Friday, August 31, 2012

A Poem by Duane Locke


What if one took a trip to North Carolina to see
In the Smoky Mountains a tree.
What would this one see. A common sense slave mentality
Educated efficiently by our expensive education system
In buying and selling would see lumber. How many boards
For building a casino or a bank could be sawed from that large trunk.
Perhaps, the lumber could be used to build a house on a lot
Where cabbage palms, both those with fronds and the old
Without along with all forms of life were bulldozed away.
The wife, through education and media advertising had transformed herself
From a human being into a shopping machine would look
At the changing autumn colors of this Smoky Mountain tree
And see a design for new dresses that she would buy
And hang in the closet but never wear. The signifier “tree” has many

Duane Locke lives in Tampa, Florida near anhinga,
gallinules, raccoons, alligators, etc.
He has published 6,680 poems, includes 29 books of poems. His latest
book publication, April 2012,
This book is a republication
Of his first eleven books, contains 333 pages. Order from,
Or Amazon.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

A Poem by Sara Vinas

Shades of Summer

Sunlight slipped
Oak trees
Weaving beam and branch
To paint gray
Picnic table planks
With shadow leaves
While the breeze
Tickled my neck
Only I could hear

Sara Vinas is a worshiper of the sun, sea and serendipity.  She is also an artist and the inspirations for art in paint and pen come from her delight in nature, especially of the salt water variety.  Her poetry has been published in "Whimsy," "Errant Parent," "Brevity Poetry Review," and the anthology "Prompted."  Her art and poetry can be found at

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Three Poems by Anthony Ward

I love to take woodland walks
Amongst avenues of afternoons
When the virescent canopy
That was once a natural nave of trees
Lies asunder
A carpet of brisk leaves
Mulching cadaverous colours
All their the art drawn out
Their chromatic currency spent
Blanched the breeze
Rifling the sense
Leaving blankets of emotion
Both ensanguine and antique
When cool autumnal nights cause the
Tannin to turn leaves in assemblage to atrophy
And shadows gambol from elongated horizons
Within the glare of gardens
Ablaze with autumn berries
Beguiled of beauty
Blinding and blending
Connotations of combustible colour
Respiring ripe
And fruitful like the apples
Both succinct and succulent
Causing branches to droop
As we harvest thoughts
Thankful in our thinking.
When the year turns vintage
The atmosphere matures
The sun warm in the cool breeze
Swaying the bronzed chestnuts
Tanned after summer’s searing
Shedding their plumage
Leaves rustling along russet roads
Creating dusky umbered paths
Where tawny owls abide
Amongst cindered remnants
Upon grey cold pavements
Comforting melancholic embers
From caustic passions
Now past and inciting
From this season most inviting.
Snowdrops abundant
Around bare stumps
Drooping like icicles,
Thawing rivers of blossom
Flowing through forest floors
After the silence of night
Resounds with an exhalation
Of trees sighing with relief
After bearing their breath
Amidst the chthonian chill.
From the bludgeoning snow
Comes the burgeoning spring
Restoring life to what once lived,
The pipit having defied the cuckoo
Singing along with the skylark
To herald the new season.

The albumen nestling upon the yolk fleeced gorse
Gorging on verges of fields flocked with daffodils
Rising in verdurous clumps
Their perianth surrounding coronas
Like rays of sunlight rising from the hills
While pugnacious hares lay their eggs in meadows
And frogs spawn in the marsh.

While march meanders from the pewits pinch
Into the opening month
When the heavens shower the earth
Enticing the flourishing advance
Towards the assault of summer.
Anthony tends to fidget with his thoughts in the hope of laying them to rest. He has managed to lay them in a number of literary magazines including Enhance, Drunk Monkeys, Speech Therapy, Turbulence, Ginger Piglet, Torrid Literature Journal and The Rusty Nail, amongst others.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

A Poem by Catfish McDaris

Listening For The Finches
While walking the railroad tracks almost
smothered in wild orange sunflowers,
I found a gristly ear, I thought of van Gogh
I planted it among my lady’s asparagus,
blackberries, & red currants, waiting
all summer & autumn for something
to reach for the sky with magic
Nothing happened, I saw an ugly dog
digging around until a finch dive bombed it,
one evening as the sun whispered goodnight
I looked out & I saw Vincent dancing
A flock of golden finches floating around
his face, singing & nibbling grain from his
out stretched hands of genius.
Catfish McDaris has been active in the small press world for 20 years. After 3 years as G.I. Joe, he hopped freights & hitchhiked across the U.S. & Mexico. He built adobe houses, tamed wild horses, made cattle troughs, worked in a zinc smelter, & painted flag poles. He lived in a cave & wintered in a Chevy in Denver. He ended at the post office in Milwaukee, a catfish farm is next, He hopes.

