It’s Only Money by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

A malaise

That ebbs and flows

Not knowing

When to come

And when to go

Shedding new skin

Again and again 

 

But why try to fight the ocean

When it looks so nice

After a morning and afternoon

Of bottles and ice

 

Why do yourself in

With breath left to win

 

Lots of famous talented people

With a lot of bread

Have been known  to

Give it to themselves

In the arm neck and head

 

Goes to show

Money can’t buy happiness

Just a lot of I told you so

 

Or the knowledge to know the reasons why

 

But I would not decline to give it a try

 

My medical condition is ripped and torn in the thicket

My retirement plan rests on a lottery ticket

 

So

 

However, or whenever

Even knowing I can not buy it

Or change what is askew

It would be rather delightful

To have the wherewithal to

To buy sometimes new

 

 

 

Sleep On It by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

The drinks kept flowing

There was no sign of slowing

Should leave now and sleep it off before work

Before I pop yet another cork

 

After an  undertow of oblivion

I decided to watch the dawn 

I’ll just stay up all night

And go to work where I belong

Why bother to sleep it off

When I can sleep it on

 

So much Stark black or bright white

Sometimes it’s nice

To stroll once upon a time in a kinder kind of light

 

Not go to work at all

Tell them I missed the memo

Won’t be the first time

As I sort of recall

 

Meanwhile

 

Maybe something in the grey spectrum

Would do a welcome easement on the rectum

A vacation from all the pains in the ass

Grab a seat, this thought is drowning fast

 

It is either an Oasis

Or a Mirage

There is nothing in between

In my Sun, Moon, And Stars

 

Must drop a bad habit

Of looking back

Suicidal or hypochondriac

And shallow

A tough act to follow

 

So I guess

Feast or famine

I will

Keep on the lurk

 

Anyway

 

I’m late for work

 

 

 

The Things I Know Now by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

I have lived older and younger than you

No serious accidents

No code Blue

Long distance love

Has never met you know who

Maybe a short run

And that was only one or two

 

I have not travelled far

But I have travelled wide

The ups and downs

Among the great divides

 

I come from many

Untutored tortured souls

Very proficient at digging their own holes

 

Outside

So far above

Inside

So far below

Stay in my middle lane

I don’t think so

 

So how is this for a circuit breaker

Cut in line to meet your maker

Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems

Maybe forever you go from dream to dream

 

 

 

12 poems by Thaddeus Arjuna

[American, currently residing in Bali]

 

We Never Cried

 

Once upon a time, I dreamt of a moment when parents cared for their children and children loved their parents. When life was carefree and simple and little things made us giggle and smile. And we never ever cried. It must have been a nightmare, or maybe I died.

 

I Miss You

 

To my parents.

I wasn’t there when you died. It was just too painful for me. I couldn’t stop it or help you. You were hopeless romantics, and you would have never left each other, and yet the two of you created such dreadful anguish. You ended up dying from tragic circumstances that could have been avoided. You created the condition because of the pain you felt. The pain of loving each other. It was unfair. No one should have to feel so alone when they are loved. I sat on the beach and I cried with you. I prayed that you would return. I looked up at the sunset and I wondered if you felt the same. Did you feel betrayed? Did you feel helpless?  Maybe God’s sitting on some beach with the three of us. Will he give you the comfort we craved?

 

 

The Giant Orb

 

It lingers quietly above my home. It leads me in the dark through jungles and across uncertain waves. Its light casts down on me. My refuge when I am lost. Its radiance has made wolves sing and children cry. But now it protects me on my bed where I lie, from outside my window. Why won’t you show me your face? Why won’t you talk to me, giant glowing orb? Your beautiful silence captivates me, but I want more. All my life you have only shown me one side. I want to know the dark side. Is that the side that tugs on my river, and on my ocean?

 

 

The Purple Tulip

 

A love letter to a beautiful lost Assassin.

 

My lovely lilac. That has shined blue for so long. Let me be your sunlight. The sunlight that opens your beautiful petals that smell like honey and lemon. The fragrance delights me and reminds me how wondrous the world is. Know that you have given meaning to all that is good in the world, simply by being a part of it. Don’t let the world destroy you. I am always with you, no matter where I am. You are my world. My universe. I am scattered stardust without you.

