• Eat Your Fill of Gold – Mark Lipman
• Old Friends – – Mary Getlein
• at the tree at Glyndon and Venice – R.F.Wagner, Jr.
• Cast Iron – hillary kaye
• Big Lots – Krista Schwimmer
• Come Home With Us – Jim Smith
• Even Steven – –Hal Bogotch
• left is always right – Patrick Vincent


Eat Your Fill of Gold

By Mark Lipman

Rolling through the past,
into the future.
Those who do not read history,
are bound to repeat it.
Those who do not learn from their mistakes,
are bound to suffer,
rolling into the future.
A locomotive out of control.
Armageddon comes not too soon
for the computer age.
The end is closer than you think.
Civilizations lost, in the blink of an eye.
Dinosaur men,
stampeding towards extinction.
Never once did Midas
consider the consequences.
Eat your fill of gold.
Your greedy lies.
Blind your eyes.
The womb is dead.
What good is a fortune
to the stillborn,
to a lifeless head,
to America,
owned by foreign investors.
Sold to the highest bidder.
Your dreams are now
made in China.
Junk bonds.
Junk food.
Junk life.
That is what you are,
what you have become.
Fear has consumed you
and left you with nothing.
Fear has killed you.
Fear has.
Afraid to live.
Afraid to die.
Eat your paper gold.
your worthless fill.
Is that all?
Is that the best you’ve got?
A pile of shit
in your greedy hand.


Old Friends

I have an old piano
with many teeth broken or not working
they stick and refuse to play
but I play around them, or through them.
I have old friends
who other people object to
who have many flaws
but they are my old friends
and I know where most of those flaws come from
and I work around them.
Nobody’s perfect, they say
me least of all
but they expect others to be perfect
without seeing the flaws in themselves.
I can’t throw out my old piano
it was given to me by a beautiful lady
who turned out to be my very good friend.
And I can’t throw out my old friends
who some started out as enemies,
but turned into my very good friends.
We sing out loud, very loud, at sunset
and no, we’re rarely in tune or in harmony,
but we think we sound great, and we’re still singing.
Even if it’s missing some teeth, old pianos can still sing.

– Mary Getlein


at the tree at Glyndon and Venice
I did not come to gape at this, the site, Where madness flung its head, nor question right Or wrong, nor to cast blame, nor level doubt About the circumstances; just take note Of transitory life; a lovely girl, Just getting off of work; fate would recall, And occupy her space, as to select A lamb for sacrifice. Who can detect Such danger when it busts out of its stall? Without a trace of warning, to impale The innocent and cause a few to gloat With cocksure arrogance; finally brought To bear, a mighty hammer in the night. I came to bask in her angelic light…..R.F.Wagner, Jr., Venice.

Cast Iron

by hillary kaye

No more cast iron thought upon the door,
going nowhere.
I am not here to be a victory
to weigh against myself
The iron is too hot
it burns
Too much flesh has been taken
in the name of improvement
not mine to lie upon an open pit.
The charcoal is red like this room
black like this silence
This is mine
This paper no more no less.
I can not judge
or be forsaken
If I love.
The air the movement of your body
It is in my eyes my flesh
Who can take it from me.
I lie here
Darkness light they know my name.
Here between some barrier forbidden wall
of pain.
The cats sit quietly as I do no more no less
I know that I am dying while I rest.
There is so much behind any door.

Big Lots

is a great store
full of all kinds
of junk
that even
the poor can afford.

i wonder, though,
who buys
those garden figurines?
You know,
the elves & fairies
the santa’s & angels
that posture & pose
in the air?

There are so many
of them
that i know
someone likes them
collects them
like antiques
or coins or even cats.

They must be
of their habit
as i never see
a single person
standing in line
holding one.

And i don’t
i ever will,
do you?

–krista schwimmer

Come Home With Us
(a collaboration)

By Jim Smith

Is that you, Jim
Lying in the cold Paris ground?

We have a birthday present
for you this December 8th

We’re taking you home to Venice
Back to the chaos and disorder

Paris says you can go
In fact, you’ve overstayed your welcome

Too many of your children of night
spoiling Pére Lachaise’s tranquility

Come home with us, Jim
Back to the roofs and palm trees of Venice

Come on, Jim, gonna take a little ride
Down, down by the ocean side

Thanks to The Doors
we’ve got a Gulfstream waiting

The Celebration is about to begin
We’re going back to Venice

The town of your rebirth
where the Muse touched you

A tomb on Windward Plaza
Parked beside the ocean

Your songs and poems will play
softly all night and day

In the end, O Dionysus
Death makes Angels of us all

Come home with us, Jim
and live in Venice, once again


Even Steven

That big bare knuckle sandwich
made L’s face black and blue
on island of the purple hills
pray hear G’s point of view

A triple scoop of rocky road
oughta make G bow and scrape
L wants more attention
G needs to escape

The small fruit with a pull-ring
sez G’s a grenadier
when L puts in two earplugs
nobody’s safe ‘round here

With conflict resolutions skills
our two can be as one
‘til G steps back so rudely
and L comes all undone

A heartfelt frown and pouting lips
move G close to the door
when L’s shoes dance a dervish twist
they wax the shiny floor.

–Hal Bogotch

left is always right

By Patrick Vincent

She mentions altruism
as if gossip’s not her thing
and that the door will slam on you
if you don’t see life her way
and she talks herself above you
‘cuz she’s learned too much to not prove,
that she knows it better than the rest
of women
men too

she’s got a
bleeding heart for her purists
all of the feminists with a language for sex
and the real idealists
who votes in easy brands, and
left is always right.

she agrees that
the word ’prick’ is inoffensive
thanks in part to common usage
but the word ‘cunt’
sure gets her every time
every time

lesson learned
I guess…
left is always right.

Categories: Poetry