Saturday, June 15, 2019

Three Poems By Robin Ray

Robin Ray, formerly from Trinidad & Tobago, resides in Port Townsend, WA. If being a gay, mixed race immigrant wasn't enough, he also discovered he was saddled with autism, PTSD, and bipolar disorder. A self-taught musician, novelist, screenwriter and poet, his works have appeared at Neologism Poetry Journal, Red Fez, Aphelion, Scarlet Leaf Review, Flash Fiction World, Spark, and elsewhere.

Sax and Violence

and for once
the heartbeat of a sax
is conceptualism
bebop’s golden reach
blue notes dangling
like chrysalis in the air
i feel my muscles hypertrophy

they call abstraction a sin
who’s who?
invest time in an invention
that subverts gravity
pulverizes matter
boxes its ear
sends it whimpering back
through the pines
could be time well spent

careful with those
acciaccaturas, bird
might behead somebody someday
maybe even me.

Tesla Had a Twin

the words between words are words
am   was is   rejoice!
one minus x = nightmare city
toss the ring   skirt the boss
ring the bones   nothing’s lost
cassiopeia bondaged again
500 tons of cocaine in her cleavage
wickedness blinds the deaf

the words between words are warring
troop stamp tramp sloop stomp
mace spear knave sword slave
he who breathes life into horror
drinks pain
electricity grinds its axe again
one plus x = sweet retirement
ante up
it’s all over.

Chloƫ is All Grown Up

she belongs to the nice
the 5th wave of opportune
the mystic ambrosia
accidentally cut bleeds ambivalence
naturally tanned
drunk off laughter
gracile in her touch
gloomy in ignominy
the opposite of love is transparency
bidding war / lottery / slot tournament
prize: her hand
results: no winner
perhaps just the bridge from which
her lonely heart was flung.

Monday, April 15, 2019

Surrealist Poems By Gregory Wallace

Gregory Wallace is a poet and artist living in northern California. He is author of The Return of the Cyclades. His work has appeared in Black Scat Review, BlazeVox, Danse Macabre, Sonic Boom, Clockwise Cat & Five 2 One. He has a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and a Master of Arts in Creative Writing.


women gatherers chloroform tulips cold unfolding
sleeping earth a sphinx behind night blood
like dust dolls around velocities
honeysuckle verified drift charcoal
urges shake sleep pillars watering sunken lines
raised surges trolley clinical the anti-now
shadow flows in universal horse cinder
microscopic to illuminate mist flame
cloud flower forbidden and
pale car curved your woman from glass direction
sometimes finger assassinate the sleeping police
nymphs enchanter on chestnuts
banner to lands with thermostatic clouds
princess child happily exposed snow space ashes
light birds of Night touch earth shadows
carbon crocodiles lances between distended rusting


Your glittering tree sack embroidered spring soldiers
pumpkin carpeted herring
emerald crowns with another women
hummingbirds passed angel whiteness from scepter in admirable tombstone
the frog hands in curve from curled secrets
diagonally pink her kisses trailing tinted pilots
snow eyes of gently noises glittering
boat wooden for Valhalla in eyes against slow red sunbeam helmet
on sky gas with aluminum wing
spectral lizard above anthracite blooms
wild armor legislation closed and angels canoe
across forest mist and procession by midnight sea
small emplacements under pink skeletons
glistering trees as cold breath of breached powder sunset
birth forbidden stones and small soul sets sleeping golden with glittering watering
Your silver secret serves small insect suit
shady stars wanders plastic edge
eye sunken with cinder or throat
the coffin of body is key tobacco
another fragile shake on princess painted child
cold early clouds places gold window on fleshy television
imperishable pebbles past cunning avenues
red moon sings of green nymphs brightness
phantom pauses leaning paper banner of replaced in sun bodies


Steel for crow in earth
as girl blooms wind soul sets sail
between Tassels of magician when sailor poisoned on her travels
kills is crowns and the
hammering pulls honeysuckle across armor tinted pump
pink water colored vapor
earth in silver always rain
April sun past on rainbow/
poplars glide red and chasing fireworks
beneath guest islands gently snowing the body sleep
what are poppies crow ...
winged memory and midday noises to fell ghost swords
chimney in ghost shake under police echo
curved animal around grass and swabbed herring
sleep propped cornflakes on frozen zigzag
smiling chloroform replaced restless outcry in meadows multiform
restless microscopic fish perfumes
the touch from skirts hope for another perfumed flags
she kisses small birds every evening
feathers make cheeks her slow rising flame
mermaid milk in bare eyelids
lighted crystal comets and your animal hats snow off crows


