Haight n Ashbury by Joanne Olivieri

I wanna be a hippie
wearin’ flowers in my hair
all over my body
Smokin’ joints
all afternoon
sittin’ on a stoop
Playin’ the dead
rockin’ n rollin’
all mornin’
Makin’ love all night
to “Piece Of My Heart”
Janis, you ROCK!
But, I was born too late.

Joanne has been writing for 50 years. She is a published poet and photographer. Her works have appeared in numerous in print and online publications such as The Parnassus Literary Journal, Westward

Quarterly, Cajun Mutt Press, The San Diego Arts and Poets Magazine, Nomads Choir, SP

Quill, just to name a few. She was awarded a round-trip ticket to Hong Kong in 2007 by Cathay Pacific Airways for her winning entry in their poetry contest. Joanne is the founder and editor of Stanzaic Stylings

Literary Ezine.

Joanne enjoys reading, writing, collecting old poetry books, live music concerts, roaming art galleries and museums, leisurely lunches with

friends in diners, getting out in nature with her camera and making toys for and playing with her feathered companion, Sammers  You can learn all there is to know about her by visiting her website/blog

http://poeticshutterbug.blogspot.com

All My Clocks. by Doc Sigerson

All my clocks crouch 

poised in disagreement,

no two sharing the same face.

Threading disparate points,

as if dodging traffic cones, 

I navigate my day.

But ach! Predatory clocks, 

preparing to pounce, 

like cats upon prey.

There ought to be a law.

Doc Sigerson lives in the Seattle area. He is a military veteran, works in retail, and leads a sedate life. He has had the wonderful fortune of having his published work disappear when online sites lose their domain rights and the terrific good luck to have his printed work fade to obscurity when those publishers would rather buy cannabis than cough up contributor copies.

The Early Hours by John D Robinson

I was lying , drunk and stoned
on the lounge floor of a friend’s
apartment: I could hear moans and
whimpers and groans of sex
coming from the bedroom:
I was suddenly seized by these
deep, vicious, loud bastard
hiccups that echoed throughout
the building: I held my breath
but this only seemed to antagonise
the situation and the hiccups
grew more aggressive, frequent
and louder:
the noises in the bedroom began
to quieten down and then without
warning, gas surged through my
being and released itself in a
ferocious and thundering fart,
nearly lifting me off the god-dam
floor, scaring the hell out of
me and ridding me of the
hiccups:
‘I can’t stay here with the
fucking noises that creep’s
making next door!’
I heard a woman’s voice cry,
a couple of minutes later I
heard the clacking of shoes,
the front door open and slam
closed:
I heard laughter and the
light was switched on:
‘Fuck man, that was a fucking
noisy performance  you
gave’ he said looking
bemused and grinning and
holding a couple of chilled
bottles of beer:
‘I’m sorry’ I offered, taking
a beer, ‘I hope I didn’t
interfere with your
performance’ I said grinning:
he started laughing, sat down
beside me and embraced me
as his fucked- up friend:

John D Robinson is a UK poet: hundreds of his poems have appeared in small press zines and online literary journals His published solo chapbooks are

‘Cowboy Hats & Railways’ (Scars Press 2016)   scars.tv/

‘When You Hear The Bell, There’s Nowhere To Hide’ (Holy&intoxicated Publications 2016   sold out)

‘An Outlaw In The Making’  (Scars Publications 2017)

‘Hitting Home’  (Iron Lung Press 2018  2nd edition)   ironlungpress.bigcartel.com/about-iron–lung–press

‘In Pursuit Of  Shadows’  (Analog Submission Press 2018  sold out)  www.analogsubmission.com

‘Echoes Of Diablo’  (Concrete Meat Press 2018)  adrianmanning.wixsite.com/concretemeatpress

Too Many Drinks Ago’  (Paper & Ink Zine Publications) http://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/PaperAndInkZine

Pushing Away The Hours    2018   www.lulu.com/.../john-d-robinson/pushing-away-the-hours/.../product-23872337.html 

‎ ‘Hang In There’      (Uncollected Press  2019    USA)  therawartreview.com

Proto U.T.B. by Todd Bagger

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To Oblivion. by Ethan Goffman

North is the opposite of south 

yet also the same

if you go far enough 

you get where you came. 

We arrive at winter every year 

the primeval frost

the frozen soul within us 

and without.

Without us the planet still revolves 

around itself 

an infinite journey to oblivion.

Our own journey is much shorter.

Whether we face 

nuclear winter 

or climate change summer

how capable we humans are at finding 

ways to destroy ourselves. 

Fire and ice.

Summer and winter

swallowing each other. 

Yin is yang is yang is yin.

Ping is pong is kong is king.

There are no opposites 

Just a continuous line

North 

to a blurring white 

a frigid nothingness.

Ethan Goffman accidentally became a poet by tagging along with his wife, the far more talented, harder working, and prettier Marianne Szlyk, to poetry workshops.  He is still not sure how, but somehow his poems have appeared in BlazeVox, Mad Swirl, Madness Muse, Ramingo’s Porch, and Setu.

Pissing. by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

a

hot

yellow

happy

face

into

the

snow

bank

outside

after

midnight

you

must

know

that

the

circle

part

is

the

hardest

and

there

is

always

a

little

spillage

and

that

there

are

no

Rembrandts

at

twenty

below

plus

wind

chill.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a male gigolo for hire.  Presently residing along the sunny shores of Guantanamo Bay, Cuba where he spends his days drinking discount Tequila and accusing chemtrails of being "sky farts."  His work can be found both in print and online in such joints as: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, and Under The Bleachers.

Pills and Piss Stains By Scott Simmons

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