Monday, August 27, 2012

A Poem by Diane Webster


The walking stick measures each step
down the sidewalk counting squares,
lines, cracks crickets wiggle
into as stick and man approach
head down contemplating the tally
or watching for cement buckle
ready to trip unseeing eyes
but not him, not his walking stick
radaring the path ahead
like a pre-blind man learning
the feel of a seeing-eye stick
perhaps with eyes closed
to facilitate experience
counting days
until the real thing hits
like a light switch off
before jumping into bed
having faith the bed still
rests in the same place last seen.

Diane Webster lives and works in Colorado where she enjoys drives in the mountains and looking for wildlife to photograph. Also she tries to remain open to poetry ideas in everyday life and wants to write about what she sees. Her work has appeared in "River Poets Journal," "Old Red Kimono," "The Rainbow Rose" and other literary magazines.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Three Poems by Dane Karnick

Land of Nod
Rosario strait
crumples my view
of quietude
anchored on
Orcas island
that has speckles
of granite and
brush strokes of fir
along its canvass
though negligible
to the business
of toes writing
zeros in waves
where the tide yields
to beach sand
with a curtsy
to the sun
granting lavender
for a kayaker
to paddle the rest
of water's lisp
and pull ashore
the close of day
while I wait
for Cygnus
the swan
to guide night
overhead as
color from sky
so inertia
can slip in bed
with everyone.
Vital Signs
A madrone leaf
in the shelter
of granite
is nursed
by a puddle
for the days left
behind the streak
of brown
existence from
as plant cells
their membrane
in a farewell
to alliance.
Out of Place
A beached fir
lays on its side
at one end
lost treasure
full of stones
that spill out
their wealth
of smoothness
gliding under
my fingers
in contact with
tabula rasa
as I skim
the ocean
of amnesia.
Dane Karnick grew up by the Colorado “Rockies” and lives in Seattle. His poetry has recently appeared in Subliminal Interiors, Orion headless, The Rainbow Rose and Montucky Review. Visit him at

Saturday, August 25, 2012

A Poem by J.J. Campbell

the first crack of thunder

the first drops of
rain since god
knows when

off in the distance
old wind chimes
try to make a

a few seconds
of utopia in the
middle of nowhere

the kittens run for
cover at the first
crack of thunder

i laugh

it's not often we
get to see innocence
out here anymore
J.J. Campbell lives and writes on a farm in Brookville, Ohio. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Camel Saloon, Carcinogenic Poetry, ART:Mag, ZYX and Zygote in My Coffee. His first full length collection of poetry is due out in 2012 from Interior Noise Press. You can find J.J. most days on his blog,

Friday, August 24, 2012

A Poem by Amit Parmessur

I Am Childish
There is a sky like an ocean in my mind. In
the mind of my mind I add clouds made
of scarlet roses to it. I call it Picassoing.
Somewhere, either in the clouds or the sea,
there is a mermaid. Imprisoned.
I use a moon to catch glimpses of her.
My feet marinating in Shaver Lake
I hear birds singing and release
the mermaid from my mind and we chat.
Weeds often billow when she smiles.
And flowers become green with jealousy.
Nature is Picasso too, you see!
I see a stony and mossy ship inside the lake.
Crewless. Clueless. I am unmanned.
Night falls, heavily.
The moon becomes a witch and flies away
with a broom. The weeds become scythes.
I am trapped in webs of filthy tarantulas.
The flowers fall from the imaginary sky
and schlap me, splashing fake blood
It all ends with a dry lake,
few beheaded lambs by my side and
two moons resembling delicious watermelons.
Amit Parmessur lives with his black cat and two cute dogs nowadays. Since 2010, his poems have appeared in around 120 literary magazines, like Ann Arbor Review, Salt, Hobo Camp Review and Red Fez. His book on blog Lord Shiva and other poems has also been published by The Camel Saloon. Born in 1983, he lives in Quatre-Bornes, Mauritius.

