chaos is

 

chaos is currency in

these troubled times

 

chaos is two star-crossed

lovers mainlining the

future

 

chaos is a glass of something

strong after the first five didn't

work

 

chaos is the beautiful woman

that allows you to look but

never touch without the right

amount of cash

 

chaos is a system created to

enjoy the failure of others

 

chaos is convincing yourself

that jesus still loves you

 

chaos is a man with two left

feet deciding tonight is the

night the dance floor becomes

his stage

 

chaos is when the last woman

at the bar says no

 

chaos is a lonesome drive home

ignoring the flashing lights and

sirens off in the distance

 

chaos is waking up in a pile of

your own shit after a night of

white russians

 

chaos is the joy of wanting to

do it all again

-------------------------------------------------

under a thousand stars

 

i remember sitting

by the river one

night

 

smoking a cigarette

under a thousand

stars

 

laughing about the

woman that just left

me and the pile of

bills on the kitchen

table

 

the bottle of gin

was empty

 

time to see what

advice mr. daniels

has for me

 

i think i smoked a

pack of cigarettes

that night

 

i stopped cold turkey

about a week or two

later

 

with love out of the

picture i had to make

a decision

 

either the smokes or

the booze had to go

 

and honestly

 

i like clothes that

don't have to be

sprayed over and

over again

---------------------------------------------------

dysfunction gave way

 

the cold settles

in for the post

christmas blues

 

first time i can

remember there

being snow on

the ground on

this day for years

 

and amazingly

 

dysfunction gave

way this year to

friends and alcohol

and well behaved

children

 

as i was sitting

there listening

and drinking

 

i thought back to

the little shit i was

as a child

 

it's certainly easier

to understand why

i am hated and alone

 

it could always be

worse i suppose

 

i could have my

own children to

fuck up as well

 

so, i'm not as evil

as you think

-------------------------------------------------------

rice krispies in milk

 

i got up from my sister's

couch and both of my

knees popped

 

kind of like the sound

of rice krispies in milk

 

was that your knees

my sister asked

 

yeah, i achingly said

 

jesus, she said

 

don't worry, i replied

 

soon, i'll be nothing

but replaced parts

probably made by

small children in

china

 

she laughed

 

i went down the stairs

to go watch a basketball

game

 

think fondly of all those

years ago, when i could

actually run a court and

was in range as soon as

i walked in the gym

 

i caught a glimpse

of myself in a mirror

 

that was certainly

a few lifetimes ago

by now

------------------------------------------------------------------

three bad decisions away from a night in jail

 

the distant look

in the eyes of the

woman you love

 

she's no longer

there

 

you know it but

you're a stubborn

fucker often unwilling

to accept no for an

answer

 

but any attempt

to change her mind

will be futile at best

 

you're three bad

decisions away

from a night in

jail

 

watching taillights

fade into the horizon

might be the best

decision you have

ever made

 

there's a bar at the

end of the street

 

there's a glass of

something strong

with your name

on it

 

her legs will go

on for miles

---------------------------------------------------

some slow songs in the background

 

a sunday

morning

in the

sunshine

 

looking

through

the

coupons

in the

newspaper

 

a cup of

coffee and

some slow

songs in the

background

 

i look

around

this empty

room and

wonder if

death will

be more

lively

 

the

mundane

never

fucking

agreed

with me

---------------------------------------------------------

J.J. Campbell

While We Sat

the rest of the universe
spun listlessly.
All the animals in the world
slept.
We listened to delicate
classical music.
Drank chamomile tea.  Why
not?
Why anything else?


Composer

He who in front
of a crowd can woo
with baton.
I cannot woo.  It’s
beyond my reason
and vocabulary.

He who can stand
stark, speaking with
canyon image created
by words, a simple
story.

That’s art, really.
A commodity.


A Short Break

Roscoe took a short
break from the rest of his
life Friday morning.  It was
what locals call butt cold.

There he was, filling his
cabin with cigar fumes, puffing
heat into himself,
listening to the same lyric over
and over.

Truth is, I don’t know his story,
don’t know his name.  Roscoe
is just one I gave him.

But taking a break from
solid grey cold, whether figurative,
literal, or both is fine
in my book.

