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Poets P 

Percutant (3) - Przybylowski (3) - Pennacchini (4) - Powers - Payne (8)

Bella
by Wayne Przybylowski

A tempest in a teapot Elliot
Her finger traced its painted stem
Iíll need the cups to match
This one isnít good

There has got to be something wrong
Get some clothes for the baby
Some food too
At least theyíve paved the parking lot
Nothing will get broken

Palm trees canít grow in the desert
Thereís the bearded man again
                      rolling down his car window
Why was he always so formal?
He always shakes her hand
She put the ten dollar bill
                       in the pocket of her skirt

One last look at the mountains
She must have lost her sunglasses
Home isnít far
Take the shortcut
Pebbles always get stuck in the wheels

The rug goes first
                      from the buggy
Now the teapot
Wipe the babyís plastic face
Next the pillow and blanket
on the grass
under the tree
where no one can see
Tonight this is home
Starry night Elliot

Copyright © 2008 Wayne Przybylowski


Barfly
by Wayne Przybylowski

It could have been Tangiers
Maybe it was the Village
those concrete steps
worn, not at all perfect
weathered like the clientele
which devise the dimly lit
                      cauldron of conversation

Ernest is usually there
sometimes alone
sometimes with woman child
ďItís easier getting in than getting outĒ
A man says to his buddy
His buddy nods from stupor

Lady traces the rim of her glass
                  to keep the fly away
She would like to sit with Ernest
but woman child has his attention
Itís late afternoon
Now woman child is waving the fly away
Five oíclock, round six
Lady still sitting alone staring into her glass
She sits in the same place everyday
She canít remember when she was woman child

Woman child and Ernest support each other
as they make their way up the steps
ďItís easier getting into this placeĒ
Ernest says to woman child
She smiles
The barfly whizzes past into the night
along dimly lit streets

Copyright © 2008 Wayne Przybylowski


All Night
by Wayne Przybylowski

No baby, I donít like that
No baby, I canít do that
No baby, I wonít do that

Iíll have em sunny side up
Coffee black
Bacon instead of ham

My feet hurt in these shoes
Too cold to be outside
Hey, Get lost

More coffee
Your daughterís how old?
Thanks, you too

I thought I told you
No
Oh, all right

Now the money
Hey baby, now donít forget
Iíve told you a million times

Come straight home
Donít talk to strangers
Lock the door after I leave

Copyright © 2008 Wayne Przybylowski


Stencil Girl: Zombies of the Night
by Marie Percutant

A street light flickers shades of amber anticipation
across your dark shadow. ďOne-of-a-KindĒ peers
at you on the backside of an old brewery
in T-Town.

Your final touch, a trademark, known by all and
applied with a flourish known by none except your
blood-red can of high gloss and your
treasured cardboard cutout.

You unfold the stencil like a flag and tape it to the wall,
artistically measuring the light before dawnÖyou spray
feverishly absorbing your creation through jittery eyes,
stinging nostrils, and taser-town nerves of steel.

Satisfied that all was finished in record time---no one
saw you come---no one saw you go, you slither
off avoiding night watchmen, rusted cans, and garbage
left by zombies of the night.

Copyright © 2008 Marie Percutant


Chatter on the Net
by Marie Percutant

Around the world doors are opening,
eyes are blinking, and minds are sinking.
This is your last chance to satisfy your
curiosity, step out and dance the
royal shuffle.

The duchess has big hair and the pirates
are atoning---at least that explains why
liberty holds the audience in line,
a line that packs a punch as much as the
sound of crystal crashing unheard amongst
Essex folk.

Somewhat odd that anyone so unsure would
use a reference to The Collider being tested
on the Franco-Swiss border. The art of the
spoken giving lessons to mere infants unaware
of the Ichiban dining experience. Number one
is lost in translation.

Copyright © 2008 Marie Percutant


ABC Yo-Yo Zingers
by Marie Percutant

A is for American bulimic CRTs
depicting effervescent fools guzzling
haughtily in journalistic Kamasutra,
laying monotonous networks of pomp.
Quirky ratings steaming thermal
undergarments veiled with
x-rated yammering zippers.

B is for Broadcasting channel devils
erotically feeding guilty hearts
into jugs kept limply morose. Naughty
organic programmers quilting
reruns so televisionís underdressed
vixens whip x-rayed yelling zealots.

