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ZEN AND THE ART OF THE CAMPFIRE by Adam Scott Barentine

Among the many disparate, yet interconnected, aspects of life, there are few more fundamental than the relationship between Zen and a campfire. Between peace and a crackle. Between self-actualization and a flame. There are many techniques to life, as is in fire building. Most of which will result in the heat necessary to bring about joy and warmth to the dark parts of our days. But the path chosen to reach this goal will tell you more about the maker than the final blaze itself. Some people are pilers. They tend build atop their tinder a wild, unhinged nest of kindling and fuel. Radically jumping toward new desires, in a pattern only they can read. For a few, this is smothering. Those poor artists, their fire banked, lost somewhere between a poet and a painter. Never allowing a spark to grow. Eventually collapsing on themselves into a cold mound of untapped potential. For the rest, it works. Their unique combination of skills and experience erupt into a glow so bright you'd swear t...
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BEAT BARD’S BAGGER-BIKE by Chad M. Horn

duct tape racing stripes crotch-rotted banana seat kickstarts with ether radio blasts cruisin’ blues rubber-to-road-hummer-riffs   Chad M. Horn is a Beat-poet and mixed media artist from Kentucky.
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GOD SAVE THE SHEEP by Lynn White

God save the sheep baa aah. Where would we be without them. Who would lead if no one followed? Why bother to whip up their storm of frenzy, to feed them on blades of rumours ready to become knowledge, to become fact. Baa aah. Say it again, baa aah. And only white sheep allowed, of course. No black or pink or purple to shatter the consensus. Colours cannot be tolerated, along with druggies and drunks and survivors of abuse. Oh dear me, no, not appropriate here. Baa aah And suppose they stay? Baa aa aah Plant their hooves in our cheap wet fields, sneak inside our friendly flock and contentedly munch a thistle here, a spikey rush there. Baa aah. Drown them out baa aah, baa aah. God save the sheep.   Lynn White lives in north Wales. Her work is influenced by issues of social justice and events, places and people she has known or imagined. She is especially interested in exploring the boundaries of dream, fantasy and reality. She has been nominated for Pushcarts, Best of the Net and a R...
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REGARDING THE RAIN by John Grey

Rain pours down from that gray overhead with all the trappings of passion but none of the poignancy. Or it creeps like snakes out of the sky, slithers through cracks in roofs or gaps in windows. Or it rat-a-tats against wood and glass and metal like machine-gun fire. But the rain is still the brains behind the silk-green forest, the abundance of wildflowers, the limestone lakes, the abundant flamboyant rivers. And it’s a kind of therapist, when the air’s deep gloom suddenly bursts, reveals itself to be nothing more than water. And it can be the perfect excuse for being where I happily am and not where I am miserably supposed to be. I look out the window and watch the rain fall. It splatters and its drops dance the hula. This is a new one to me.   John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, City Brink and Tenth Muse. Latest books, “Subject Matters”,” Between Two Fires” and “Covert” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Lit...
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ANDY WARHOL STORMS THE BEACHES OF NORMANDY WITH A RIPE BANANA by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Andy Warhol storms the beaches of Normandy with a ripe banana. Sand between the toes like a fleshy child of divorce. John Denver going down on Amelia Earhart in diving kamikaze. For this Electric boogaloo freedom, the tissue box turning state's evidence.  Johnny cake flipping on that tired rolodex of known associates in a Fulton County courtroom.  All those leading questions from the glove does not fit, you must acquit mouthpiece in the $2000 suit.  While Captain Ahab sinks my battleship, and Jonah hawks pods of Rogaine to capsized whaling vessels playing hooky out in the North Atlantic.   Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Horror Sleaze Trash, Cold Rambler, Zygote in My Coffee, Rusty Truck and The Oklahoma Review.
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AN EXCUSE FOR A SIGNAL by Jonathan Butcher

In deserts and abandoned buildings, the mask of rhetoric is folded neatly into tablecloths and rolling mats; formed from flags, peeled from the tattoos, which adorn their backs and faces; a pattern smudged into this misinterpretation of freedom. A warm evening of psychedelics, acquired by laced shareholders, whose deadlines are just as tight around cactuses as they are skyscrapers, those blended teas, purchased in bulk, and quaffed by the gallon, like flat, stale champagne, that never quenches this thirst. And as they chant in crowds, their attire is now a mirror reflection of movements that mock any real decency as their voices become clogged with unconcealed illiteracy. They bang heads once more, like conflicting magnets, attached to the rusted steel of which they claim is now the way forward.  Jonathan Butcher has had poems appear in various print and online publications including, The Morning Star, Mad Swirl, Drunk Monkeys, The Abyss, Cajun Mutt Press and others. His fourt...
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POEM by Belinda Hendrix

One by one The stars go out In the midnight hour Poets and writer's Fuel up on whatever Bitter brew eases the Nervous belly Poe dips ink listening For the raven Dylan has visions of Johanna while Louise Temps with rain Rimbaud played tricks On madness To his dark delight Dylan Thomas writing Furiously.... Rage rage He won't be taken quietly Mary Shelley in the night Had formed her lover With black ink and A sigh In the black night By candlelight Kings and Queens Are born with paper Pen and wit to match No other It is the night Men and women make Their final stand Staking a claim for Words and lyrics The human heart Will never forget To all the dark nights I raise a glass to you.... BD Henx 25
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