You Owe Cash
William J Lindberg… You Owe Cash
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Monthly Archives: May 2017
James Croal Jackson… Simple Machines, This Lonesome Noise
SIMPLE MACHINES
Force plus distance creates the want.
Machines make work easier to do:
pick up the phone and call her.
A sloped surface can move the heart
from one peak to another by decreasing
exerted force per beat while increasing
the distance over which the want
can travel– a simpler way to have
without the work of wanting.
THIS LONESOME NOISE
spare a key
you industrial
revolution
you need the split
bark
not the forest
not the wood
not the temple
not the gate
unlock the room
you need you
James Croal Jackson is the author of The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017). His poetry has appeared in The Bitter Oleander, Rust + Moth, Cosmonauts Avenue, and elsewhere. Find him in Columbus, Ohio or at jimjakk.com.
Copyright © 2017 by James Croal Jackson
William James… 111 Words
111 Words of Anything Goes
Azalea ran the numbers though Katz’s equation. Pushed the button. The machine clanged three times. The jackpot was hers.
Terry was in the playroom plugging tokens into the high-stakes claw machine. He maneuvered the claw over the thousand dollar bill, but won three butt plugs instead. Each time he grabbed his prize out of the slot, he shouted, “Look folks, another cliché!”
Azalea got careless. She was hauled out of the casino in chains.
Terry wrestled with the cops. He got a black eye. Later a sore bottom.
Katz was the big cheese of the operation. His brainiac hacks worked every time.
He kept himself out of danger with cunning schemes.
Copyright © 2014 by William James Lindberg
Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth… Accoustic Memory & Olympia Peninsula
ACCOUSTIC MEMORY
He wakes, aware
of sound, rhythmic
against the window pane.
…. Rain.
He cannot see her in the dark.
sprawled beside him.
……remembers
long legged high breasted beauty.
Startled she feels his touch.
Fingers make their way
fumble, explore.
“Touch me” he whispers.
She reaches out,
cups him in her hand, gently,
holds his flaccid flesh,
dares not to hope for more.
Dementia pierced by sound,
small remembrances, from decades ago.
Kind darkness fills the room.
The rain stops. He startles,
withdraws deep into the pillows.
Silence sweats with fear.
…….he remembers nothing more
OLYMPIA PENINSULA
Between snowcapped peaks
valleys hold the promise
of spring.
Fog rises above trees
drifts towards the shore,
a long grey winter shawl
spreads over the land.
At the ocean’s end
lazy waves whisper
onto the sand.
A flock of winter birds
rises into a shaft of light,
soars to the mountains,
rests in the old growth
cedar grove
to watch
clouds travel by.
First Published in Harmonies & Discords by Nightwing Publications
Copyright © 2016 by Cristina Umpfenbach-Smyth
Randomly Accessed Poetics 