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Poems by Michael Ceraolo – No Guarantees and SHE: A Non-Fable for the 21st Century June 15, 2022

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No Guarantees

A reminder
to those who have forgotten it,
or never learned it in the first place:
the freedom to say or do something
does not include with it
exemption from comment about it.

SHE: A Non-Fable for the 21st Century

Setting:  any social-media website

NARRATOR:              SHE

                                 had graduated college about a year ago

                                 And SHE

                                 announced she was moving into her first apartment

                                 And SHE

                                 announced she was accepting contributions

                                 from any who wished to help support her

                                 And SHE

                                 posted the link for those who wished

                                 to donate to such a worthy cause

                                       THE END

Bio: Michael Ceraolo is a 64-year-old retired firefighter/paramedic and active poet who has had two full-length books (Euclid Creek, from Deep Cleveland Press; 500 Cleveland Haiku, from Writing Knights Press) published, and has two more, Euclid Creek Book Two and Lawyers, Guns, and Money, in the publication pipeline. 

Poem- The Quiet World by Jade Blackmore April 14, 2022

Posted by vscorpiozine in city poems, Jade Blackmore, Uncategorized, Veteran Poets.
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The Quiet World

Looking at the world from a window.

Apartment dwellers
laugh at the audacity of nature.
two raccoons overtake the parking garage
to make whoopee in plain sight.

The red finch at the feeder
thousands of butterflies skirting across stucco rooftops.

Then a phantasm shuttered the mountains, the planets, the movie scenes
with its’ money,
the lush green steppes only accessible
to the haughty and clueless.
The legacy friend who is quite sure she’s always right, the bluster, the vile and righteous path.

More sculpted glass in the sky,
a formula for escape or detention.
A squirrel scampers up the construction site fence,
another reminder
that the quiet world is out of reach.

Poem by Sushant Thapa – The Sky That Stopped Me July 25, 2021

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 The Sky that Stopped Me 

That late afternoon 
I saw the sun hiding behind the clouds. 
My eyes swept
from a green tree,
Swinging its arms in the slight breeze.

I stopped for a while that afternoon
To realize that soon evening would drop.
I stopped my walk and my eyes 
Stopped in the clouds, 
The yellow and the blue 
As if they are colours of my 
Life which has been too busy.

I rush to make a chapter of verses. 
That feeling and the strike 
From the clock tower,
Shaking me from the buzz,
A bee hovering, 
Flowers singing the tune of balance 
Gave me the rhythm 
Again and again. 

I have learnt to stop and 
Cherish life in the silver mirror of the clouds.

Words they help me to arrange the white clouds 
In my blue sky. 

BIO: 


Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet from Biratnagar, Nepal who holds a Master’s degree in English Literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi,India. Some of his publications include Trouvaille Review, The Piker Press, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, New York Parrot, Atunis Poetry, Visible Magazine, Litehouse exophonic Magazine, Impspired, EKL Review, The Kathmandu Post, My Republica and Harbinger Asylum. Sushant is the author of the poetry collection “The Poetic Burden and Other Poems” published by Authorspress, New Delhi, India.  

Poem by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – Too Long June 15, 2021

Posted by vscorpiozine in Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal, New Poets, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.
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Too Long

Could you spare
some sunlight
and blue skies?
This evening 
has gone on
for too long.

It is not
even close
to midnight,
but I have
to ask, bring
on the day.

I would not
mind losing
out on sleep.
I do not
need to go
straight to bed.

I am not
in the mood for
stars tonight.
Bring on the
sun burning
hot as hell.

This is the
night you say
goodbye to
me. This is
the night that
ended us.

Bio: Luis lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His latest poetry book, Make the Water Laugh, was published by Rogue Wolf Press in 2021. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Kendra Steiner Editions, Mad Swirl, Unlikely Stories, and Venus in Scorpio Poetry E-Zine.

Poem by John Grey- The Flight Conundrum May 5, 2021

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The Flight Conundrum

Last night, I dreamed that I was flying.
As far as my subconscious is concerned,
there’s no such thing as gravity.
Waking, however, brings it back into play.
I can stand up straight
but that’s as far as it gets.

Yes, I admit, that I once got high 
on your sweetly passionate kisses.
But that was more of a sensibility thing.
In physical terms, my feet were firmly on the ground.