 

 

The Borobudur

I dreamt of you. An angel from some world between heaven and Earth. Your voice in the wind melted like soothing silk to my ears. Your scent was like sandalwood enchanting my senses. You were majestic and graceful. Your beauty was all-encompassing. Illusive and exclusive. I climbed your steps of stone past all the bells with the 500 meditating Buddha’s. Finally, out of breath but reaching the top you were nestled between two volcanoes sitting so peaceful and unafraid. You were forgotten for hundreds of years and discovered finally from a lost map by strangers. The stone Buddha’s sat quietly watching the sun rise and set all alone in the jungle. But now your glory is a silent voice no longer. You inspire all those who visit you in this land full of wonder.

 

 

A Lovely Memory    

 

In Maui next to a sunken volcano at sunset.

We laid in your boat adrift, in an ocean full of stars.  A soft breeze comforted our faces, as we drank crisp wine that tasted like grapefruit, and we watched flying fish skip across a golden watercolor ocean of a brilliant glowing orb sinking into magical oblivion.  We were surrounded by booming thunder clouds that were muted by their distance, like a faraway battlefield. You told me stories about sea monsters with long tails. Thresher sharks, hunting mackerel.  We watched in silence as they whipped their giant tails in the water, unaware of us, stunning the frenzied seafood and upsetting the glowing phosphorus. The gulls woke us, with their chirps of joy.

 

 

I Have No Thyme

 

I have the potatoes peeled. The Asparagus is washed. The Chicken seasoned all but one thing. I am out of thyme. I had wondered when this day would come. When thyme evaded me until the dreaded end. Thyme has been my friend, all these years. I wished for it to come when I was 10, I wished for it to go away when I was 30. But now I am late in life and I look at the stars so far away, and I wonder about thyme. How it feels in my fingers, how it smells so earthy. Even lemony. I wonder if they have Thyme on Mars or some other distant world? Is there someone looking at Earth now asking about the thyme? How much he has left? I slip the sprig under the chicken’s skin and into the oven it goes. I rub my nose with the smell of the wondrous green herb and await this magnificent fragrant bird that will grace my table with its scent of woodsy lemony goodness.

 

 

 

There Is a Stranger In My Home

 

Where did you come from? You came so quickly, and I had hoped you could save us from each other. You lay so peacefully on my bed next to me. Your scent is somewhere between eggshell and guano, but no matter where I am I cannot stop thinking of you, and I await to be near you. You drool when you’re asleep or awake, but I must say that when you lie silently not making a peep, I see the joy pervade our house and the smiles fill our faces, and I cannot thank you enough for that. I hope you will be patient with us. When you learn to crawl when you learn to walk. When you learn how much you have meant to us. When you are a teen, remember me. Don’t break my heart. I listen to your footsteps in the hall, I hear your laugh when you play with the ball. I am so thankful to be your all now, and sadly, I know that won’t last. Because someday you’ll be on your own living your own life. But I will always be elevated to have known you and see you grow up. Know that if nothing else when you get older, you helped keep me centred on what was important and you kept me strong when I didn’t believe in anything else in the world.

 

     

 

Find The Joy 

 

Away from the noise, there is a peaceful silent place that is deep in your heart. In all of life’s disappointments, don’t wait too long to find that joy. It is closer to you than you think. It seems so fleeting sometimes, so out of reach. But it’s not. It is right there next to you. Just don’t let those who claim they care for you, keep you from it. It is so much easier to find the good inside you than to shed the bad in someone else. Leave this Earth with a grateful heart full of awe and wonder.

 

 

 

The Red Wood Chair

 

The chair that sits at my desk, Vigorous but worn. The joints perfectly seamed. The strength disguised in its smoothed arms and steady legs. I envision it came from a mighty tree that towered over the landscape. Taller than all others. The chair has stood perfectly still through all these years and even before I acquired it. How many luxurious homes did it grace? How many proud fathers sat in it, enjoying a fine cigar or an aged cognac by a roaring fire? Celebrating a successful business deal or a special anniversary. How many mothers nursed an infant in its embrace? How many children climbed on its strong back? Sleepy pets rested underneath its shadow. A soloist sat here, writing a concerto. A student studied law in this chair. He carved his initials on it. A Senator looked over the final draft of a bill that he had written. A President negotiated a treaty from this chair, pounding on its arms to make a point. I am sharing this warm comforting space where a marauder planned his heist, and now this soft chair comforts me with its secrets kept.

 

 

 

The Road To Hypatia

 

For a Prince on Mars.

