3 Poems by Howie Good

The Indian’s Lament

Rather than genuine hope,
we’re given pills to dull us.

Not much here can be regarded
as natural. Fifteen billion trees

a year are sacrificed to make
toilet paper. The Wampanoag,

the tribe that saved the Pilgrims
their first winter, still regret it.

Ars Poetica

Despite what they say,
being unhappy isn’t
a requirement for being a poet.

Geese flying overhead
sound like a wet fart.

The Cowboy’s Lament

In the end, all that remained
was a coin-operated horse
forever frozen in mid-gallop.


by Paulette Hampton

does it desperate you
like it does me
right in the middle of the heart
slowing its beating to a bloody ache
I thought so
then I didn’t
then I rethought again
and the pain was still there

Saran Wrap kid

by Evan H. Brisson

while you slept
the killer was afoot.

the radio said
he was always
the people he loved
to duels
in the name of love

though fond of
errant acts of cruelty,
to be sure

(for god’s
sake, he
called himself
Saran Wrap

Rampant Costumery

by Steve Armstrong

The might tends to meet the loss
Of what they are frying. It throws
Analysis into the core, and out
Comes the horse slip before you.
To receive the fame of friends, you

Make that much sense continue
And lay out what other way could
There be with a witness, you can
Get me one with a sure shot. I want
A hose mid-mountain with popular

Respect right in your band stead.
Get up the point and save the
Public herds who would chair the
Legs, tip the table outside with the
Curtains, so they don’t jostle one.

From My Window

by Leigh Doughty

from my window
I watch
three sparrows
on a telephone
one flutters
the second one
only one remains,
moments pass,
it too has
from my window.
I watch,
no wings
to rise,
there’s beauty
nowhere to go

The Law

by Tim Frank

Dragging knuckles on a busy high street, there is a law—a set of didactic rules that rip through the layers of diminished shores. If you could only see your face after the mirror cracked in your bloody hand. It’s a shocker wandering through your broken shell. Together.

I Die on My Eightieth Birthday and Wake Up on My Twenty-Third

by Caleb Edmondson

You forgot how good
sunburnt ass cheeks feel.
Swim in every river you pass.
Swim naked.
Why’d you trash our liver?
There’s time to do everything
for the second time again.
I can’t explain how the world ends,
but three times we get close.
Cry when it hurts.
Cry often.

Doomed from my First Breath

by Samantha DelValle

how many “me’s” have i been? (i wasn’t counting). ‘you must learn from the mistakes, child. disregard what you perceive has been done to you.’ ok, but no one told me not to accidentally ruin my life in the process. why can’t i let go? i’ll never know just how you people let go…

engine room spares baggy squirrel stock

by Joshua Martin

pelvis crucifixion herring guest
lacerations protect blazing corkscrew

suicide of the cordless drill made the eunuch bark
at least a gentrified carob could entice a wooly vice

mission vector sold a hook
sunday nipple mistook a wimple
vaulted artist of the wince school

Postulate & Corollary

by Paul C Smith

There’s no such thing as too much
stool softener

Every so often however, there can be
too much stool softener


by Ruth E. Thomas

My father was a liar. He told me everything would be okay.


by Aaron Roman

Deer explode under nucleic lights
and bile and chiton congeal beneath sewers.

I’m cooking with battery acid
and smoking homemade bullets.

Mom is yelling at me
and I think I’m going to die late.


by M.P. Powers

Happiness is the big stuffed animal
the ring toss game
refuses to bear.


by M.P. Powers

I think of you as I do
a bouquet of red balloons
floating over some long-forgotten
poet’s crumbling and moss-caked

Welcome Back, I guess

by Joana Figueiredo

In a room without sentiment, your mouth presses against my ear. Surrounding us is only stillness and the stale scent of frigid bodies.
“How good it is to be home again…”


by Ennis Bashe

eyes like yours- so blue so beguiling-
have a drowned woman in them
reaching towards the lake’s surface.
You cry so often. She needs to stay dead.

Giant Insomniac Eye

by Martin Rayburn

A giant insomniac eye
floated in the sky

Blinking rapidly after a birthday balloon got stuck in its lid,
the eye wanted to go to sleep on the cool side of the moon

The military blew it up
with a heatseeking missile

After the Poet’s Feeding Tube

by Ennis Bashe

Starving, he ate sentences, reading the way healthier people scarfed potato chips or savored caviar on silver spoons. He’d roll phrases around in his mouth, tongue finding how words fit.

He missed fresh bread most. Not even anthologies could match how crust broke.

blog: haikuku

New form of haiku, which I’m calling haikuku. Formula:

  • start with a well known haiku
  • type it in a language translation app
  • have it translated into a random language
  • copy the new haiku
  • translate it again into a different random language
  • repeat a minimum of 5 times
  • then a final translation back into the original language

Example, using what may be the most famous haiku of all time, written by Basho:

Old pond…
a frog jumps in
water’s sound

English > Maori > Urdu > Coriscan > Haitian Creole > Esperanto > Japanese > English

Final version:

old pond…
the frog jumped out
crying tears

Of course, this can be done with any kind of writing. Poetry or prose. Short or long (but not so long that readers might lose interest). Works best for widely known words.

taking the deficit

by Anthony David Vernon

I live a life where I seek shade in sunshine, run from rain, scoff at snow
While you whirl in the wind, waves, and wildfires
Of beaten souls

Trust Fall

by Rosalie Hendon

My friend’s firstborn came out redheaded,
named for something golden
When she was little, she would
throw herself off her parents’ bed
Laughing uproariously

She never felt the pain of gravity,
empty air and hard floor
Someone was always there to catch her

Because there isn’t any difference between ghosts and unwanted men

by Joana Figueiredo

I let you come visit, the same way I let him watch me sleep. He stands quietly by the frame of my door, gazing, stripping me naked with his curiosity. The same way I let him do everything else he does, powerless against it, I am whispering to you, please go away.

