Wither, Burn and Peel

      © Ana Maria

        

        A leaf falls during a late storm

                from an oak tree just outside my window.

                I watch this leaf wither away,

                before it touches the ground.

                A journey to an alternate path

                of the previous one I traveled yesterday,

                the ever lasting walk, brings blisters

                to my feet, that will one day

               wither away.

                The hot scorching sun is burning

                like an ant with cruelty from

                a magnifier glass.

                Can't seem to find a shadow

                to hide from the rays

                of this raging fireball in the sky.

                I catch a glimpse of myself

                my reflection staring back at me            

                waving, melting and withering away.

                I peel open my eyes and I'm safe.

                In my bed, all the familiar surroundings

                grabs the corners of my mouth,

                pasting a smile on my face, but..

                When I look out the window

                I see a leaf fall.

                The orange sun coming up,

                striking the clouds with pink swirls.

                My feet begin to burn, looking down

                at the smoke that begins to rise

                feeling myself burn and wither away.

             -by Donald Armfield

Donald Armfield. When his minds decides to leak out words, they sometimes make interesting poems, stories, or whatever. He is a coffee fueled family man with a passion for reading and writing. He has been published by Rooster Republic, James Ward Kirk, Dynatox Ministries, and more to come.

Painting Courtesy: Ana Maria

Ana Maria was born in Lisbon in 1959. In 1982 she graduated in Philosophy from the University of Porto and started her teaching career as a philosophy teacher at a secondary school. Simultaneously, Ana started working as an artist in the different domains of Fine Arts. She has been taking part in several national and international collective exhibitions.

Girl Talk

       ©Nataliya Begisheva

Grains of sand, stuck

by tanning oil to your thighs

glowed gold

like pollen on petal flesh,

roughened my tongue, as rough

as the stubble, there,

where you’d shaved. A hint

of perfume, salt from sea and skin

and the musk of your sex

a heady bouquet to your wine

arouse me now, recalling

how your head fell back, eyes closed;

I felt such power

and such tenderness, as you

convulsed, and thrust

against me.

-by Mercedes Webb-Pullman

Mercedes Webb-Pullman graduated from IIML Victoria University Wellington New Zealand with her MA in Creative Writing 2011. Her work appears online and in print (Danse Macabre, Turbine, 4th Floor, Swamp, Reconfigurations, The Electronic Bridge, poetryrepairs, Connotations Press, The Red Room, many anthologies, and her books  Ono, Looking for Kerouac, After the Danse, Numeralla Dreaming, Food 4 Thought, Tasseography and Bravo Charlie Foxtrot) She lives on the Kapiti Coast, New Zealand.

Painting Courtesy: Nataliya Begisheva

Natalia  Begisheva was born on March 31, 1984 in Kharkov. She studied at KNU, Karazina. She is a member of the Creative Union of Professional Artists. She can be reached at art@begisheva.com.

The Stick Up

      © Francesco Garieri

Have you ever had diarrhea so bad you shit a bit 

on your own dick

take a minute 

to

think about that.

I get really stressed that Kim Kardashian 

might not get along with Beyoncé

and maybe her and Jay Z feel awkward about it

I stayed in bed 'till 3pm Watching the Ray J

Sex tape on Repeat But I didn’t wank

Cause that would

Be like

Fucking a friends

Wife

If I could change one thing about my wife It would be that she

Would wear my jumpers around the house more often

Sometimes I look at my news feed 

And think What the fuck are you awake at 2:40

liking ANZ bank pages on Facebook for?

I never understand people who take a news paper

to the toilet

I haven't had a solid shit since 1995

but I do drink a lot of

wine and I'm also a compulsive liar

I knew a guy when I was younger who got so drunk he told me he once

spread his ass cheeks in the bath and swayed back and forth

to see what it would feel like to be a woman

having sex;

that drunk guy was me.

That bath 

was my mums.

-by Ben John Smith

Ben John Smith is the Editor In Chief of www.horrorsleazetrash.com and he has a burning passion for cats and female feet.

Painting Courtesy:  Francesco Garieri

Francesco Garieri was born in Italy in 1958. He is a self-taught painter and currently living in France. he did his exhibitions all over the world. He is also associated with the art in the streets.

