Thinking of You… by A.R. Minhas


Thinking of You

The gentle liquid pours on the paper I placed
It forms pentagrams and the face of…
Beloved! You finally escaped my thoughts

Now you are the viscous tree sap

That bled at the sight of possession
The hand retreats that drew you
Orgasms hidden beneath your sinuous body

Lo! The pearly liquid seeps through your bejeweled spirit

The niches of your eyes are pregnant with possibilities
Fixated on the face that was planted by visions
The heart immolated at the sight of your edifice
And the worshipper chose to only think of you


Abdulrehman Minhas is a fourth year student at Ryerson University interested in pursuing a professional writing career. He recently published a short story on the The Continuist. You can read more of his work at

Copyright © 2012 by A.R. Minhas


I Cut Myself While Shaving… by George Freek


I Cut Myself While Shaving

I sink under weighty clouds.
November is in the air.
Overhead sparrows whirl like toys

careening to nowhere.

But they form again and swing
into the fading light.
I stare into the mirror and speak

nonsense to myself at night.

Autumn leaves are trembling
in the grip of an iron will,
as the sparrows disperse like lovers,

who have loved their fill—

And now they are still.


George Freek is a poet and playwright living in Illinois. His poems have recently appeared in ‘The Whistling Fire’; ‘The Vein’; ‘Symmetry Pebbles’; ‘Drunken Absurdity’; ‘Red Fez’; ‘The Poydras Review’; and ‘The Stone Hobo’. His short play HERE COMES GODOT was recently published in ‘Freight Train Magazine’. Other plays have lately been produced by Middle Class American Productions (Long Island, NY); The Auburn (NY) Community Players; Theatre Unleashed (LA); Somerset College (KY); and The Fells Point Corner Theatre (MD).

Copyright © 2012 by George Freek


Sincerity… by April Avalon



The times of the rhyming sensations are ceased,
It’s no surprise evil love has deceased –
My heart is a chamber with limited space,

Indifference got all my feelings erased.

Frail fibre is used to the memories’ blade,
My thirst for your love is about to fade,
Deceiving myself is revealing the truth,

The pain of desire is easy to soothe.

Two opposite planets, two opposite spheres,
Both ruled by denying just being sincere
Will never be one due to different laws.

I have to accept it the way that it goes.

Sincerity stands for the lack of control,
And love never even existed at all.
So what does my poetry speak of, indeed?

Old scars are deprived of the pleasure to bleed.


April Avalon has been writing for almost five years, getting inspiration from various experiences seen by the eyes of a thinker. The purpose of her creativity is urging people to see beyond the bounds, to be themselves, to speak their minds loud, not to be afraid to differ from the crowd. She creates to destroy. To destroy the naive beliefs. To destroy the stereotypes.

April keeps writing, getting her pieces published and performing and hopes to succeed further both as a poet and a songwriter. April’s work has appeared on Канал пользователя Kalzifer90, Troubadour 21, The Plebian Rag (The Voice Of Despair), Magic Cat Press, The Cynic Online Magazine, Word Salad, and others.

Copyright © 2012 by April Avalon


On The House… by Larry Crist


       On the house

En route to the reading
I heard, then watched a woodpecker
It had a bright red head and striped wings
and tapped for me
I saw a pair of flower beds
big brass bed frames fencing in a garden
leaving no doubt as to the pun intended
I saw a pretty girl raking leaves, who said, HI.
A jogger girl, who nearly ran me over
An ambulance blaring its siren

going up Madison on the wrong side of the road

I entered the reading
Took an armchair beside Luke
exchanged Hi’s with the old grizzled cuss
Eric Miller reintroduced himself to me
What a sweet kid
had i been as cool as that when i was 19. . .
A woman i hadn’t seen before poured coffee
as i got some water
Gave Mac a whack on the shoulder

Tom took stage, things began. . .

Charlie was reading Hemingway
when Luke went for the bathroom
Robert Jordan this, Robert Jordan that. . .
There was a racket in the head
I thought Luke was making some statement
in regards to Charlie’s reading
Luke came out flailing his arms
Bad mime from where i sat
Robert Jordan, Robert Jordan. . .
Luke went in, came out, went in
made another gesture
all of which Tom missed
Robert Jordan was receiving rifle instruction
as Luke huffed past where i was sitting
grabbed his coat and bag
grumbled someone was shooting up in the bathroom
and left
Was he pissed about illicit drug use?
being left out?
that he couldn’t get into the stall?

Or was it something Robert Jordan had done?

After Luke left
the strange woman came out
I could see the junk all over her

as she shuffled over to the couch and sat

Others read or played their guitars
I read my 4 or 5
the heroin-high woman read
her first time there, she said
Packed with cliche
and Johns
John John John John John. . .
10 cliches and 22 Johns later

she bid us a weak heroin farewell

Tom played a computer cartoon he had made
Eric Miller sang and played guitar
and things soon concluded

another reading come & gone

giving voice to the voiceless
words to and from the illiterate
a stage for us without a platform

space when there’s no where else

we come here
and why the hell not
every Monday night

we come here


Larry Crist is a writer and performer whose wit is sharper than his pen. He has read poetry in many famous Seattle venues such as Bai Pai, Breadline, Red Sky, Poets West, Homeland, Couth Buzzard Books, Bookworm Exchange, Richard Hugo House, and Red Pen’s Uptown Poetry Showcase.

Larry has been published in Hawaii Review, J. Journal, Alimentum, Rattle, Floating Bridge Press, Real Change, Pearl, Karamu, Red Rock Review, Slipstream, Nerve Cowboy, Dos Passo Review, Phantasmagoria, Permafrost, Stringtown, Rainbow Curve, Pontoon and many other publications. Larry has also written and narrated a pair of short films by Salise Hughes for the Northwest Film Forum and has also worked as an actor and is a long time active member of Effective Arts.

Copyright © 2012 by Larry Crist