Happy funny disturbingly bright and dark spring from Thirteen Myna Birds!


~Chandra Alderman~



~Chandra Alderman~



Wedding Night

Now that I have married you,
the god-like you,
the golden you,
and finally nailed you down,

now that I have nose-ringed you,

I dream that you bring me to the store
and exchange me
for a prettier prom queen,
a bra-less babe in a tacky motel —
then you become Godzilla
with a woman in your mouth.

now that I've managed to marry you
(modeling my mama, grandma, and assorted strangers in movies),

I wonder if you are my nemesis.

The moments creep by like clouds, chess pieces, cattle.

Remote, in pain, in a dream, mewling,
I crawl into our honeymoon cabin bed,
where you roll in your sleep
like machinery,
crushing me.


My lips are blond

“You should think about changing your hair to strawberry.” 
I was strawberry for ten years.
I’ve been many colors: chestnut, pineapple, grape.
But I won’t dye it blue like I did in ninth grade: I’m no longer confused and angry.
I should dye it white like it was when I was a child.
And I should shave my head.
But that look requires a person to be thin.

He’s a man, this conversation’s boring him,
like choosing lipstick colors.
No, my wife changes her hair color every month.

I have all these scars on my head, see?
My brother tipped my chair over when I was four.
I was wearing Little Mermaid panties and no top.
I hit my head and ended up in the Emergency Room.
I had all this white blond hair.
The blood gushed out and got tangled in it.
They chopped it all off in the ER.
My father scooped me up and took me there.
Later I was embarrassed that I was wearing only the Mermaid panties.

My name is Jenna, but I’ve been called Gina and at work there’s a Jennie.
I like Ginger. But I’d have to change my hair,
Highlights. You don’t have to keep them up so often.
But the problem with red is that it washes out.
Except for blood. That stays.

~Eileen Murphy~



Ass Splatter at the Beach

                           Breaking his skull
                                    with a homemade machete—
                                                       the bloody spray of a crow
                       the windshield—
                                   the mess all white
                                                    and clear and ready
                                         for an acid bath

                                                 There stood death
                            in a t-shirt that said smile
                                                        on his back
                                           as he turned

                       A lawnmower blade—
                                case hardened and sharpened
                                              with a file, one end
             wrapped in black cloth tape—
                                         brought down perpendicular
                                                           to the hairline
                           will split that head open
                                    like a melon, soft and wet,
                                              its face gone pale

                                       Once sand drinks it up,
                         the foaming waves
                                             devour the sand,
                                 pulling it back for the ghost crabs,
                  the worms, the minnows by the shore,
                                     and anything else
                                                    that eats from
                                               the sea

                                 The head
                                        and body go in,
                slipping like down a hole,
                            as seagulls
                                      over the ocean


Debugging the Popular Wisdom

Fall, lords, from the sky
for our amusement; earth’s ruling
families await you with stinger,
wing, mandible and claw—we see
you come down in soiled robes,
and there’s not much else to do
but laugh and carry on with the
wine, tumbling like a sack
of cats shifted near running
water—the pony express riding hard
to relay the good news—Ancient Critters
Behind Us—and jumping
to guitar shiver for the Now blossom
of time—time for maniacs to rave, time for
the kids to play ball in the streets
with nocturnal eyes like owls
slit completely through with fire;
and, riding over the mountains, time to look
down on Lake Tahoe for the sunrise
of a lifetime, pulling in just before breakfast,
just before antique insects rise to kitchen
fires and burn their crippled legs on a snifter
of gas, a weak blue flame reflecting
in slit eyes before dying






I see a man
bent slightly forward 
hands in face 
as if he is putting on a mask
He sobs 
the only way 
a man who wears boots and cream shorts can
screams with misery
then he takes his hands from his face
he starts to laugh
and his face changes
then he looks at me
and laughs even louder

~Marc Carver~




I lost it yesterday
that demon 
that is inside me
came out
it is like the cobra in the pot
all it needs is a flute playing
to bring it out
then when it does
it is like a nuclear explosion
I haven't seen him for a while
thought that
he may have moved house
and moved in with someone else
but oh no
he is still there.

