face of evil,

always have a quick answer.

Move away from the man-child to

the other, who used to sit at the kitchen

table and design a valor-filled dream.

 

Story Tree

 

It begins at the base, a series

of background questions.

Then the story is spread               out

Leaf to branch to leaf, a face

of a protagonist, a villain,

a few strange quotations.

One way, the story branches to

a satisfying locus of foliage.

The other way, the way is broken,

splintered, falls breathless to the ground.

 

JD DeHart

Halloween Haiku

jack–o-lantern’s light
plays tricks with the shadows
seems to be moving

Halloween full moon
werewolf at ringing doorbell
wants lots of candy

Halloween concert
undercover operation
hungry vampires

shape shifters have said
that on Halloween evening
they have the most fun

vampire smiling
tonight is Halloween night
lots will come to door

Halloween costume
he did not know what to wear
now a vampire

Denny E. Marshall 

Another Bad Halloween

Fred must explain Halloween to Opal

when he gets home from the poker game.

He just had another bad Halloween.

He thinks Opal doesn't know but Ethel 

from across the street called Opal 

and told her the neighbors all know.

Some even have it on their iPhones.

Granny from across the alley 

has it on hers and she can hardly 

use it to call her daughter.

Last year Opal told Fred don't drink 

Jack Daniels straight again.

It’s embarrassing, she says, to know. 

all the neighbors have video of Fred 

in his Trump wig and Hillary pantsuit 

going door-to-door on Halloween

wearing a sandwich-board that says

Vote For Fred Instead.

Donal Mahoney

About Dad

They’re in the kitchen,

drinking coffee, the kids,

in their fifties now, 

figuring out what to do 

about Dad who’s 

in the parlor listening,

counting all the marbles

they think he’s lost.

The six of them flew in 

to bury mother.

They won’t go back

until they figure out 

what to do about Dad.

At the funeral they saw

Father Kelly kiss Dad’s 

wedding ring, the one 

he’s worn for 60 years.

Father Kelly bowed 

over the wheelchair 

as if Dad were pope 

and told him he’d be over 

Tuesday night as usual 

for checkers and a beer.

Best two out of three

goes to heaven first.

Donal Mahoney

Dancing in the Candy Aisle at 6 a.m.

A boy, maybe 5, dancing 

in the candy aisle of a megastore

at 6 a.m., a month before Halloween

is overjoyed by the harvest 

on every shelf, his caramel skin 

aglow, his hair a perfect 'fro, 

his black t-shirt and black jeans 

the right outfit for his performance.

And although he has the moves 

he’s more a cub scout than 

another Michael Jackson.

He has the aisle to himself 

except for me and my cart

at one end and a clerk 

with a box at the other 

both of us stunned to see

a boy with no arms dancing 

in the candy aisle till mother 

comes and scoops him up, 

plops him in her empty cart. 

Both laugh and disappear.

Donal Mahoney

Lunch with a Good Ol’ Boy Cancelled

I should have said yes,

meet you anywhere you want

for lunch, even that greasy spoon

with the lousy chili and corn dogs.

Every five years or so we meet

to recall the bad old days

and you always tell me that’s the way 

they make chili and corn dogs 

at home in the hills of Arkansas

and I always ask about the stills

and you tell me no more stills

since the repeal of Prohibition.

They never saw a salad in that place

I’m certain, but who cares.

I should have said yes,

meet you anywhere you want.

I promise you I'll go there today

and order chili and a corn dog

once I get back from the cemetery.

Donal Mahoney

Apostrophe in Eternity

A coffin’s not so bad, the old monk told me,

the two of us standing there, a foot or two 

from the monk who had died the day before

and was lying now in a pine casket.

He was younger, only 83, the old monk said, 

and healthy, too, and yet he got there 

before I did, a lucky soul if you believe 

that life's an apostrophe in eternity 

standing in momentarily

for Who we’re all dying to meet.

If we didn’t believe that, the old monk said,

neither of us would have come here.

He was an engineer, like you, for years 

and I would have been a forest ranger, 

hard to believe two men like us would 

spend our lives praying for hours a day 

and making cheddar cheese in between. 

I’ll give you some to take home to the family.

The cheese is worth the trip, he laughed. 

We monks make the best of it

until the apostrophe disappears.

Donal Mahoney

Dolls

A fragment of one face, a bit of one

limb, a piece of one dress.  A sewing

machine going wildly.  A building up

of image.  What is it to become?

A camouflage figure that can tie

varieties of knots.  A corduroy jacket

and goatee, tattered copy of Nabokov

under one arm.  A simple T-shirt, hat

announcing a favorite team, and pair

of sneakers, caked with dirt.  

The sewing machine keeps ticking,

ticking, needle rising to give the fabric

an ornate and methodical wholeness

JD DeHart

Sailing

The slap of water is somewhere

to the right.  Somewhere, on the darkened

surface is a small vessel.  

It could be seen moments ago, but the moon

is obscured.  A bridge, in the distance,

rises and falls, as cars blink across like

eyelids.  The sound of tiny crabs clattering

against each other is somewhere below.

Inside the old structure, overlooking

the water, settlers and workers carved

words and ideas that no longer make sense.

Like two hundred years from now if someone

reads this poem, their then-language unlike

mine, trying to make sense of where the boat

may really be.

 

JD DeHart

 

Keep You Forever

This is shameful.  When I was little,

any visitor or guest became mine.  Didn't

matter if they were there to see me.

Or someone else.  I wanted to pull hair,

hold them down, make them watch my

silly movies I watched every day.  

Which is so different than who I am now,

creature who values the moment of silence,

keeps distance, does not invite,

is not comfortable with invitation, a being

somehow the reverse of that little kid

who wanted to keep an audience.

 

JD DeHart

 

Reconnect

The person I was wants

to meet the person I am.

We could sit down for coffee,

but I bet we would only stare

at each other.  With not much

to say.  

So I hate to do this, but I am

not returning the call, not showing

up, and my usual latte will get

cold unless my other decides

to drink it up.

Take Us Home

I've had one too many

before I know

and I feel my legs bending,

so take me home.

I've read one too many

words, and seen one

too many hero pulled

down by reality, so take

me home, quick

I've met one too many

people, seen one too many

hidden truth, and had one

too many bitter conversations,

so take me home, so soon.

Pop a Joint

I'm all bound up,

pressing against bone,

ready to pop

My affinities, my

contrary nature, should

be loosed

I was banished by

my own fascination,

and I have to confront

my own self,

So pop me loose

from my bones.

 

J. "Ash" Gamble