hey jude
most everybody
had a shitty childhood
not that every minute
was a fucking nightmare
but the shit seems to stand out
stays fresh and
rubs off on your clothes
when you walk
too close to yesterday
i'd say you wear it well
like a yellow star
pinned to that dirty shirt
so others can
pick you out
tomorrow
bribe the guards
with what you got
to avoid the showers
because the smell
of shit is still better
than standing in line
______________________________
bar time
been watching her for an hour
other end of the bar
stripper tits
blouse tied underneath
i caught her looking
bedroom eye lashes
like pulling down
the shades
guy walks in
buys her a drink
sits down
i moved closer
she lit a cigarette
told the new guy
through a cloud of smoke
that the lousy
sonofabitch she had last
night couldn't keep up
she wanted a man
to go all night
knowwhatimsayin
who wasn't afraid to give
a woman what she wants
knowwhatimsayin
holding a full beer
he looked over at me
I shrugged
looked at the clock
knowing
it was still early
and i was closest
to the door…
__________________________
28 days of kama sutra
1972
teenage car sex
under a cheesy moon
eight track plays
croce low
love song
sets the mood
top down to give
us more room
you borrowed
yr sister's
kama sutra
had 20 minutes
before the porch light
came on
we were on day 1
I prayed for 27
more just like
this one
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Friday, December 12, 2008
Featured Writer: Scot Young Day 1
The Early Years
In 1954
my father bought
mom a new pink &
white dodge
she loved that car
so much she painted
the house to match
the mills brothers sang
you're nobody til
somebody loves you
that night
I was conceived
after a couple
of cans of heidl brau
and for a brief
moment
all was right
with the world
_________________________________
Before Girls
we would push our bikes up
the steep hills
then zoom down zig- zagging
like daredevils
wind in our face
drying out the butchwax
made to wear by dad
until we couldn't roll any farther
like a thousand screaming locusts
the maris mantle and mays
rookie cards clothes-pinned
to our spokes turning
our schwinns into
wannabe triumphs
old man smith would yell
as we flew by
you little dumb asses
was all we could make out
for that summer we were
the wild ones spitting
gnats from our teeth
_______________________________
First Day of Girls
in seventh grade
first hour I saw
carmela occhipinti
big itailian smile
ta-tas to match
orange mini dress
off-white pokla-dot s
are there bombshells
at 13?
never saw this
in grammar school--
those chocolate eyes
cut right to the center
of a 7th grade
boy's heart
nothing else mattered
before or after
that polka dot image
was burned into this
kid's brain
testosterone &
awkwardness
raced to every corner
of my body
as I stumbled
into the chair beside her
--slouched in jeans
white t-shirt
checked her out
through the corner
of my eye
checking me out
through the corner
of hers
today I learned
on some reunion site
she had died--
breast cancer
of all damn things
it made me sad
I hoped her life
was good
as I saw her
in that mini dress
and remembered
how many times
I dropped my pencil
In another life Scot Young used to be a construction worker but for the last 19 years he has been paid to hang out with kids. He started writing poems again after a 30 year absence and has published one or two. He may be the only school principal in America to have all of Christopher Robin's books and occasionaly teaches a poetry class to the Breakfast Club. He once sang with Kenny Loggins and wrestler Dirty Dick Murdoch, but mainly he just puts bread on the table.
Stop by to see more from Scot on Saturday and Sunday.
Shoots and Vines Compost: Scot Young
In 1954
my father bought
mom a new pink &
white dodge
she loved that car
so much she painted
the house to match
the mills brothers sang
you're nobody til
somebody loves you
that night
I was conceived
after a couple
of cans of heidl brau
and for a brief
moment
all was right
with the world
_________________________________
Before Girls
we would push our bikes up
the steep hills
then zoom down zig- zagging
like daredevils
wind in our face
drying out the butchwax
made to wear by dad
until we couldn't roll any farther
like a thousand screaming locusts
the maris mantle and mays
rookie cards clothes-pinned
to our spokes turning
our schwinns into
wannabe triumphs
old man smith would yell
as we flew by
you little dumb asses
was all we could make out
for that summer we were
the wild ones spitting
gnats from our teeth
_______________________________
First Day of Girls
in seventh grade
first hour I saw
carmela occhipinti
big itailian smile
ta-tas to match
orange mini dress
off-white pokla-dot s
are there bombshells
at 13?
never saw this
in grammar school--
those chocolate eyes
cut right to the center
of a 7th grade
boy's heart
nothing else mattered
before or after
that polka dot image
was burned into this
kid's brain
testosterone &
awkwardness
raced to every corner
of my body
as I stumbled
into the chair beside her
--slouched in jeans
white t-shirt
checked her out
through the corner
of my eye
checking me out
through the corner
of hers
today I learned
on some reunion site
she had died--
breast cancer
of all damn things
it made me sad
I hoped her life
was good
as I saw her
in that mini dress
and remembered
how many times
I dropped my pencil
In another life Scot Young used to be a construction worker but for the last 19 years he has been paid to hang out with kids. He started writing poems again after a 30 year absence and has published one or two. He may be the only school principal in America to have all of Christopher Robin's books and occasionaly teaches a poetry class to the Breakfast Club. He once sang with Kenny Loggins and wrestler Dirty Dick Murdoch, but mainly he just puts bread on the table. Stop by to see more from Scot on Saturday and Sunday.
