Michele McDannold
Author's posts
Aug 15
Becoming gods by Jonathan S Baker
Becoming gods “Dear me, I think I’m becoming a god.” Emperor Vespasian just before shitting himself to death In Pompeii, you can see how the people became gods, empty spaces where life once was, near perfect molds of the imperfect. Last moments cast in ash, men and women scrambling for safety horrified at the idea …
Aug 14
i am a sucker for you babe by Bree
i am a sucker for you babe So you are not against us you just want us to face the odds when we go septic then sing the body electric so theres great acoustics when you say you are not racist you say if they did it the right way it would be OK with …
Aug 13
I Would Sit With My Sister by Lois Perch Villemaire
I Would Sit With My Sister in a sterile room as nurses mixed her chemo cocktail. Treatment had assaulted her with side effects. Silently, I would pray—please. Oh how we talked our way through those hours while dreaming this magical potion would prevail, my eyes fixed on the silvery drip, drip, drip— hypnotized by the …
Aug 12
THE POLISH HAMMER POETRY CORNER: Liquor by Karl Koweski
Liquor We were four hours into the graveyard shift, chroming lengths of polished cylindrical steel which would eventually be assembled into hydraulics for garbage trucks. It was important work to somebody, since the company was willing to pay us double our normal rates to work sixteen hours from Saturday night well into Sunday. It was …
Aug 11
Domestic Lure by Tim Murray
Tim Murray (b. 1977) was conceived, born, raised, and resides in NWI.
Aug 10
I sure showed them by Daniel W. Wright
I sure showed them When my card came up declined at a cookie place near my apartment I should have shrugged it off as not having enough money after taking care of the basic responsibilities of adult life Rent, bills, and groceries had all been paid so there wasn’t enough for fresh, overpriced cookies But …
Aug 09
The First Week at the Funeral Home by Cat Dixon
The First Week at the Funeral Home I offer to carry her husband to the car. She accepts—the gray urn is heavier than anticipated. The weight of it reminds me of my son when he was latched to my hip. She asks if the urn will tip, and I reassure her that the top’s sealed, …
Aug 08
When They Finally Come for You by William Taylor Jr.
When They Finally Come for You Darling please stay alive for a little while more if only because I’m asking nice your feral madness a wildfire in the void you shame the silence with the music of your body the bridges you dream of throwing yourself from will still be burning on the morrow stay …
Aug 07
A.S. Coomer reviews FATHERLESS CHILDREN by Michael D. Grover
Michael D. Grover’s Fatherless Children is an outcast’s plaintive wail to a lost father and a generation of lost kids. This long elegy comprised of bite-sized diary-like entries is an impassioned plea for love and understanding in a fatherless american hellscape where even Poets claw up each-other’s spines to be seen & lionized, to bask …
Aug 06
2 poems by James Babbs
Now the Darkness now the darkness falling again pulling the light from the sky and I reach for the bottle on the table in front of me and it makes me think of the dumb joke about a frontal lobotomy and I laugh in spite of myself taking a long drink before putting the bottle …