JD DeHart

---

Now I Accuse A short story collection by Gary Beck For Immediate Release   Diving deep into love, enmity, compassion, and regret, acclaimed poet Gary Beck brings us through the complexities of life with his brilliant collection of short stories, Now I Accuse. As hope-filled dreams collide with cruel reality, some will rise above adversity, some will give under its weight, but most will find a place in between where they can more comfortably discover where they belong in this turbid world.   A crisp, clean slice of the human condition – The Blotter Magazine Great. We love it – Fabula Argentea I didn’t want it to end – Clever Magazine

Now I Accuse is a 150 page short story collection. Available in paperback with a retail price of $11.99.. ISBN 941058752, and a Kindle edition for  $4.99. Published Through Winter Goose Publishing. Available now through all major retailers. For information or to request a review copy, contact: jessica@wintergoosepublishing.com

https://www.amazon.com/Now-I-Accuse-Gary-Beck/dp/1941058752/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1516060775&sr=8-1&keywords=gary+beck+now+i+accuse Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director, and as an art dealer when he couldn’t make a living in theater. He has 12 published chapbooks and 1 accepted for publication. His poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press). Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines, Tremors and Perturbations (Winter Goose Publishing) Rude Awakenings and The Remission of Order will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. Conditioned Response (Nazar Look). Resonance (Dreaming Big Publications). Virtual Living (Thurston Howl Publications). Blossoms of Decay (Wordcatcher Publishing). Blunt Force and Expectations will be published by Wordcatcher Publishing. His novels include: Extreme Change (Cogwheel Press), Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing), Call to Valor (Gnome on Pigs Productions) and Sudden Conflicts (Lillicat Publishers). State of Rage will be published by Rainy Day Reads Publishing, Crumbling Ramparts by Gnome on Pigs Productions. His short story collections include, A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications) and Now I Accuse and other stories (Winter Goose Publishing). His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.   Winter Goose Publishing is an independent publisher founded in 2011. We are a royalty-paying publisher dedicated to putting out the best literature in prose, poetry and art; covering a variety of genres. For more information go to: www.wintergoosepublishing.com

Blossoms of Decay A poetry collection by Gary Beck For Immediate Release   Direct, cutting, and visceral. Gary Beck takes no prisoneers and writes in an uncompromising style. His subjects include politics, the state of America, and teenage bullying. Love or hate his views, you will certainly know where you stand. His style makes comulsive reading and you will move from poem to poem as if in a tunnel pursued by a runaway train. Be sure to jump clear so you can return to enjoy his writing more deeply. An established and prolific author, Gary has many more titles to come with Wordcatcher Publishing. Beck writes passionately about his subject matter. He brings poverty, wealth and class center stage. We are presented with inequities rooted in divisions of class. There is no hiding place, nor mixing of words nor compromise. -  Poets Network and Exchange Magazine

Blossoms of Decay is a 136 page poetry book available in paperback with a retail price of $9.99. ISBN 191126561X and also in a Kindle version for $4.99. Published through Wordcatcher Publishing. Available now through all major retailers. For  information or to request a review copy, contact: david@wordcatcher.com

https://www.amazon.com/Blossoms-Decay-collection-poetry-Wordcatcher/dp/191126561X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1515601067&sr=8-1 Gary Beck has spent most of his adult life as a theater director, and as an art dealer when he couldn’t make a living in theater. He has 12 published chapbooks and 1 accepted for publication. His poetry collections include: Days of Destruction (Skive Press), Expectations (Rogue Scholars Press). Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, Fault Lines, Tremors and Perturbations (Winter Goose Publishing) Rude Awakenings and The Remission of Order will be published by Winter Goose Publishing. Conditioned Response (Nazar Look). Resonance (Dreaming Big Publications). Virtual Living (Thurston Howl Publications). Blossoms of Decay (Wordcatcher Publishing). Blunt Force and Expectations will be published by Wordcatcher Publishing. His novels include: Extreme Change (Cogwheel Press), Flawed Connections (Black Rose Writing), Call to Valor (Gnome on Pigs Productions) and Sudden Conflicts (Lillicat Publishers). State of Rage will be published by Rainy Day Reads Publishing, Crumbling Ramparts by Gnome on Pigs Productions. His short story collections include, A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications) and. Now I Accuse and other stories (Winter Goose Publishing). His original plays and translations of Moliere, Aristophanes and Sophocles have been produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have appeared in hundreds of literary magazines. He currently lives in New York City.   Wordcatcher Publications. Indie publisher - born in Wales, serving the world. Authors are at the heart of everything - without their words we'd have nothing to publish. https://wordcatcher.com

He was a King, Though!