Shoots and Vines Compost: Scot Young
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Two Pieces by Alan Kelly
Dawn
I watched the building opposite
the hotel
Fill with sun
making bright
eyes of its bare windows
The palms of my hand
On the eerie pane
He made small
Cuts
On the back of my legs
And the scream that my mouth shaped became full
with squares of light
_________________________
In Her Head
In her Skull
Are
Halls
And
Walls papered by flesh
And
Halls
In her skull
Of
Walls
And
Halls carpeted with veins
Lined with
Daguerreotypes of Dead Folk
Glaring out
At her
From jaded
Frames
Serious, ridiculous, overblown, pretentious & warped, Alan K has written for Film Ireland, Streetwise, The City Guidebook, Pretty-Scary, GCN, Penny Blood, 3:AM and ButcherQueers. His fiction has appeared in Beat the Dust, Lit Up Magazine, Gold Dust, Parasitic, Dogmatika, The Bloodied Quill and forthcoming in Sein and Werden.
I watched the building opposite
the hotel
Fill with sun
making bright
eyes of its bare windows
The palms of my hand
On the eerie pane
He made small
Cuts
On the back of my legs
And the scream that my mouth shaped became full
with squares of light
_________________________
In Her Head
In her Skull
Are
Halls
And
Walls papered by flesh
And
Halls
In her skull
Of
Walls
And
Halls carpeted with veins
Lined with
Daguerreotypes of Dead Folk
Glaring out
At her
From jaded
Frames
Serious, ridiculous, overblown, pretentious & warped, Alan K has written for Film Ireland, Streetwise, The City Guidebook, Pretty-Scary, GCN, Penny Blood, 3:AM and ButcherQueers. His fiction has appeared in Beat the Dust, Lit Up Magazine, Gold Dust, Parasitic, Dogmatika, The Bloodied Quill and forthcoming in Sein and Werden.
Shoots and Vines First Print Zine
Shoots and Vines first print zine will be available in January. Eighteen pages of black and white art, prose, poetry, and flash fiction.
This is a grassroots attempt to distribute the work of our contributors and get their names out to the public. I have two places already that will let me distribute the copies. All copies are free. We are keeping the zine short in the hope that people will make copies and distribute to their friends.
Submissions are now open. Please add Print Zine Submission to the subject of your email. Remember that the zine is ten 8" by 11" pages folded in half. Long pieces of poetry or fiction might be rejected due to length. I want to put as many writers in the zine as I can. Artists can submit small images to decorate the pages. I'm also looking for two larger black and white drawings, plus a cover design.
I'll put a copyright on it for the contributors, but this zine may be printed many times and I can't control where it goes after distribution.
If you are interested in receiving a copy of the zine so you can make copies and distribute, let me know. Again, this is grassroots work. I don't get paid. You don't get paid. Contributors do not get paid. What we will get is the opportunity to help fellow writers and artists.
The back page of the zine will have a link for each contributor so readers can find more good pieces of work online. Contributors will receive one copy to do with as they please (hopefully make copies and distribute).
Thanks,
Crystal
This is a grassroots attempt to distribute the work of our contributors and get their names out to the public. I have two places already that will let me distribute the copies. All copies are free. We are keeping the zine short in the hope that people will make copies and distribute to their friends.
Submissions are now open. Please add Print Zine Submission to the subject of your email. Remember that the zine is ten 8" by 11" pages folded in half. Long pieces of poetry or fiction might be rejected due to length. I want to put as many writers in the zine as I can. Artists can submit small images to decorate the pages. I'm also looking for two larger black and white drawings, plus a cover design.
I'll put a copyright on it for the contributors, but this zine may be printed many times and I can't control where it goes after distribution.
If you are interested in receiving a copy of the zine so you can make copies and distribute, let me know. Again, this is grassroots work. I don't get paid. You don't get paid. Contributors do not get paid. What we will get is the opportunity to help fellow writers and artists.
The back page of the zine will have a link for each contributor so readers can find more good pieces of work online. Contributors will receive one copy to do with as they please (hopefully make copies and distribute).
Thanks,
Crystal
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
The Air-conditioned Speed of Sound by Andrew Taylor
Take cover for I am on the
prowl again. Dredging through
past gardens of placidity, seeking
out any chink of light which could
pierce the armour which encircles
what was once my heart.
I pace the floor and ignore what
convention holds. 'Night time is for
freaks and ghouls' - welcome to
the ghoulish freak show. Rule out
driving out to the coast, the weather
is unkind and besides, my flask is broke.