~Marc Carver~



The old trough where cows used to drink




As the singularity
of mankind’s existence 
approaches an apex
and an Artificial Intelligence initiates 
an all out unstoppable global 
nuclear holocaust,
there will be some sexy chick with 
large naked breasts on your
computer screen asking that
more money be sent to her
PayPal account in order to 
continue this webcam session
while she simultaneously coerces
you to keep your other hand busy
like a dealer telling a coke head
to keep his or her nose on the line.

Without any hesitation that
is exactly what you did;
one hand on your dick
and the other on your credit card,
not caring about the reality
that the life you have been given 
and thoroughly wasted
has become a nuclear hell
right outside your door
and the only thing you still care about
is finishing off the already shrinking 
used and abused appendage in your hand
and just how much this night will cost you.

~Craig Firsdon~




I was a patient
After 911 was called.
Rushed into the ER,
Transferred off the stretcher.
I laid in this hospital bed
while my insides burned
my bones hurt and my body ached
IV and blood withdrawals
Just more and more  pain
The same reason I came here.

I was a patient
Moved to ICCU
Later that night my mom left.
I wanted my mom
I wanted anyone
I was alone, so alone
And scared to be here.
Staring out of the window
all I saw was rooftop 
and a helipad waiting for me to 
escape this nightmare.

I was a patient.
It seems whenever you get admitted
Your room always has a view 
of a roof or wall.
I think it’s some kind of rule of nature.
They want you to feel imprisoned.
My grandfather preferred being outside
Watching for his buddies, squirrels.
In the hospital he still watched for them
But instead it was from out of his window.
He waited for them to scurry by.
It was his escape.

This poem is my escape.
Instead of still watching out a window
I watch my screen as I write this poem
And I watch my notepad as 
I draw my thoughts to page.

I am a patient,
but hopefully not for much longer.
Soon I will be outside again.



~Chandra Alderman~


  1. Awesome poetry on this page! I especially like 'Evidence.' Thanks for the inclusion with such talent!

  2. Thank you for being within the flock.

  3. So many great poets. I love what you guys are all about. On a scale of one to ten, Myna is a thirteen! Looking forward to the next issue.

  4. It's an honor to be included. Thank you.

  5. Thank YOU. Feel free to submit again in the future.

  6. I really love this and hope you will continue this series. Thank you for asking. This is exciting!

  7. Thank you Charles. You should also feel free to submit in the future, with any poems you think might fit. You know what the title and the cover derive from, right? Lynchian-ness. :)

  8. Proud to be associated with your beautiful journal. Thank you Juliet for the publication.

    1. Thank you for being a part of it, Debasis.

  9. Juliet, thank you for including me here. I really enjoy the diversity. In this grouping I particularly enjoyed Erin Renee Wahl's #4 piece, "Adhesive Climax."

  10. These are all great, "Shake Awake the Sandman" in particular.

  11. So lucky to be in this flock with the rest of these amazing poets. You've created the most bada$$ of poetry communities here, Ms. Juliet. Love my fellow poets!

  12. What a wonderful series of poetry! I feel lucky to have been part of this flock! Thanks so much for including me!

  13. Thanks for including me, Juliet.

  14. Replies
    1. Tonya Eberhard will have two poems appearing in the October 2016 issue of the Myna Birds too.

  15. Honored to be among all of these poems! These are fantastic. (This is Jeremy, by the way--all of my credentials for these services are out of date. Fixing that.)

    1. Happy to have you in the Myna Birds flock, Jeremy! Your stories are unique and powerful.

  16. Sweet! It’s great to be in such talented company. Thanks for the inclusion.
    -Joe Dolsen

    1. Thank you for being part of the Myna Birds flock.

  17. I love what you did with this February issue. Thank you for including me. I'm in such good company.

    1. Thank you very much for being part of this flock! Your art and poetry is wonderful.

  18. Brava! to you--this month's flock is awesome!--Mish

    1. Thank you very much, Mish - and thank you for your art!