Thursday, August 23, 2012

A Poem by Yani Perez

                                                                  Drop II
                                                                  river’s ripples
                                                                  stole her silence
                                                                  a rock
                                                                  she throws
                                                                  a rock
                                                                  she holds
                                                                  if a raindrop falls a top a rock
                                                                  a hole it makes
                                                                  in hole
Yani Perez is an Ecuadorian born; Brooklyn raised writer. She is currently an English instructor at Kingsborough Community College and Long Island University. Her work can be found in Brooklyn Paramount, By the Overpass, and Having A Whiskey Coke With You

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

A Poem by Louis Marvin

There is a picture in our kitchen of a humpback whale in Maui,
but a whale is a mammal, for this bit though, we don't give a dammal
There is a whale in our kitchen,
        and my dad and I saw a mother and a calf in the waters of Oahu,
                  and my wife and I saw some on our honeymoon in Kauai
Even now next to that whale calendar picture, sits our Chinese fighting fish, who is the 4th member of our family
Yesterday our daughter called excitedly on the phone to proclaim that we had some new red and blue striped fish, and some new goldfish had joined our family
Memory of a little boy:
        we had as many as 5 fish tanks going at once in our house,
                  and I remember going from tank to tank,
                           tranquil as I peered into them
         I can never bypass the fish at the pet stores
We have snorkeled at Hanauma Bay, where my niece had to be rescued by her dad because her bag of food was bitten by a big fish and it spilled, and lots of big fish had a
free-for-all, which she was in the middle of
In the middle of fish, in the middle of the ocean, I am surrounded by fish memories and fish memories, a school of fish memories:
San Souci Beach and snorkeling,
                  my daughter snorkeling
                           and the familiar fish and reef
                                     And the big eel that slipped
                                              into the War Memorial crack
The fish we have seen along the beach next to the aquarium, eels and humuhumu (my daughter can say it) and puffers all at high and low tides
The hours spent at the aquarium, each time learning something new, that wonderful Waikiki Aquarium, worked by the University of Hawaii
My wife has said that she would eat fish every day, and although my consumption has gone way up, I'm not an everyday man, but a hell of a lot man though:
Todai-to die and go to fish heaven
Sushi at Genki, sashimi at Yanagi, and a real mix at Shirokiya
Hand rolls and a bowl of fish eggs, shark steak sandwiches and butterfish, butterfish, butterfish
Fish for breakfast plate Zippy's and the markets, markets, Ranch Market 99 and Chinatown's fresh fish
We see fish, we swim with fish, we read about fish, we feed our fish, we eat fish. Living here in the middle of the pacific, with two girls that love fish, surrounded by a fishing nation, with a history of fish, let me net it in one word:
louis marvin
on this pacific island with chinese girls
born burbank, lived phoenix, loe the island
teacher, coach, ex-soldier, writer/artist, tennis champion

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

A Poem by Neal Whitman

Frost at Midnight

the only sound
cracking boughs
tuning in
my old Crosley
country music
fades in and out
sta sta sta tic tic

Neal Whitman lives with his wife, Elaine, in Pacific Grove, California, and in nearby Carmel both are docents at Tor House built by poet Robinson Jeffers in 1919. He likes to recite poetry in public, combining his words with Elaine's Native American flute. Neal is the 2012 White Buffalo Native American Poet Laureate and winner of the 2011 California Honor Scroll Senior Poet.

Monday, August 20, 2012

A Poem by Erick Mertz

time lends its
to bare Hands,
none of the many
so crucial as
blind reach,
by touch
today’s Raspberries,
from those
ready tomorrow
Erick Mertz's poetry has been widely published. In recent months he has had works featured in The Haiku Journal, Edgepiece Literary Journal, Midwest Coast Review and most recently, The Rusty Nail. In 2004 he was awarded a Kay Snow award by the Willamette Writers for his poem,“Three Knots” which was featured in S/Words.

Sunday, August 19, 2012

A Poem by William Davies Jr.