C is for Company depressed erections
forming glandular histrionics indulging
jealous kisses lost momentarily. Now
oppressive parents quell revving
soapy teenyboppers under very
watchful XXX yo-yo zingers.

Copyright © 2008 Marie Percutant


Incompletist (Snapshots From A Lost Time and Place) Vol. 2
by Tom Pennacchini

It's all a bit sketchy don't you know what with the RMS and all.
Formal education and I didn't work out but I was on my way across the country
to fulfill my own peculiar
and
particular manifest destiny
which at the time (at the time)? was a semi - conscious state of befuddled uncertainty
laced with a lack of pragmatics that was nothing short of utter ineptitude.

(Oh essential humor I laugh to myself now at the notion of then going clear across the country to maintain my standards and my continuous quest for success in failure).

We arrived at the train station and said our goodbyes.

After you left there was a welling and a filling and at the same time
a depletion of air.
I rushed outside after a constricted couple of minutes to tell you something
but you were gone.

I was consistently lacking in effort
and all done and said
pretty consistent in afraid.
I do at times wish that I had more of more
than all this less though
but the wish won't make it so

At a certain point, I guess, we got
uncomfortable around each other.

I'm glad, though, that I said what I said before you went for good last month
I will add now that I am sorry I made you nervous.

As I think back right at
the now of
this now
I was at a loss
then
and still am
so I'll leave it
at that.
 

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author Tom Pennacchini



Lone Folkie (Cabaret Now)
by Tom Pennacchini

There is a squat/stout duffer in a windbreaker and a Mets cap on the outskirts of the park
playing a rickety 5 string and hoot'in and holler'in.

I have no idea what he is singing.
There is no discernible melody.
Every now and then he stops/ freezes/ puts his forefinger in the air
to take some sort of measure
before plunging back into his flailing guitar.
After another stuttering burst he will stop/
then let loose with an elongated cry to the sky/
punk operatic/ style

nobody seems to stop/and listen/he does not have a container for contributions and probably would not get much trade/
he is playing/for his own/self/and that is / enough
It's/utterly senseless/ wholly out of key.
Beyond the realm of anything/
resembling cohesive musicality
/rambunctiously obtuse

yet imbued with an innocence that casts proficient excellence into a pallid light.

His songs/ performance/ like life/ a messy and inconclusive/ thing/

You can have/ your polished practice and Carnegie aspirations/
and make of that an evening/ with class

but I like the way this codger lets her rip/

this ragged chanteur/
airs it out/ no class/ no talent/ but lotsa / style
 

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author Tom Pennacchini



Saved By The Gull, The Tree and The Bee
by Tom Pennacchini

Today's fine October morn inspired a 32 block jaunt
the lush foliage was radiant and coursed its
pure vibrant lovely
deep to the bone
everywhere on the surround though
were people with their skulls
lodged up the anus
of their tell a phone

Help me here but I wonder what the nutritional value of their
conversation can consist of and what it
is
compared to the
nourishment of this glint full color miraculous on luminously transient display
and
the sweet brief glory of these leaves

I mean jesus wept
how DOES one keep from a soul shattering scream?

They ain't gonna get me though so I stroll to the
east river and look at a Gull
that is perched on a jetty just above the rolling wave water
being and living in simple solitary splendor.

His detached stance and unflappably impervious insolence is perfect.
I laugh. I thank and wave to the gull.

They ain't gonna get you either.

I decide that we all die but that very few of us live.

I saunter up the avenue, stop in front of and wave to my
majestic wondrous deciduous on 2 and 15.

the bore of people now in temporary abeyance and
much gratitude to you all
for the buoy and the shore

I do believe that is enuff for the out of door
i shall saunter back to my room and have the Bee fill the private zone

Moonlight Sonata.

Ah yes. Oh sweet mercy , I do believe that Ludwig van is sounding
and summoning me back home...
 

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author Tom Pennacchini

 



A Good Clean Break
by Tom Pennacchini

realities routine's are a stone crusher
all of it
the jobs
the relationships
the striving
the failing
the achievements (I'm guessing)
and more begets more
all the do's of you hafeta do
you can get tired beyond exhaustion
tired of your self
your thoughts (if you are inclined to that sort of thing)
and relief is much needed
some quiet
a long walk
to
the middle of
nowhere
some surcease
the compassion of a dog's eyes

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author Tom Pennacchini

 


To My Wife...
by James Powers

The uncompleted list
My shoes beside the chair
The rattle when I walk
The wood dust in the air.