He was the king who reigned for years,

so phenomenal a grandeur

The archetype of sovereignty

He steered thousands of gallant warriors

and stood stunning like a golden swan 

So he held the opulent crown

with the twinkling turquoise in its crest

Time passed by, and the king grew old

It was then the old age frailties

He was confined to the bed,

and was like a rumpled brownish rag

The once tight muscles, 

now shrunk into hanging wrinkles

His lips were just quivering

with words struggling to come out

All day long, he was immersed in a trance

waiting for the eternal silence

And, at last, he was buried beneath the soil

Yes, it was common for every man

He was a king, though!      

Blissful Vesak

The flowers are all in a magnificent bloom

The full moon glistens like a golden plate

The flowery canopy over the foliage

looks like a shimmering bridal sari

The tiny birdies crisscrossing the air

like twinkling sabres

The silvery lined butterflies

embracing the flowers

The shallow streams

flowing melodiously

with the bluish waters

The breeze blows, so soothing

The whole world glows

with the dawn of happiness

The most sacred season of the year

The day when the truth

was revealed to the world

The greatest gift of the pristine Dhamma

leading to the eternal emancipation,

The highest virtue of Nirvana!

Glossary

Vesak – A highly important Buddhist festival which celebrates the three main events namely the birth, enlightenment and death in the life of the Gautama Buddha

Dhamma – The teachings of the Gautama Buddha, Buddhist teachings

 

To a Street Girl I Saw

 Your permed hair

 and gaped mouth

 still do I remember

 Between your dried lips.

 there were the brownish stained teeth

 that never gleamed.

 You had made your home in a grey corner

 of the scruffy pavement

 and a companion in a skeletal puppy.

 The torn out frock with its receding thread

 attached to the thin figure of sickly constitution.

 The sputter of a coin or two

 in your stained, discarded sardine tin

 was your sole communication.

 Goggle eyes fixed upon you

 and pupils in them dashing up and down

 While the night gorilla hurrying

 amidst the street buildings 

 your soft whimper heard by nobody.

 At times you were beside a public dustbin

 scavenging leftovers amidst a heap of cellophane.

 Your still eyes, I know, bore an expression

 and they revealed everything.

     

A Portent Warns a Soldier's Wife               

 The gutter of the wrenching lamp flame

 twisting itself wildly

 made a warning

 It jumped, skipped, pulled

 and spun round and round

 And was,

 in the end,

 dragged away by the roar of a brisk wind

 Her pulsation was hit for a moment…

 Throughout that night,

 she was armed against her heart

 The next day,

 it was late in the morning

 as she learnt he was gone,
 Gone with that very flame of her lamp. 

               

An Anthem for a Warlord  

Sought refuge in underground bunkers

Nor did you see the sunlight

while groping in the gloom of the underworld

At the fall of sky hugging mansions, 

you shrank into earth drilling luxurious bunkers

and fortified them with many a snare 

Isn't it due to your fear,

the repulsive fear of the death?

 Clad in armoured suits,

 what was your expectation?

Above all it was the fear

that quivered throughout your body

Despite your exorbitant wealth and excessive power

the fear burned your heart

almost like a rolling fire ball

You draped a chain attached to a capsule of Cyanide

around your Tigers' neck, 

just like a noose

to hasten their journey to the

penultimate destination

Yet, never did you wear one

The truth surfaces,

you were afraid of death

that you have bestowed on thousands

without the least sense

 Thirsty, you must be,

restlessly running after a mirage in the desert

The fear followed you like a shadow

Perhaps you wished mental relief,

relief from fear,

that you lacked in abundance

Yet, you are late,

too late,

 The dead may already be holing your heart!

Indunil Madhusankha