My Fault
I mistook
A lightening bug
For a star,
Its twinkling
Light from afar,
How could
I know
It escaped
The jar?
The writer has been happily married for 38 years and lives in a valley of birdsong and wildflowers.
He has published in Jellyfish Whispers, The Cortland Review, The Wilderness House Review,
The Blue Lyra Review and others.
He eats PBJ sandwiches everyday for lunch!

Saturday, August 18, 2012

Three Poems by Nathan J.D.L. Rowark

Feathered and unfettered

Ducks that flow upon the stream and ducking often, fishing keen;
I find you give me peace of mind, for as a duck I could unwind.

I would swim and ponder life’s surrender, watch people bask in nature’s splendour,
As they would come with treats of many, and in return I need not give any.

Flapping baths that spray the crowd, preening beneath wing, guilty head bowed.
The duckling’s life is the one for me, and I would live it now harmoniously.

Sore the sky

In hopes of flight, view duckling’s sight.
Its peers above bear down their love,
And promise true that they will too,
Soar the sky as seen by eye.

Solar rebirth

Star child’s fingers that reach from outer space;
Bore from a vernal equinox, that Easters fans can trace.
Levies of a balanced act, the price, a winters chill;
To see it pass, for day and night to both enjoy their fill.

Solar god, a mighty form that’s part of Celtic ties;
Performing for the rabbit’s sight, a warming of the skies.
Sunrise is a prospect, that makes kingdom overjoyed;
The hibernating furies can now leave their winter void.

A pregnant Lady sits on lawn, surveying with her Lord,
Evolvement, taking place by rays, found glinting from his sword.
The eggs are painted pagan styles, to hatch a new design;
Imbued now, with a magic wish to see a summer’s sign.

Nathan J.D.L Rowark is 34 years old and lives within the ancient fort of London for his sins.
He enjoys the macabre and bizarre and hopes to become much more recognised in this field through poetry & short story writing.

Friday, August 17, 2012

A Poem by Ali Znaidi

A Bee Swarm without a Queen
The bee swarm was broken.
Empty of the queen.
Innocent queen was captivated.
I heard her captivity narrative
in the form of a heartbreaking buzz.
Rubbed between two merciless
Honey is dead.
The cupcake is bitter.
Ali Znaidi lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He graduated with a BA in Anglo-American Studies in 2002. He teaches English at Tunisian public secondary schools. He writes poetry and has an interest in literature, languages, and literary translations. His work has appeared in The Bamboo Forest, The Camel Saloon, phantom kangaroo, BoySlut,, Otoliths, Dead Snakes, Speech Therapy Poetry Zine, streetcake magazine, The Rusty Nail, Yes,Poetry, The South Townsville micro poetry journal, Shot Glass Journal, the fib review, Ink Sweat and Tears, and Mad Swirl, and is upcoming in other ezines. He also writes flash fiction for the Six Sentence Social Network—

Thursday, August 16, 2012

A Poem by Russell Streur


Dead rain
The fall of birds

Wasted Pollen's Vanga
Wasted Cyprus Dipper
Wasted Slender Moa
Wasted Magdalena
Wasted Lesser Rhea
Wasted Junin Grebe
Wasted Painted Vulture
Wasted Yemen Thrush
Wasted Zapata Rail
Wasted Gola Malimbe
Wasted Marbled Teal
Wasted Frigate of Ascension
Bird of Paradise
Bird of Providence


Golden Swallow

Wasted Purple Dollarbird
Wasted Red Kite
Wasted White Stork
Wasted Blue Dove
Wasted Black Petrel
Wasted Olive Ibis
Wasted Ivory Gull
Wasted Tailor
Wasted Stitch
Wasted Miner
Wasted Skimmer
Wasted Miller
Wasted Gleaner
Wasted Weaver


Wasted Crow
Wasted Jay
Wasted Lark
Wasted Tern
Wasted Quetzal
Wasted Francolin
Wasted Tachuri
Wasted Florican
Wasted Jacamer
Wasted Owl
Wasted Heron
Wasted Stork
Wasted Finch
Wasted Martin

Mountain Babbler


Russell Streur is a born again dissident residing in Johns Creek, Georgia. His poetry has been published in Europe, the United States and on certain islands. He is the the barkeep of The Camel Saloon and the author of The Muse of Many Names, The Table of Discontents, and The Petition to Free Zhu Yufu.