Deep

                   © Maximilian Van Dokkumburg

Digging for muddy

electrified soul, past

bulldozer or backhoe

carcasses, past crane

shovel remains for a

brutal dirt blues washing

over everybody like a

controlled burn, liquefied

let go, sonically boiling

out of crops over corn

grinders into ignition

city concerto exploding

like a propane tank

-by David S. Pointer

David S. Pointer’s newest poetry books are entitled “Beyond Shark Tag Bay,” and “Oncoming Crime Facts.” David has recent acceptances for the Ebola themed chapbook from West Chester University, Proud to Be 3: Writings by American Warriors anthology and others. David currently serves on the advisory panel at “Writing for Peace.”

Painting Courtesy:  Maximilian Van Dokkumburg

Maximilian Van Dokkumburg  is a dutch artist living in Spain. He comes from the Rietveld Academy of beaux arts in Holland. He has won 2 biennales of Modern art, one in Argentina and another in Florence,Italy. He does exhibitions  abroad regularly. He is a multidisciplinary artist , switching from  digital to  conceptual work  and mix media.

Remembering to Breathe While Raking

      © Swadesh Misra

There is a meditation to picking up sticks.

Never have I picked up more sticks in my life!

I make piles:

          1 Big branches to be (like a tv husband)

broken down, and (like a tv wife) kept,

for some fire in the desirable future.

          2 Sticksized, for kindling.

          3 Bitty twigs I’ll leave on the deck

out back, for birds/squirrels to take

for nests, say, on an as-needed basis.

I put dirty or molded

wet wood with leaves

in bags they mark

‘for yard waste only,’

as if leaves & felled things

were the result of my lawn’s endocrine.

My own adrenaline kicks up when

the lawn bag breaks.

Shush shush!  goes my rake.

-by Bree

Bree is founder of Green Panda Press (Cleveland, OH) which publishes poetry and art paperbacks, chaps and sundry of the small press. Her work appears in little mags. She is the author of three memoirs.

Photo Courtesy: Swadesh Misra

Swadesh Misra is a photographer, writer, traveler and an artist. He loves music, nature, divinity, dreams, country, hiking and nothing more. He believes in miracles.

David Barker

Could death be this alluring?

walking past a darkened room,

I want to go in.

Survival instinct

sometimes you

must pull back

from the

precipice.

On company time

the last time

I saw our new receptionist,

she was playing a hole

of miniature golf

over by Mary’s office

at $5 a round

for the state employees

food drive. she

looked fine. “it beats

working the front desk,”

she told me. a

week later, she

died in

intensive care.
           
                                                                                                                               
                       

David Barker's fiction and poetry has appeared in many small press books and magazines since the early 1970s. In 2011, Bottle Of Smoke Press published his comic surreal novel, Death At The Flea Circus. A small collection of poems, Opal's Trails, appeared from Pig Ear Press in 2013, and in 2014 Dark Renaissance Books issued The Revenant of Rebecca Pascal, a horror novella written in collaboration with W. H. Pugmire.

Painting Courtesy: Marko Davidović

Marko Davidović was born in belgrade, 1981, finished Faculty of Applied Arts in Belgrade, 2005, in Graphic Design. Had 4 solo exhibitions and several group ones with some awards for graphic, graphic design, painting, drawing, own made font and calligraphy.

One Word: PROSECCO

      © Silpinwita Das

Here are five more words:

LIVE FOR THE FUCKING DAY.

I don't save my bubbly for a special occasion, boo.

Come over to favor me with a friendly fuck.

I'll pour you two glasses.

I'm generous.

Much like our girl Kali 

I collect gentleman callers.

Don't be scared.

I kill so well

you'll feel like

you're floating

in fuck ass soup.

How Do You Say Booty Call in Spanish?

I can Google that shit. 

Everything I need to know I learned in my cowboy boots

after an eviscerating job interview on Union Street.

The bus took me to the bridge.

I thought of all the suicides.

I decided not to be a cliche.

I wiped away the tears and walked the beach

and then I walked the streets

and then I rode MUNI

and then I crawled into my rented bed

on Clayton Street

and under the influence of Benadryl and beer

dreamed of the loveliest cock in the world

sliding in and out of my mouth/pussy/ass

like it was designed solely

for my distraction

and destruction.

My love is deeper than deep and lovelier

than any rose,

French or English

or otherwise.

-by Misti Rainwater-Lites

Misti Rainwater-Lites is the author of Bullshit Rodeo and several other works of fiction. She resides in San Antonio. Contact Misti at roxixmas@gmail.com. 

Photo Courtesy: Silpinwita Das

Silpinwita Das lives in Kolkata and did her Master’s from Kalabhavana, Santiniketan in Graphic art. She is currently involved in an Indian traditional textile art with natural dye called Kalamkari. She can be reached at silpinwita@gmail.com.