Today’s choice
Previous poems
Matthew F. Amati
Hands Said To Head
Hands said to Head
look what you’ve made me do
it’s not me, Head said, talk to
Heart, that guy’s sick, Heart
said whoa buddy, I take cues from
Gut, whence all appetites bloom
Gut growled, said nothing.
Head said rumor is Gut’s got
a second brain down there, cooking up
God knows what. when they brought the cuffs
it was Hands that got shackled tight.
do the dirty work, it’s your mud to wash off.
Matthew F. Amati was born in Chicago but was asked to leave shortly afterwards. Over 50 of his poems and stories have appeared in Flash Fiction Online, Clockwise Cat, Oddball Magazine and elsewhere. Much of his work is collected at www.mattamati.com
Jaden Pierce
Bath Soak me in an acid bath As I seek to test my limits For pain I do not fear And want to conquer Like the great warriors who have Come before me Performing magnificent feats Showing mind over muscle Sitting in the midst of a blaze Yet calm and...
Jamie Woods
PTSD / IET Guidance Notes for Registered Electricians Too many residual memory devices Trip again, over and over Breaking circuits with synaptic transmission Neurons activating Molotov cocktails She says: Love yourself Be kind to...
Michael Durack
How Way Leads On To Way Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. (Robert Frost - The Road Not Taken) Knowing how way leads on to way, lane to avenue, boreen to boulevard, It is unlikely I will get to go back, take...
Sarah Terkaoui
Elegy for The Tumbledown Dick It burnt down twenty years ago. Landlord’s stealing ran it down. New management couldn’t fix a sticky-carpet sea of broken glass each night. Nor dare to clean the toilets. Dealers’ trade kept high in cisterns. Punters...
Shaniqua Benjamin
The Village after Ryan Calais Cameron A child not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth, skank around flickering amber hues that singe eyelashes of a soul cracked and popped, barely a speck of him to sign-point that he was...
Robert Hirschfield
Automat Chicken sandwich widow in a cave Edward Hopper edible so lonely it wants to bite off a piece of itself and eat it. * Nothing More To Say The stout aunt says, His coffin is small. He was small. Heaping upon him her scoop of dirt. ...
Sally St Clair
The Road Our father taught us kindness, bringing home speechless men to sit watchfully at the table, their wild hair and swollen fingers mysterious on the white damask, staring as our father gestured with the family silver, leaning in towards the...
Pletts & Berger
Chernobyl : past, present and future tense It all feels sepia; liquidator-faces filling the coach windows dust in the air, that grainy hue that will etch into their bones, scrape its mark on their lungs, turn their complexions a...
Noel King
Burying the Husband As your hearse stretches the road we walk, trying to be respectful. My shoulders heave an ease at their freedom, my bruises will heal now there’ll be no fresh hits. Our feet turn, our bodies sideways themselves through the gap...