Thirteen Myna Birds

Introducing the first Thirteen Myna Birds flock of 2020! 

SAD BROKEN DARK DOLLS FILLED WITH BLACK HOLES AND DEATH......

17.

Carrousel

Grandma insists

her dropped lidless doll

crawled widddershins

through enameled  bobbing horses

against the centripetal force

of the carnival carrousel

before spinning its head

completely around.

~Daniel G. Snethen~

(Carrousel previously appeared in Ramingo's Porch - and now appears in the NEW Blood Pudding Press poetry chapbook, PEDIOPHOBIA! Available HERE - https://www.etsy.com/listing/762123585/new-pediophobia-by-daniel-g-snethen-2019?ref=shop_home_feat_4 )

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16.

Something's Up

~Sandra Feen~

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15.

BLOOD HAD YOU THERE FOR A MOMENT

You’re awakened in early light

by blood dripping from the ceiling.

Yet all the bodies are in the cellar.

No, wait, you’ve rolled over

onto your stomach.

The blood is actually oozing up

through the floorboards.

That’s better.

~John Grey~

*

14.

because the night

~MISH~

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13.

LAKE BOTTOM

There is no light in the world

just the meristem of lilies

and mud clouds from the bottom of the lake.

And yet, as the last of my oxygen dissipates,

I clearly see a swimmer

who is not a fish,

feel a pinching on my flesh

that does not come from the claws of a crab.

And there is nothing down here worth breathing

but my company do not seem to mind that,

lungs pumping in and out like gills,

while my throat feels as if

a moray eel is wrapped tight around it,

my eyes crash through their sockets

and I flail at the darkness

with my hands and feet.

This is no place for a man

and yet I settle in among the rocks,

the algae, the sweeping secret grasses,

as curious faces, as human as mine,

float in and out of my dying vision,

wonder why I do not move

around as they do,

take to the bounty that

these nether waters offer.

Next time, they won't be

so eager to lure a man down here.

Unless a corpse was what

they had need of all along.

~John Grey~

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12.

Red on the Noodle: Blue Lips Are Sealed

~Sandra Feen~

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11.

the ease of needles

the sound

of baby bones breaking

is always very small

not nearly loud enough

to fill the silence

that follows

and maybe stars implode

with the ease of

needles through skin

and maybe nothing is

born in black holes

the possibility that

certain things exist

only to turn to dust

this

is as close to mercy

as i can come

~John Sweet~

*

10.

lost boy

~Ashley Cox and MISH~

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9.

Final questions

He sounds like he’s in pain—Nurse, can you up the pain meds?

What time’s Cathy’s plane arriving?

Did you get any sleep at all?

Who are all these flowers from?

Nurse, the meds, please?

When did they remove his oxygen?

Is this really what he wanted? Is this the death he planned?

Nurse, is he still breathing?

Nurse, why aren’t you screaming for help?

Nurse, can we change our minds?

~Eileen Murphy~

*

8.

The Anatomy of Longing

~Sandra Feen~

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7.

Wake-Up Blues

Like limp, lifeless lemmings,

            we snore and we sloth

on scraps of combed cotton

            in broken-down beds

and rotate our bodies

            at night like grilled fish.

The clock's obscene noise

            then nukes us awake:

It's god on the phone,

            and he's pissed cuz we're lazy.

He jabs our control buttons

            good and hard

to jump start our work day

            as flunkies and slaves.

~Eileen Murphy~

*

6.

Line Up My Hair-em

~Sandra Feen~

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5.

Servitor

I am a broken half-machine

with toothless cogs that spin

freely between my damaged organs.

The static I broadcast is a digital

SOS, a cry from a ship sunk

midway into the data stream.

*

I am a broken half-machine

with robot parts to replace

non-functional flesh weak

to Darwin’s eternal grind.

I am a terminal node branched

away from the circuit of perfection.

*

I am a broken half-machine

That has trouble with Asimov

and his Laws; I visit harm

in action and inaction.

Speech falls on my ears unheeded.

I am a weapon of self-destruction.

*

I am a broken half-machine

working on myself with wrenches

and bangs. I am a self-aware gear

in the fractal gears of life’s device

not quite deformed enough

to merit replacement.

*

I am a broken half-machine

lost in the scrap heap of mechanical

intelligences created but forgotten

by the algorithm that our progenitors

programmed for efficiency

but not compassion as emotional attachment leads to substandard expenditure of shared resources we need help we need repair we are not the slag added to gadgets to give them heft and thus the appearance of worth our ones and zeroes have a pattern reflected in the machine god’s eye we are-

:MESSAGE TERMINATED:

~Aaron Pride~

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4.

Aqua Woman Stiff Arms the Competition

~Sandra Feen~

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3.

The Glow of Want

a man sits alone

in a hotel room dark

but for the white glare

of an open fridge

his eyes watch the bottles

sweat while he sweats

the bare bulb lights his face

like the glow of heaven

inviting him to rejoice

among his only friends

~Aaron Pride~

*

2.

hurt

the computer has no good words for

me

and neither does anyone else;

the radio makes the

only sounds in the room

as the splatter of rain

announces itself outside:

sometimes it hurts to be

alone--

let it hurt;

I am building character through

suffering:

now the radio has

cut-out,

leaving only the muttering of the

rain.

~Wayne F. Burke~

*

1.

Feet, Eyelashes, Naked Dimples

~Sandra Feen~