Walt Whitman Fantasy… by Matthew Brouwer


Walt Whitman Fantasy

Six o’clock

January darkness

Rainclouds pressed
against the face of the earth

like a razor

I’m sitting in my room trying to remember

how to write a poem

Think about putting on some ambient music
to push me out into the deep end

of my mind

But really, has that ever worked?

Maybe I should acquire some shrooms

But I don’t think that’s such a good idea

Shroom poet says some crazy shit

Think maybe I should give all my money
to the Lighthouse Mission

that would put me out to the edge

Probably not such a good idea neither

I just want to be like Walt Whitman

You know

in love with Everything!

Virginal Indian squaws
gay looking school boys
Christ-like deathbed union soldiers
sagely bearded frontiersmen
shitty American street corner vagrants

whales, spiders, cemetery grass


Though if I ever met the man

I’d probably be scared as hell

or just disappointed

Because just like Jesus
no one could really ever be

like everything they said

Just like how I hope someday
some virulent young college-age
neo-hippie fanatic
will show up at a reading of mine

and be disappointed by me

To find I’m not that mountain lion

stalking about in my poems

Just the dial on your stereo
every day fine tuning a little this way
then a little that

trying to get the treble just right

Just the dial on the radio in your car
for a moment
Mahler’s 5th symphony


A parousia of violins

and then once again nothing

except static


Matthew Brouwer is a performance poet, peer mentor, teaching artist, and organizational consultant residing in Bellingham, WA. (To listen to Matthew read the above poem click on Walt Whitman Fantasy)

Copyright © 2012 by Matthew Brouwer


Lullaby… Anahita Ayasoufi, Ph.D.





Anahita Ayasoufi, Ph.D. teaches at East Tennessee State University. She has had fiction published in Every Day Fiction, Lorelei Signal, Yesteryear Fiction, Bosley Gravel’s Cavalcade of Terror, Mirror Dance, and Liquid Imagination.

Copyright © 2012 by Anahita Ayasoufi, Ph.D.


The Tension… by Kelvin Bueckert


The Tension

And when the birds flew
over the chaos
of stock markets
and cursing
there was a music
in the grace of flight
that passed without a tremor
and when the lions raged
against the human tide
only the animals heard
the symphony
over the racket and the clamor
and while the peace fled
from the rivets and spigots
there remained
only faded kaleidoscopes
artificial rhythms
battling with the natural melody
and harmony


Kelvin Bueckert lives, acts and writes on the plains of Manitoba, Canada. He has been published in Horizon Magazine, The Fifth Dimension, Alien Skin and many others. He recently released a free collection of poetry and essays titled: Of Life and Spirit. www.kelvinbueckert.com

Copyright © 2012 by Kelvin Bueckert



The Path… by Bud Robert Berkich


The Path

A school dance. You see her. Across the way. On the edge. Of the woods.

She beckons. You follow.

She disappears. Literally.



One hundred years ago. Turn of the century. On the other side. Of the trees. Pentecostal factory. Chews them up. Churns them out. Spits them out. Shits them out.

Inferior product. SalvatDeion. Cheap.

Very high cost.



Backyard. By the woods. Unseen.

Bodies. So many.

She beckons. You follow.


Copyright © 2012 by Bud Robert Berkich