• In Memory of Philomene Long - HIllary Kaye
• The Decider - Pano Douvos
• The Final Phantasmagoria - Rebecca LaRue
• Up jumped the Devil - Rex Butters
• Victory - Douglas Eisenstark
• Got somethin' for you - Jim Smith
• Haiku - Hal Bogotch

In Memory of Philomene Long

By HIllary Kaye

holy mother
church of god
speaks through her
and the blood of christ
and the blood of children
speak through her
holy mother
church of ocean, sky and birds
speaks through her
speaks through her
and she having once taken the hand of christ
has now gone free
she asked and did receive the
blood of christ
and the knowing
and the blood of children
and the knowing
and the blood of vampires
sucking the earth dry with greed
these things she saw
these things she knew
and carried like the cross she wore around her neck
these things she sang about
in a voice that carried
in a fallen beautiful world


The Decider

By Pano Douvos

Creeping capitalism creeps
Picking up momentum tum
Everything Down the USA tubes
OK once OK, now ok not ok
Now it’s A o K...courtesy of the DOD
Department of Double-Talk Now in command
DOD mimics the “Decider”

Hidden Behind curtains of Deceit
There’s slippery talk of of surge; Photos censored
Of our men facing Destruction and Death
On the Hot IRAQI sands
All for the glory of our “Homeland”
Formerly the American Nation

The Department of Double-Talk prattles
Stops just short of Referring
To our {Nazi} Fatherland
Maybe we’ll get it on the news at 11
In an update by Der Fuhrer the “Decider”


The Final Phantasmagoria

By Rebecca LaRue

In the end
They will say that our last days
Were those fantastic flickering lights
But we will also remember-
the sickness of our breathe.
Where are the truly gallant men of modern society?
The last of whom will lean in
And sacrifice their claim to nothingness
By telling you…
“Lean in closer
Let me whisper to you a lesson~
Long forgot~ even by myself.”
“Listen~ young person
For I am elder and folly speaking regrets
That I might still have one last shot @ righteousness
I confess this to you.”
“It was not easy but when I was your age…
And I suppose now, still
In some compartment of my mind
For I feel I’ve long, gone, given away my heart.”
“Ah, but when I was young~
I was full of life, belief, honor and bravado.
The latter which became my demise~
I knew a few men~
Maybe no more than one could count on their hands…
a few who truly inspired me.
And no it wasn’t the moron
For his mastering of murder
Nor the outlaw
for his commitments to crime and rebellion.
But it WAS
The simple few over a sip of brew and wit
Who sat spilling their truths as salient as their own saliva.
Their little gems they left to be protected
In the ears of whom they whispered~
And of whom actually heard…
This my child they say is the last of the fantastic flickering lights!


Up jumped the Devil

breeze in/browse around
bookstore excursion
eye corner twinge alerts and freezes me
it’s him
I flash/past newspaper picture
his goofy gothic affectation
arch stagey noh-play extreme
eyebrows styled to middle point peak
comb-over black dye pixie bang
thick sideburns
only the reptillian empty eye intensity
seemed serious
the article described the former head
of psychological warfare in Viet Nam, now head
of a Satanic church faction, Presidio day care
children’s nightmares, confused accusations,
strange stories of candle lit blood sacrifice,
molestation and purple triangles, accurate
descriptions of his quarters, abruptly transferred,
he watches a missile silo in Arkansas, forgotten,
he seems wired, but shorting out
samples Black Magic and Satanist books
an awestruck devotee stammers praise
“I’ve been working on the crystal balls
I’ve made three
I can’t quite get them to work.”
his idol’s eyes glint
his smile looks clammy
“yes, yes, yes”
hiss rises
“I’ve been gone,” he says from far away
“you know, I was head of psychological warfare
in Viet Nam...”
“Wait’ll I tell my wife I ran into you,”
says the little man
“Happy Halloween,” the ex-officer sneers
his lips like stretched slugs
the little man rushes out to dry leaf sidewalk
a dead shade lady shaded
black hair in her face
hovers wordlessly
his familiar
I aisle squeeze by
“excuse me,” I say
“of course,” he hisses, immune to prosecution
looks beyond me/bends to search
out odd spells

– Rex Butters



softens the bitter

Chinese saying:
100 years, revenge, not too late.
French: a dish
Best served cold

Injuries are revenged, crimes avenged

the emotion of capitalism
She who laughs...

English saying:
Living well is the best revenge

–Douglas Eisenstark


Got somethin’ for you

By Jim Smith

Don’t turn the page
Take a look at these poems
I mean, really look at them!
We’re talking about life
and death
and maybe a little love and/or sex.
you say you’re married?
It don’t make no difference
in the land of poetry.

Poetry is what Venice is all about
It ain’t the only thing,
but it’s the fundamental thing.

Man, you’re missin’ out
if you don’t know a good poem.
This is what makes us human
this is what makes us sentient beings

A good poem can blow the top of your head
expand your consciousness

Want to know the meaning of life?
The secret of the universe?
It’s all right here, dude.
Don’t turn the page.



Inner flower folds
pearblossom Georgia tinted
nectar slakes my thirst.
–Hal Bogotch

Posted: Mon - October 1, 2007 at 07:58 PM