Michael Grover

White Pride

“White Pride” by David J. Thompson

The Muse Is Automatic

I have learned to live with Poetry
To dedicate my life to something
I have learned to be poor
Me & my books
Papers, pens, printed Poems everywhere
A painting by Jack Micheline on the wall
Because it makes me happy
It’s just a mess
A living breathing temple to Poetry
Now they tell me I can’t do this
Well they’d just like me to do it somewhere else
But the muse is automatic

Where will my library go
These books I’ve drug all over the country
So many books, so much magic
So many nights of companionship
More reliable than any person
Now they tell me I can’t do this
Well they’d just like me to do it somewhere else
But the muse is automatic
All these voices, these Poems
To translate this language
In all of this chaos
& make sense of it all

All of the music in my computer
Where will it go
Nowhere
All of that wonderful music
Vanishing into cyberspace
So many nights setting the mood
The mood of the Poem
Now they tell me I can’t do this
Well they’d just like me to do it somewhere else
But the muse is automatic
It just slips into that groove
Like breath

James Babbs

Malaga Mural

“Malaga Mural” by David J. Thompson

Yes, Oh, Yes

I live where corn fields grow
surrounded all the time
by lonely stretches of road
spaces between the houses
like oceans
stretching in all directions
plenty of darkness
and plenty of silence
where you can get some thinking done
and I like driving at night
out to the middle of nowhere
before parking the car and
gazing up at the sky
and I like it the best
when I’m all alone
when nobody knows
where the hell I am and
sometimes
I imagine myself
stranded on a desert island
with plenty of food to eat
and an endless supply
of cheap red wine and
no chance in hell
of getting rescued
what a beautiful
beautiful dream

Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Palestine

“Palestine” by David J. Thompson

 

When Father of the Year
is a Pipedream

Food stamps
have helped more men
than religion,
lets be
honest.

Politics
is as useless
as mascara
on a hippo.

And I shuffle by the men
out back the Salvation Army
in Kingston, Ontario
each morning.

Passing the smoke
like a hot
potato.

The basketball hoop
long broken.

Feeding the squirrels
from a large bag
of peanuts.

Black
and grey
and red

alike

Michael Grover

Granada Chimp

“Granada Chimp” by David J. Thompson

Glenwood

Water in the radiator
Plays music all night long
It’s an ancient song
Tonight it is telling me I am safe & warm
Freezing air outside
That’s been nipping at our throats like pit bulls
Our lives transient
Around us in boxes
Water in the radiator
Plays music all night long
It’s an ancient song
Tonight it tells me we are safe & warm

James Babbs

Your KungFu

“Your KungFu” by David J. Thompson


Jesus Drinks Alone

I don’t remember
seeing him come in
I guess
he’s been here the whole time
sitting over there
at the other end of the bar
bottle of beer in front of him and
he doesn’t have a beard
just his long hair hanging
down past his shoulders
his faded denim jacket
over his black hooded sweatshirt and
I keep thinking
he looks just like the rest of us
like he has nowhere else to go
so he just sits in here for hours
drinking alone
because
nobody believes in miracles
anymore and
heaven’s
not the place it used to be

Brenton Booth

Nude Lamp, Seville
“Nude Lamp, Seville” by David J. Thompson

 

SURVIVING THE RAIN

The rain pounds against
my building
it’s 9:20am and everyone
but me has gone to work
I lay in bed still
looking at an empty page
wondering when the words
will come again,
or more precisely—if they
will come again
writing is not a game of
skill
it’s a game of luck
the most skilful rarely write
anything of note
more often teaching and
editing
the rest of us wait and hope
for the right words to come
to inspire us
and everybody else.