But, in that dream,
I was soaring over rooftops, 
lakes and forests.
And there seemed to be no reason for it.
Nothing was pulling at me from below.
Not mortgage payments.
Not a roof in need of repair.
No backpain.
Not even a slow night on TV.

I wonder if birds dream 
of having two legs, two arms,
no wings, no feathers,
and pushing a lawnmower 
up and down a backyard lawn.
I’d like it better if they did.

BIO

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Orbis, Dalhousie Review and Connecticut River Review. Latest books, “Leaves On Pages” and “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon.

Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Old Poets December 28, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in Los Angeles poets, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.
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They all gathered in a basement near the beach. Sunlight covered by brick and photocopies, the pesky blonde surfers sent packing, the scourge of suburbia long gone.    

The reluctant idol in western jeans ducks into his car, but he can’t escape. The parkig lot fence won’t shield him from the aftermath of his chosen profession. Every autograph paves a piece of soul flattened until he can escape incognito to another land . 

Neon-haired old woman
Swathed in black
Yells across the room
Even louder than she did in her heyday,
Oblivious to the background bro calling her an old hag.
Her former partner-in-crime ostracized
For having the wrong opinion.

The woman who raises chickens and grows corn in her back yard
Discusses Bukowski with a slouching, bespectacled poetry professor.
In a previous life he was a long-haired bass player, dropping acid and sharing girls in Golden Gate Park.

The wine disappears from red Solo cups as conversations intensify.
The words of fallen comrades echo in front of scratchy 8 millimeter films.
Self-made local legends, revealed to a select few.
Only those who crack the code understand.
Transference and time fade the intent,
but the spirit remains.

Poems by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal – Two Minutes and Sea Song December 27, 2020

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Two Minutes 

Two minutes waiting
for the bus that is five
minutes late. It is
cold at Four Fifty AM
for someone used
to warmth. The bus is
late again like the other
day when it was windy cold.
I should have worn
thicker socks but I did
not want to be late
looking for them. I feel
like Forest Gump just
waiting for a bus but
without a box of chocolates
and no one around to
tell my tall tales to.

Sea Song 

The moon is foam.
Six stars fall now.
The end is near.
Six stars fall like leaky ships.
The sea eats its songs.
Fish multiply despite it all.
Exhausted, the sea eats lyrics.
The sea is right to consume all.
It sinks boats and
sings along with
its waves and skylike colors.
The sea is all show.

Read a review of Luis’ chapbook Before and Well After Midnight, at Clockwise Cat.

Merry Christmas!! December 23, 2020

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Poem by Jade Blackmore – The Last Decent Man in New York City (1990) December 22, 2020

Posted by vscorpiozine in 1990s, exes, Jade Blackmore, love poems, New York, poems, poetry, Uncategorized.
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The Last Decent Man in New York City

You don’t wear black turtlenecks.
Good.
Don’t buy one.
You don’t make obscene gestures while talking to clients on the phone.
Good.
Don’t start.
Curious words scrawled,
a frazzled New Year’s resolution.
A blend of teddy bear
and hippie charm,
the only man in modern times
to look sincere in a ponytail.
You care about what you do.
I see it in your face,
I read it in your eyes,
blue and gray without the clouds.
My only regret in the toughest city in the world
is that we drifted apart.

Poems by Jack Henry – Saint Thomas Aquinas and ex November 19, 2020

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Saint Thomas Aquinas

the old poet sits under a dying tree
in a park near a crumbling church
as people gather for midday mass.

a dyslexic sun spins in disambiguation.
two men kiss as a breeze begins
to drift through branches and leaves.

the old poet awaits contradiction, as words
fall from the corner of his eyes and
children scream in delight,
for the ice cream man.

a police officer walks by, says hello, and pauses
briefly, asking the old poet about his day,
and any plans for the weekend.

the old poet does not speak, lost in transition,
from one point of contact to the next.
there is no connection only the unending buzz
of a phone call not answered.

ex

words
bleed
out from broken
fingers.
fractured memories
of a past
best left
to rot
in a
cage
i locked
them in,

so many
years
ago.

Bio:

Jack Henry is a poet and chapbook publisher. His poetry journal is Heroinlovesongs.com. His work has been published in Clockwise Cat, Poetry Warrior, Oak Bend Review, Rusty Truck, and other online and print zines.