The chickens freeze in mid peck and Jeff screams, Jesus is coming

by Karen Walker

Until this, the Second Coming on the 2nd Concession, he drugged and drank, swore horribly and preached, Religion is the opium of the people. Now he’s putting -th on everything. Arrangeth the hens into a cross! Nah. There’s a big hawk in the tree and, besides, my name is Mary.


by Paul Hostovsky

There used to be
a live chicken in this poem.

There was a mountain
and a sailboat.
The Pacific Ocean

sloshing between stanzas.
And me like Adam
saying ‘Here am I’

to God who was also


by Howie Good

The Grand Canal from Panama to France was open again. Beware the pickpockets of Lisbon! “Spell that,” the man on the phone said. My head bobbed about like a balloon on a string. “E,” I started, “as in exoskeleton” when I suddenly felt weirdly detached. The night rolled in. I was breathing like I had scarred lungs. Does good equal saintly? I asked myself. There was once a painter who loved paint so much that he drank a jar of it. It’s called the “path of totality” despite the treachery of words. One drew a knife and shot him.

Chromosome Damage

by Salvatore Difalco

Egad he looks me
up and down and
sideways egad.

The eyes disturb
egad and who is
mother of them?

Mother mother ma
ma mum mummy
mamma mammy.

I do not know why
I feel the way I do
um—check that.

Egad he reaches
his hand my god
his hand egad.


by Mags Brown

She fell in the mill ramona flours
She tends to her hygiene ramona showers
She ate a lemon ramona sours
Ramona devours
She’s out of this world she’s a ramona encounter
She’s six foot two ramona towers
She’s going real fast ramonas per hour
She’s a communist- ramona’s ours
Wait wrong movie
Ramona powers

The Cat

by Johanna Haas

The cat climbed
the basement stairs
with a blue tail hanging
from his mouth.


by Mona Mehas

Take the word, progress
Pro is a prefix
The opposite of pro is con
So, the opposite of progress is Congress


by Mona Mehas

A fountain by any other name
is Marcel’s urinal
Duchamp’s latrine
baby boy’s potty
old man’s throne
drunkard’s pisser
European’s loo
every man’s can.
Begs the question, what is art?


by Charles J. March III

“San Onofre”

He made hookers steal snooker tables, and his whole body had a toothache.

“Original Nothing”

Always on to something.

“Not Lost on Me”

She drank Baja blasts with Bradley Hexagon and the electric god humanoid design.


A couples retreat in Mexico comprised of a Nazi, a Jewish man, and two Hispanic women on either side of the social spectrum, conducted by a Harvard grad, Protestant, Trump supporting immigration reformer.

“COM 101”

How to respond when fuckbois say “Bet.”

“Nursing Homes”

Continental army of incontinence, which we depend on for freedom.

who’s the mutt now?

“For more than a century, the art world has celebrated Marcel Duchamp’s Fountain. His work, simply a urinal signed and dated “R Mutt 1917”, is widely regarded as a pinnacle of 20th-century art, with a replica on display in Tate Modern, London. For some, Duchamp is the father of conceptualism, the so-called art of ideas. For others, he is a charlatan responsible for the demise of traditional artistry…”

is Marcel Duchamp’s greatest work a fake?

gristl’d gr’ease

by Saint Peter

don’t ’bout your wings
or fancy flight
kn’own are your teeth
tear’n unto meat
gristl’d gr’ease
sour slime
white sinew

don’t ‘ppoint woo
woo wan’t bite
wan’ step shit
of brok’d dreams
ooz’ed hay
fleck’n grief
b’tween toes

Before Dawn

by Mona Mehas

Lend me your rattle!
While philosophers harvest addiction
we foster the day,
and work the fieldstones.
An American night boat passes
in the blue hour.

Pegasus/Centaur Confusion

by Mona Mehas

You rush in, rescue mode
white horse, prancing
hooves in the air
ready to go
white angel astride
blue blood visible
in shared veins
wings outstretched
facing backward.

Why such a hurry to meet the future
with the present unresolved?

untitled (elfin thyme)

by Erwin Dink

entropy engine
rich people in a paper mache sub
elfin thyme

i don’t want to hear it

by a frightened boy

i can’t hear you because
i have a bag over my head
a bag made of dried leaves
and mud
and the spittle
from a frightened boy’s chin


by Mona Mehas


word-searched my way through
lines around my eyes, proof
humbled by enormity

individual existence

tasteful words

by Ash K. Gray

And so I dipped my pen in sauce
and wrote some food for thought.
Whatever I laid down, man,
they (?
— — — ?) went ahead and bought.

Little did they ( same they?
— — — — — — — — — — ? ) know that all I did
was dip my pen in fucking sauce and close the lid.

untitled cinquain

by Mona Mehas

Learn meaning, hope
from message, lust assured
Eclipse our passions, love’s dispute

untitled (screwnail)

by Eric Jennings

poem found folded in a nail pickle jar screwed to the ceiling of the garage like a fortune cookie


by Ann and Kirby Kenny

Cold debris,
Confectioners’ sugar,
You are dusted white
As a swarm of
Albino bugs.

Traveling soul,
You move through the body
As a feeling,
And in your cabin,
Woe remains.

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