Hazel Smith

Lit-Mag #46 – Madrigalesque

The wrong Tom Jenks

I looked him up on the Internet but it’s the wrong Tom Jenks
histories banged together,  homepages for high jinks
it repeats as it permutes, but it also rejigs the past
welcome to the mix and match of discombobulated planes
to cross is not only to traverse,  to cross means also to conjoin
organisms tear apart the niches they construct
earthworms are proto alchemists, they switch the soil to gold
a jumble, a mosaic, a mix-up, a montage
conversations build a cartography that maps an alien field of art
nations bounce back from combat into an adaptive ache
agendas pulse erratically, expectation swings its chronic beat
she amputates accusations, screws on prosthetic myths
he felt attracted by her one day and repulsed by her the next
variants are deviations that play bad tricks on genes
revamping your story is unwise but it doesn’t mean certain guilt
a treatise resolves as tealeaves, fragments disarm her fists


Also see: The Blue Bus

Allen Qing Yuan

Autumn Slumber

I package myself in
soft, tickling fantasies
shipping myself in comfy covers
for a sensation more than
the five senses can excrete

asleep, I fall into a misty typhoon
an omnidirectional mirror with a blurry reflection

I’m a shark chained to an anchor treading through this sea
ploughing through the starry specks of Atlantis
I look for whatever treasure is invisible
its scent is the blood I seek

As I peel the sore eyelids from my fresh eyes like a new cap off a pickle jar,
like a lemon juice squirting from a lime,
it’s a citrus refreshment for the back of the eyes
the sunlight flares as I shoot my hands upwards

I configure my senses and then
I feel the numbness in my leg*
an anchor that kept me
in this reality

*Since I was 13, I have been suffering from disk problems
which prevent me from moving around like other normal boys.

Kevin Simmonds

The Amputee

Locust & Half Frog
    her asanas held
        without prosthetic legs of wild plastics
            no asana for Kevlar
                none for acrylic

How high her buttocks rose
    at inhalation
        eyes closed
            for the color wheel

azure mist
        almond flown             
            to coral

When you can control nothing else
            you can control your breath

She breathed through war
    the platoon commander who called her babe
        the helmet at her feet  a head still in it
            each baby left
                Come slate
                    below the rubble
                        Come goldenrod

To rinse her bones without self pity
    she had to send much
        the way of her legs

Horst Lothar Renner

Ein Gedicht


ich lebe mein leben
kaum noch gehend
so nebenbei

ich bereite mich vor
kaum noch atmend
auf das nichts

ich spreche mit mir
kaum verständlich
nach aussen stumm

ich löffle die suppe
ich esse sehr wenig
ich trinke nur wasser
ich ahne den schmerz
ich rieche moder
ich sehe gespenster
ich höre ein klopfen
ich fühle mich schwach


ich spiele
ich spiele nicht mehr

Judith Pfeifer

i once fell on the earth
(bunny blue purple remix)

two feet go east
west back forth
north wind melts south
ice is what you tell me
i am you and you is gone
with the wind film from
the south so hard to
say my name
was made in france
i would be moi
two feet hop east
west north south

Sylvia Petter

ich lebe im al

ich lebe im al
im (al) von austr(al)ia
im (aus) von (aus)länder
im land der freiheit
des narren

mach‘ ich’s r(ich)tig
mach‘ ich’s f(al)sch
bleib‘ ich (aus
en liberté

ich beweg‘ mich
im al
im al-leingang
geh‘ nicht ein
samt al-leinsein

keine leine im al
no leashes in aus
(i’m a roo not a dog)
no roos in aut

(got the t-shirt)
bin kan-gourou
in aut

Manfred Malzahn

Lit-Mag #42 – The Arabian World


They put nets on palm trees these days
Green plastic mesh shields ripening dates
From the forces of wind and gravity

They put glass on branches of pear trees
So that fruit grows encased in a bottle
Until it no longer fits through the neck

Remember the times when young men
Walked out of school and into a factory
Just as dates pass from tree to market?

Now the teachers are duty bound
To set young minds into corporate moulds
While not yet weaned off their mothers’ sap

And the hospice is near the maternity ward
And the graveyard still close to the church
And the hearses wait at the hospital gates

Green plastic mesh shields ripening dates
From the forces of wind and gravity
They put nets on palm trees these days

Ian C. Smith

Lit-Mag #37 
Myself & Others

One Poem


Staring at his own shrunken eyes
he might have just woken from a coma
understanding for the first time
the whisper of his dark life.

His glasses and the mirror conspire to expose him.
He’s a post-modern study in suffering
he’d seen in a book.
Nowhere can he find his younger self.

The face, carved, reminds him,
of a family steeped in meanness
the whole unpleasant portraiture.
This leads to knowledge.

His parents who could never love him
abandoned him eventually.
Now he faces the claustrophobic belief
in the marketplace of death.

He must agree with, not blame them
those finger-pointing soothsayers.
He has amounted to little
and soon, to even less.

Christopher Mulrooney

Lit-Mag #37 
Myself & Others

One Poem

from top to bottom

you wouldn’t mind
a complete reorganization
from top to bottom

would you mind
if I don’t tell
you see I do mind

if I couldn’t tell
you wouldn’t mind
a complete reorganization

Charles Frederickson

Lit-Mag #37 
Myself & Others

A Poem

Illusions Work Better Than Truth

Illusions work better than truth
Plight of in limbo stateless
Emigrant workers pledging out-of-bounds allegiance
Homeless refugees abandoned by Fate

Fault lines run deeper than
Ever before pressure cooker tension
Boiling over aflame with rage
Steamy ethereal options evaporating scald

Wages of evil attention unpaid
Sick & tired squeeze play ghettos
Boxed in bottom falls out
Rat infested hoods uncollected garbage

Nothing to talk about betrayals
Avoid violence at all costs
Congress slashes budget impedes progress
Vexing quandary cagey motives barred

Fight discrimination bullyrag intimidation tactics
Prick ballooning clouds of Fear
Disheartened attacks soul searching reprisals
Promises unkempt signal fires ignored

Unexcused absence of malice victims
Declared youthful innocence pardon exonerated
Pre-sentenced guilt unable to cope
Illusions work better than truth