The world was in a mess
More so in the morning
But your flowers were very sweet
And I miss you none the less.

Should I have told you more
That you are my love and joy
And that God made us one
And blessed us through his Son.

I'm here and will always be
I'm in everything you see
And I see you in me
For we are eternally.

Copyright © 2019



She Fed You
by George Cassidy Payne


That woman
kept you alive
on her breasts
as she fed you

applesauce and
yogurt, and made
sure that you did
not spit it up or
choke on a peach pit.

She walked with you
to the fridge, and
then the toaster.

She made peanut butter
sandwiches and waffles
if you were in the mood.

She fed you; she gave you
steak and milk
with nutmeg, even on
those days when
you did not deserve it.

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 



Even If You Had the Words
by George Cassidy Payne


Let your ears hear whatever

they want to. Without judgment
itís all just sound. What the brain

understands automatically, yet wonít
be named, even if you had the words.

 

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 



Levon and Stormy
by George Cassidy Payne


Itís as if a cat is unworthy of grief.
After all, there are so many dying
children (1 every 11 minutes in Yemen)


But some nights I pull into my driveway
still expecting to find him perched under
the deck or scampering in the snow.

I glance up and wonder if it will snow again.
I examine the rabbit and squirrel tracks in the yard.

Is he in the landscape anymore?

As I turn off the carís engine, the freeze
mends his scavenging absence.

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 



A Tone like Quartz
by George Cassidy Payne


I'm going for a clever but not smart tone.
Sort of like Billy Collins but not Billy Collins.

I want it to be ominous but not painful; and a
little bit confessional without being romantic.

And satirical, yes it has to be satirical. Not ironical
but satirical. I want it to feel organic, with a fierceness
that can be playful when it wants to be. Pure
and durable, just like the qualities found in quartz.
 

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 



Egyptian Sunset
by George Cassidy Payne


It's 6:30 pm, on a September
Sunday, too late to be called
summer and the clouds are
suddenly transformed into
bands of energy, like a vulva,
and the sky gods begin to birth,
an egg of fire, oozing from the
space that keeps the temporary
from endless beauty. A long time
ago, people- not so unlike
you and I- awaited this hour,
as a ritual. For them, it was an
offering of light made into
pictures of brick and limestone.
 


George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2019, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 


To Get
by George Cassidy Payne


inside the melodious
pulsations of cells dancing

this poem becomes
a promise

a glass shield
around the flame of a candle

swept away like
early snow on tumbled rocks

like scars of love
and hate

this poem, simply here
simply now

in the solar plexus
moving together like

two sides of the shark
when it swims

 

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2020, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 


Zen
by George Cassidy Payne

selected by
the elements

you are my Blue
Mountain jewel

my eternal recurrence
made of sky

your fingers
slender like virgin pine

your glint
electrical like dewdrops

in the Sun's reflection
falling asleep in the breeze

your lips
hungry with the fragrance of

daybreak, an empty valley
fractured by the boundaries

of physics, where you
can hear yourself happening

 

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.

Copyright © 2020, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 


The Crowd
by George Cassidy Payne

Until we finally choose to know each
other, we will run into each other
as molecules colliding.

We will be magical with
each other. Playing tricks
on the eyes, pressing

the cheekbones with sleight
of hand, like cards shuffled,
telling our stories

When we are most lonely

like interrupted
conversations
at the dinner table

 

George Cassidy Payne is interested in the intersection of poetry, social justice, representations of spirituality, and concepts of self. He is a part-time professor of philosophy at the State University of New York (SUNY) and teaches workshops focusing on writing and philosophy. He holds a masterís degree in philosophical theology from Emory University. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous journals, including Barnstorm Journal, Chronogram Magazine, Adelaide, the Adirondack Almanac, Tea House, The Mindful Word, Ink, Sweat, and Tears, the Scarlet Leaf Review, The Writing Disorder, Califragile, Zingara Poetry Review, Deep South Magazine, Allegro Poetry Review, and several others. His debut full-length collection, A Time Before Teachers, was released in 2019 from Cholla Needles Literary Press.


Copyright © 2020, With Permission From The Author George Cassidy Payne

 

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