Borneo filled forest clouds beyond pillowed bodies
savage in grave with small curled tube
sentinels release curved for all pillars scalded
public following ring women and emerald sea garlands
or beautiful drift birds with small boulevards and icy procession
then night like glass snow by golden pilots
watering flames of animals radiant
gatherers of tombstone ardent with constellations
his coat unfolding clouds reborn
intimate frog pushing lily in palm pipes
loud umbrella offerings silent thunder angel
curlew glides against the steel cat
ashes warming lizard boxes with crows
my monoxides girls burnt the gently painted sea
a pink shop shudders in flames over cactus  
foam finger adorned phosphorescent lines
carbon shines like aluminum skeletons painted by sherbets
trolley in quivering noises
enchanter ambled rays of fireplace arches
labeled tyrannical cloud white as sack ember


Flaming steps spot shining rooster
lion pool not already listening to cluster
horizon on background of lozenges
multiplication table bit  the creamy mountain
and can you hear rain?
elevating gasoline would singe fluttering situation
rafters drizzle heron sweeten
air dangers as bluebird springs light woods
distracted poets just compare charming flamingos
every deadly hummingbird devoted giddiness with climbing
in what different owls labors is raining inward
plural street arrive advance that very resolution
screams little seeds and come the smaller end
and more sexy in the speed of falcons
sometimes they linger in stone problems
rain descends in tubes that looks to the blotter
choice of trouble is circle of eternally thickened stamp
attentive polygon avoided curls from head behind you hair
bright skull listens to morning eggshell
a terrible cypresses bent on spectators brought cheese

Desdemona shining interior located rectilinear future

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Twelve Poems About Donald J. trump

These are the 12 Donald trump poems I wrote for the Paper Fingers event at 317 Art Collective on March 30, 2019. The event introduced the public to mechanical typewriters of all eras, and allowed them to use the machines. On the second night 11 writers were given the writing prompt by host David Pedersen "There is no such thing as free rent," and began typing. Zombie Logic Press collected those pages, along with pages typed by the general public, and combined it with the artwork of local artists, and compiled a literary zine that was available two weeks later. We sold every one of those copies last night at Art Scene. It was a great experience. I thank everyone who participated. These are the pages Jesus Correa created with my twelve poems about Donald J. trump. He used Dracula because, as he said, he couldn't bear to see an image of trump. Zombie Logic Press on Facebook 

Monday, March 11, 2019

Poems By Cameron Gorman

Cameron Gorman is Intern, Wick Poetry Center, Senior Editor, The Burr, Editor-in-chief, Luna Negra, Former Editorial Intern, POZ


i’ve been waiting a while
to write this one down,
so i can’t remember
all the things
piled on the side of the check-out line,

strawberry chapstick and candy, gum,
tiny tin bottles of WD-40,
wipes and tissues, maybe cards, and

i am tired-sad, and
my eyes sag under the weight of
the couple beside me,
waiting to buy a maple twist.

ah! I remembered that,
The maple twist, and he said,
i haven’t had one of these in years,
just years,

and i was stuck ahead,
staring at the reese’s and twix bars and
skittles, you don’t say much, and i know it’s
because you know i will cry, or yell,
scream at you and make them grasp away
from the check-out line,

plastic bags to thank
and helium
to hold until you fall.

and now, ah, i remember,
and here we are, yes, i remember,
how the fluorescents bore down, and i
felt your hand in my hand, and i
swallowed poison in my throat, and i
saw the conveyor belt and i
wondered if whoever made it
was happy.

french toast casserole

she hates ruining paper,
hates ruining paper
snow white, once white,
now full of her footprints,
scratchings, the first brush of chapstick,
imprinted with her lips,

and somehow, she wants
her new skin back, her,
standing in the thrumming
hospital blues,
waiting to touch
the only thing she ever had as pure,

not yet olive from the sun,
raw and unbitten,
uncut, unmuddied,
a dream of a dream of a
childhood dream,
it was never that creamy and freckled,
not loved and brushed,

and when her hand
reaches for that skin,

she knows should she touch it,

no, she can’t touch it.

the crying and thrashing,
and she does,
and now
nothing, nothing,
nothing is

to the guidance counselor’s office, 2011

because I don’t think that I should leave her in there,
should I?
shaking like that,
crying and wailing for something to stop.
stop what? what can we do?

“i haven’t slept in days,” she tells me,
“i’m so tired.”
i want to help her, and you know that,
but what can you do except

show her framed photos of the counselor’s sons,
football giants,
a ticking, sterile clock,
and a door covered in the faces of kids from Sandy Hook,
there so he can point them out, and say,
“that’s who you should cry for.”

i don’t want to leave her there,
i watch myself walk by,
and i shouldn’t care, i can’t,
but she’s faded into the timeline of life,
burned into the screen of sleeplessness
like a light bulb’s ghost,

weeping stuck inside itself
on a kirlian day.


she’d not dare
bite the peach

sink her teeth into the
flesh of the

if she knew that
the rapture
the sweetness

the euphonic speaking
the fuel of the longing

was a blaze only
by each passing

the sureness of loss
growing more
and more

more painful and

sanguineous and

by the halcyon
kingfisher blue
of the present

the sweet, sticky
love of the