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SOMETIMES I WISH I WAS STILL ON THE GLIDER ON THE SCREENED PORCH by Lyn Lifshin

before traffic was no
more than a soft lull
beyond the elm trees,
ice clinking in frosty
glasses, my mother
still in 4 inch heels.

1 out of 6 by by Rob Plath

bukowski said
he punched out
one great poem in
every six

those are pretty
good odds

that means you gotta
keep banging them out
shitty or not to
get to that 1 in the 6

suffering and its proximity by David Mclean

they write that our awareness of the suffering
of others is deadened by distances
and i agree, you really have to see it
for it to be funny, that's why we have
TV

The Recipe by Emme Hor

1. keep on my knees
2. look him in the eye
3. rub his ego all night
4. cook up his soul

Sometimes Suicidal by Aimee DeLong

SPIDER BITES

I am Spider.
In 1960 I learned
to crawl.
In 1940 I woke up
with spider bites.

Last Night at Southport by Justin Hyde

tell her i'm a butterfly
with sixteen wings
beating in
succinct
anarchy.

microwave popcorn haiku by Pete Lee

pop. pop. pop, pop, pop,
poppoppoppoppoppoppop
pop, pop, pop. pop. pop.

 

charlie parker’s garden

poems grow in charlie parker's garden
bebop words trumpet sounds bloom
poets swing beneath high trees
sing songs of charlie parker charlie parker
charlie parker, dizzy called you, he called you
the second half of his heartbeat, charlie parker
symphony sid brought you home, charlie parker
i was 12, we hid under the bed covers
you and me and sid and dizzy and miles
billie sang the first lullabies i ever heard
the air danced in circles with secrets
we watched subways creep by my window
mystery profiles lean on midnight doors
sleep in wicker seats, faces glow at dawn
were they looking for you charlie parker
charlie parker, the second half of dizzy's heartbeat*

*dizzy gillespie was quoted as saying that charlie parker was the second half of his heartbeat

once a wild child

a wild-haired child
chases the air
to her, dust is gold
pens are people
sticks are alive
her mother says no
dust is dirty
pens are for writing
throw the stick away
I loved that stick
cries the wild haired child
watching it die
in a two lane street

the child has a tiny bald spot
on the top of her head
she can’t breathe sometimes
she rides in ambulances
the kids laugh at her wild hair
she pulls at it
it won’t stay still
there is no gold in the air
sticks lay in the gutter
pens are for writing
the only truth told her
she picks up a pen
she begins to write

dig deeper

someone wrote that to me
“i’d like to see you dig deeper”
what will I find – sand
rocks, mud, blood, sweat
meanwhile
Chinese men in shirt sleeves
smoke cigarettes
scream into cell phones/
pregnant girls wear belly shirts
funky glasses and braces/
a Jamaican man
unloads trucks
“mama you’re fine
take me with you please”
he calls/ but mama
comes out sounding
Like a baby doll
ma ma ma ma
take me home pleaaaaase
there ‘s no time to dig
i know what i’d find
a heart fill of holes
stuffed with sounds
like newspapers
in broken down shoes

---

 

Biography

Puma Perl is a poet and fiction writer who believes strongly in the transformative power of the creative arts. Her work has been published in cause & effect, Instant Pussy, The Mom Egg, Brain Box, and other print and on-line publications. She has been a featured reader in various New York City venues. She is currently at work on her first book, which will be a series of linked poems based on lower east side life in the 1970’s and 80’s.

 

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