Arm my bedside table with Norfolk
Punch, Melatonin and Chivas Regal
and sit on the bed awaiting the
challenges that are to come. Open
the notebook, tattered and torn, to
a free page and begin to write.
Silence wraps its cool arms around me.
I ponder wiring my headphones to
the stereo and listening to Chet Baker.
Nothing could kill this silence.
Better this than the heat and sweat of
a nightmare.
prowl again. Dredging through
past gardens of placidity, seeking
out any chink of light which could
pierce the armour which encircles
what was once my heart.
I pace the floor and ignore what
convention holds. 'Night time is for
freaks and ghouls' - welcome to
the ghoulish freak show. Rule out
driving out to the coast, the weather
is unkind and besides, my flask is broke.
Arm my bedside table with Norfolk
Punch, Melatonin and Chivas Regal
and sit on the bed awaiting the
challenges that are to come. Open
the notebook, tattered and torn, to
a free page and begin to write.
Silence wraps its cool arms around me.
I ponder wiring my headphones to
the stereo and listening to Chet Baker.
Nothing could kill this silence.
Better this than the heat and sweat of
a nightmare.
Monday, December 8, 2008
catman by Steve Ely
i know this guy all his life he killed cats the first time he was eight years old
he dropped a litter of kittens into a half filled bucket and shoveled in dirt until the mix stopped quaking
there was one up a tree in his garden he got lucky with a halfbrick and watched it bounce off every branch before it hit the ground he finished it with the flat side of the shovel
he killed a tabby with a bat playing cricket on the street it just walked past and he slogged it in the head he said it was a six
his staffie roofed a tom on a shed up bull lane he knocked it down with a branch the dog crashed face first into the brambles swaggered out with it limp in its grinning jaws
he chased one tree to tree in the graveyard throwing sticks and stones until after minutes or hours it came tumbling down the dog ripped it apart or maybe that was a squirrel far as i know he had nothing against squirrels
this warehouse had a problem they were breeding among the pallet stacks he took a 4.10 terriers jawtraps poison he showed me a photo four cats six kittens lined up dead
a grey one crept in the bushes near his feeders leaping out at the robins and blue tits he took aim from the kitchen window and shot it through the eye with a .22 pellet gun
he drove his car off the road and dented the wing swerving to hit one on the a638 outside upton
a black one walked in through the open front door and curled up on his hearthrug he couldnt believe it he coaxed it into a sack and drove out to the reservoir
he never tied fireworks to them because that was just cruel and he didnt do it for the cruelty just to kill them
i asked him why do you hate cats so much and he said i dont know i just do dont you hate something if you had a rat in your house wouldnt you kill it or maybe its music bagpipes perhaps i cant give you a reason theyre sly i hate cats
are you answered
Extracts from Steve Ely's massive poem JerUSAlem, have been published in a range of litzines, including Beat the Dust, Laura Hird Showcase, Dogmatika, Black Mail Press & Paper Cut. Other poems and short stories by Ely have been published in Literary Chaos, Lit Up, Lilies & Cannonballs Review, the Savage Kick, The Slab of Fun, Magma and elsewhere.
he dropped a litter of kittens into a half filled bucket and shoveled in dirt until the mix stopped quaking
there was one up a tree in his garden he got lucky with a halfbrick and watched it bounce off every branch before it hit the ground he finished it with the flat side of the shovel
he killed a tabby with a bat playing cricket on the street it just walked past and he slogged it in the head he said it was a six
his staffie roofed a tom on a shed up bull lane he knocked it down with a branch the dog crashed face first into the brambles swaggered out with it limp in its grinning jaws
he chased one tree to tree in the graveyard throwing sticks and stones until after minutes or hours it came tumbling down the dog ripped it apart or maybe that was a squirrel far as i know he had nothing against squirrels
this warehouse had a problem they were breeding among the pallet stacks he took a 4.10 terriers jawtraps poison he showed me a photo four cats six kittens lined up dead
a grey one crept in the bushes near his feeders leaping out at the robins and blue tits he took aim from the kitchen window and shot it through the eye with a .22 pellet gun
he drove his car off the road and dented the wing swerving to hit one on the a638 outside upton
a black one walked in through the open front door and curled up on his hearthrug he couldnt believe it he coaxed it into a sack and drove out to the reservoir
he never tied fireworks to them because that was just cruel and he didnt do it for the cruelty just to kill them
i asked him why do you hate cats so much and he said i dont know i just do dont you hate something if you had a rat in your house wouldnt you kill it or maybe its music bagpipes perhaps i cant give you a reason theyre sly i hate cats
are you answered
Extracts from Steve Ely's massive poem JerUSAlem, have been published in a range of litzines, including Beat the Dust, Laura Hird Showcase, Dogmatika, Black Mail Press & Paper Cut. Other poems and short stories by Ely have been published in Literary Chaos, Lit Up, Lilies & Cannonballs Review, the Savage Kick, The Slab of Fun, Magma and elsewhere.
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