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
Nina Parmenter
When The Threat of Hell Failed
God created the lanyard,
Bel Wallace
Month by month I felt my muscles harden
these hefty horns grew from my long skull
Stephen Keeler
Something about arriving somewhere new
just as afternoon is leaving . . .
Geraldine Stoneham
The silence and peace of this place
creeps through on birdsong.
Emma Lee
The instruction invites overthinking:
describe your hometown through
the medium of simple sentences
Vanessa Napolitano
I ask my father to dinner, pretending he is still alive,
ask him what he’d like. He says a pork chop which is not
something I know how to cook.
David Forrest
I don’t know why you bother with poetry Vlad mutters as he adjusts the current in the magnets, forcing them to rhyme with each other.
Neil Fulwood
Today’s operative on the ohrwurm shift
has hacked the WiFi password
in the ear canal and now I’m looping back
endlessly to a misheard lyric . . .
Ira Lightman
Laid down, his upraised face is
White – offputting – on a plumped pillow.