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Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – Suddenly Last Summer and The Soul February 27, 2019

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Suddenly Last Summer

Suddenly Last Summer
The Motels sang
and I was taken back to 1983.
My whole life was in front of me.

Suddenly Last Summer
The Motels sang
and I was back at the beach at 16.
There was no better place to be.

I thought it would last forever.
That was just wishful thinking.
It is 35 years later and I cannot
stop this sinking feeling.

I saw that The Motels are
out on tour to save Los Angeles.
Suddenly Last Summer
I need to get back more or less

to that place where I thought I
I could be whatever I wanted to be.Is it too late?
Please do not
tell me that it’s too late for me.

All I need to do is buy a ticket
to see The Motels in Los Angeles.
Suddenly Last Summer
will make me feel ageless.

The Soul

The soul is a place of wilderness
and oblivion, where a shallow
grave awaits, where the spirit
retreats. The soul is a deep,
dark cave, where birds of paradise
and flying birds wilt and die.

The soul is much more than one
could imagine. It is not always a
dark place. The light of day can
come from there. It is the first step
one takes from the chill to the warm
and hopeful place where one can
come to. The soul can be a place
of hope. It all depends on the soul.

Bio: Luis lives in Southern California, works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA, and has poems upcoming in The Ogilvie, Spillwords, and Unlikely Stories.

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Poem by Rob Quill- Word Assault February 19, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in New Poets, Uncategorized.
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Word Assault

it’s early.
say a word, two words,
a string of them.

I will hear only
one.  I will hear
only what I want.

I will distill
your word and swish
it around.

then spit it
out like so much
swill.

BIO: Rob Quill is a new poet, getting his feet on the ground.  He lives in a city and loves words.  Read more of his stuff soon on Synchronized Chaos.

Poems – “Found/Lost” and “The Sound” by John Sweet February 14, 2019

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found/lost

was talking about this dog on fire
was talking about nixon
or cobain or
some other suicide

last day of july and
the smell of all those bodies
rising from the river

your pale breasts cupped
in my blistered hands
more beauty in this
world than i
could ever describe

 

the sound

was talking about
clouds in the moonlight

was drinking you like
holy wine, like poison laced
with strawberries

had almost forgotten
everything i’d
wanted to

 

John’s poetry collections are available on Amazon.com and issuu.com

John’s blog is The Bleeding Horse, Avenged 

Poem by Jade Blackmore – Millionaires’ Wives February 3, 2019

Posted by vscorpiozine in Jade Blackmore, poems, poetry, Veteran Poets.
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Millionaire’s Wives

They are thin and attractive
With the best clothes,
The dream house,
And husbands who fawn over them.
“She saved me”, they say, “The best day of my life was when I married her.”
They are always on an airplane first class
But every photo of them shows a
Scowl,
A hard look in the eyes
Never a hint of smile,
Lips pursed like a camel ready to spit.
There is always something wrong with
The salesgirl at the fur salon.
The waiter at the three-star Michelin restaurant,
The casual comment  by a friend,
The world in general.
I wonder why
They never smile
Maybe it’s because of
Botox or plastic,
Or because they consider smiling a
Sign of weakness and stupidity in a woman?
Or maybe their husbands just want a
24- hour dominatrix?
I only know if I had
Their lives, I’d crack an occasional smile.
But then I’d get marionette lines around my mouth
And I wouldn’t be fit to be a millionaire’s wife.

 

Poem- There Was a Time by Jade Blackmore January 21, 2019

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There Was a Time

Praise the past
without fragmentation,
With a joy
For the moments
That passed too soon.
Find a bit of glitter,
A bit of professional flash,
for a little while,
To help you forget
What came later.
At the end of the night
You check your memories at the door,
They will not serve you
In the now.

Poem by John Grey – Whiskey on the Rocks January 5, 2019

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WHISKEY ON THE ROCKS

Once again,
one face floats up
out of the jangling whiskey glass,
one flittering shadow more alive
than all the big beef
in this barroom,
one voice in my head
that drowns out
all the sports talk,
politics and television rehash.

