Cold Rambler

If such a creature didn’t exist we’d have to invent it for sure. Whether Zeus or Allah, Jehovah or any of the rest, all fulfil the same  purpose. All create a framework  of behaviour, the laws of god which must be obeyed without argument, without thinking, without due process. All create a framework of rights. Some have them, others don’t. They’re god given so no argument, no thinking, needed. And all need a territory, a god given territory from the beginning of time and for evermore No argument, no thinking, god given.      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 Rhysling Award. https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and https://www.facebook.com/Lynn-White-Poetry-1603675983213077/

We escaped for a moment, and that was apparently for a moment too long. All my dreams were dispersed into a void of emptiness as you were a victim of choice. I cannot fathom the end, but no matter my readiness, it is most certainly here. Heartbreaks are fragments of bad choices and damn near fatal accidents. Now all I am left with is this broken shell and a barely functioning memory. The poison is within reach as it is inside of me. I cannot fathom what lies ahead. I just know that in my life I got it all wrong. There's no turning back, as at the beginning of any story, the saddest truth comes with the realization it must inevitably end. As with that said, I am gone.   John Patrick Robbins, is a Southern Gothic writer and editor of The Rye Whiskey Review his work has been published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Disturb The Universe, Horror Sleeze Trash, Piker Press, A Thin Slice Of Anxiety and Fixator Press. His work is often dark and always unfiltered. 

 One of our members             was only married             for a few months,             when he required of his wife             to end every question             framed with the colloquialism,             "before you choke the chicken?"             His remains were scattered             over a Bavarian Forest,             the Pacific Ocean Maldive Atolls,             and an Indiana Walmart parking lot.             Still he did not rue.             Rather, his only regret             was his inability to locate             a decent decaf coffee    

It was a windy day in a windy city a long time ago. A sudden flurry made me into the vortex and I was surrounded by sheets of paper caught up and blown from a doorway. When it had settled,  I collected a few. They were letters applying for jobs dated about fifty years ago, I forget exactly when. All were hand written  in the most beautiful cursive scripts. I could visualise the care with which nibs had been dipped in ink, the concentration in the touch of pen to paper. These were the stuff of unknown dreams. The names are long forgotten now but I wonder what became of them, those ghosts of a past who touched my life in a flurry of wind only to be blown away.   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 Rhysling Award. https://lynn...

Is the Pope a Catholic. It is said so, and a Humanist It would seem so. Or just a human speaking out into the silence speaking of  “cruelty not war”  in Gaza and of “genocide”  there in Gaza, speaking out in a small act of rebellion.   Is J D Vance a Catholic. It is said so still. The unanswerable question is  why the Pope allows lets him be. Why  he doesn’t have a word in his ear direct, why  he doesn’t use his power to act where he can direct  action to excommunicate  the Catholic arming this cruelty blind to this genocide. Such a small act of rebellion speaking only  out into the silence.   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 Rhysling Award. https://lynnwhitepoetry.blogspot.com and...

After work, Buchman drops in  at his local watering hole, a studied dive called  The Triple Zero, to drown the day in boilermakers. Tyson, the bartender,  polishing a beer mug with  a stringy red towel,  inches down to Buchman’s lonely seat at the end  of the battered oak counter. “I can see,” Tyson says,  “you had another shitty day  in retail sales. Big surprise.” “Yeah,” says Buchman,  between sips of Old Style. Tyson sets the empty mug down  on the bar and drapes the towel over his shoulder. “You done any thinking about that million-dollar idea  I offered you halfsies on?” Buchman downs a shot of Bushmill’s. “Which one was that, again?”  Tyson grimaces and sighs. “Damn, Buchman, you got to start thinking big to move up the ladder. Time’s running out for guys like us.  Do you think I want to be here,   pouring drinks, until I die?  The idea is called. . .Honuts.” “Honuts,” echoes Buchman. “Come on, I told...