Drink to forget
and all I do is remember;
one sip and we’re high up
on the Ferris wheel,
comparing eye-lights
to the Chicago skyline;
another sip
and we’re lazing on the beach,
dancing in a club,
cooling our heels
while heating up love
on a verdant stretch of meadow.

One more sip
and the rocks are you,
melting into my head swoon,
or they’re the rocks below,
and I’m still not done
crashing on them hard.

 

BIO:

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in the Homestead Review, Harpur Palate and Columbia Review with work upcoming in the Roanoke Review, the Hawaii Review and North Dakota Quarterly.

Poem by Helen Burke – The Teacher January 3, 2019

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The Teacher

I learnt how to cook from mam, but
It wasn’t easy.

Mainly she said..and there you have it.
This applied to Irish stew, Yorkshire
Puddings, and fruit cake.
Scones and lemon cakes ..she simply
Waved her hands like a magician.

The actual ingredients ..where you obtained
Them ..I was no wiser when I left for college.

I think there was a book
Written in invisible ink ,hidden in a
Sock drawer next to the book she
Took to mass ..alleluia

There is only one recipe she said
Follow it to the letter.
And don’t over complicate things.

Who needs food anyway. All you need is
Faith. The rest is invention
Designed to waste time and jam .

Poem by Jade Blackmore- The Old Man Sitting on the Bus Bench December 20, 2018

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The Old Man Sitting on the Bus Bench

 He sits alone at 3 a.m. on the bus bench|
A paunchy 60-something man
Wearing a baseball cap.
He sat in the last row
And watched the Rocky Horror Picture Show,
Singing and shouting along.
The kids sitting next to him gave him a
Perfunctory smile.

After the rice and the toast,
The kids in black eyeshadow, lace and corsets,
Walk out of the midnight screening,
They’ve learned something from their elders,
A bit of panache,
A bit of glitter,
Besmirched by
The obligatory modern outrage.

Once the old man was a slim firebrand,
in black leather and fishnets with a cheap hot pink wig
singing and dancing at the screenings
before it was trendy.
The decades left him alone in body,
but not in spirit,
As he waits for the #2 bus.

Old, alone and
Waiting for the bus
Doesn’t mean you should give up.
Death is the only cut-off point
For enjoying life.

 

www.jadeblackmore.com

 

Poem by John Grey – Ten Blocks to the South of Here November 25, 2018

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Ten Blocks to the South of Here

I see two men grieving in a shadow.
One says he’s fresh out of breadcrumbs.
The other put his stock in the smell of rivers
If only for a moment, I represent logic
just by keeping my mouth shut.
One says, the willows wouldn’t keep his secret.
The other was unaware her lips were on fire.
It’s night out. I am this empty mirror
slowly filling with what I see.

 
BIO: John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. His work has recently been published in Examined Life Journal, Evening Street Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Leading Edge, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.

Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – The Battle With Night and Into the Void October 13, 2018

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The Battle With Night

 I surrendered to the night.
The youthful days are gone.
I need me time. No more
getting too carried away.

I have become docile.
I shorten the evening
when I could and just sleep.
No more burning candles

 in the day and the night.
My sails are down and I
enjoy the sea from afar.

Pensive, without circles
under my eyes, I feel
the battle with night is gone.

 Into the Void

Hurled into the void,

into a vast abyss of

 

twilights without stars,

and moons, I go there

and make a life out

of the darkness.

 

Mumbling, stumbling,

I go on like a

withered corpse

breathing life.

 

In this blind illusion

I go down the path,

following the odor

of chance, brushing

 

off my burden. I keep

it together, whistling

and humming blue songs.

Life is a strange mirage.

 

Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal is a California poet. Some of his most recent poems will appear in Spillwords, Tuck Magazine, and Yellow Mama Magazine.