Take the road to Hypatia. Past James Crater. The dusty red road with the blueberries and the pink sky. I will meet you at Sarah’s large hole in the ground. And we will sit on our backs and watch Phobos race across the sky. We will watch the six-legged cats nibbling on Martian Marjoram. And we will eat Goat’s milk yogurt, and drink Spearmint Tea. We’ll pick cotton from the cotton trees, for soft pillows and I ‘ll tell you stories about when we first came to Mars.

It is so much easier to love the things you have than to grieve over the things you have lost. And you have so much. Don’t forget that, Prince. I wanted you to have a better world. Now it’s up to you.

 

 

Donna You Can Drive My Car

​

Donna, you can drive my car. I don’t even care how far. We’ll hit every bar under these dimming sad stars, on our way back through this broken world all alone but together, and I promise I’ll finish the lyrics to this psalm while we drift asleep to the sounds of lemon and honey coming from Stanley’s Stradivarius. You can be in charge I won’t make a peep. While I fall asleep in your arms in the back seat, just let me take the flowers from your hair.

 

 

​

Descended Darkness by David M. Rubin

[New Hope, Pennsylvania, USA]

​

The Celentir cache dormant, most barely arise and pass, few spark dark, their pallid warnets carve, melted lipents drain, arrange on the finger-tips of angels, vast distance travelers to cribs and carriages, their cargo wormed into every tiny ear. Fractioned moments, thrashing at the precipice, junctured between physics, dancing invisible on pre-sentient lightning. The Celentir stalk the first nourishment, realization, pain vast like space, the first Planck flashes of awareness, a trigger to feast and fight, winners transcended, darkness descended, losers cast to light. Every soul will be harvested, every ear will itch its loss.

​

​

​

4 poems by Thaddeus Arjuna

[American, currently residing in Bali]

 

The Sultry Seamstress

​

She studies the fabric for the cross-grain and searches for any flaws. Her slipover clinging to her soft brown skin, that tug at the buttons on her blouse, as she tosses her mahogany hair onto her shoulders so she can study the soft linen better in the light. Her bias examined, her svelte elegance appealing to my tired eyes. She continues with her edge stitch, gently feeding the fabric under the needle that clips and weaves. She holds her back straight so that she can stay refreshed to complete her task. How I wish I were a sleeve on her machine. Her needles would not hurt me. Her cut would be soft, her touch so gentle. I would love her stitch and interlace. I would hold her button hooks tight with all my might.

 

 

Kiss Me

​

Kiss me like we are in heaven. And whatever wrong we have done will wash away in our tears. Make love to me, and the stars in the sky will embrace us. You and I will rise up above Earth, and peace and tranquillity will visit us.

 

 

Midnight Pass

​

My island hideaway that held so many secrets.

I loved you sitting on the dunes as we watched the Mexican sun dip into the sea. We dreamed of a calm tide and walked on the limestone reef among the eels and octopus. The waves crested over our faces and the ghost crabs danced across our path.

I think of you.

I loved you when I was overthrown by a fast boat in the pass, near the beach, where my tackle swam to the bottom. When the warm mud kissed my feet. And the clams and scallops hid from my reach.

I dreamt of you.

I loved you when you let me sleep on your pine needles when you bathed my eyes with moonlight and you let me walk on your windswept beach and find your black teeth in the sand.

I cried over you.

When they filled you in. I breathed you in for the last time. Your perfume, salty but sweet. Your voice hung on the limbs of the Australian pines and was absorbed by the Myrtle Oak. Your chorus rang out from the man o’ wars and the black skimmers that kissed the sky. And now you are gone.

I still think of you.

 

 

The Siren’s Verse

​

Come along, all ye lost fishermen. I’ll lead you above the breakers and you’ll soar through the dark clouds away from a watery grave. We’ll whisper sweet dreams to caress our fears until they fade away in the fog. And then we’ll ring the bell on the Crow’s nest three times and like magic our fears will vanish. The Sun will rise with the black skimmers that kiss the sky and they will make us free. All you have to do is believe. I’m your trusted friend.

 

 

 

Everything Lasts Forever by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Everything lasts forever

Nothing goes away

Pain and pleasure

Are permanent residents

In your movements

And your stay

 

I tried a course

In memory loss

For the mud in me to toss

It said get used to me

The only thing to decide

Is who will be the boss

 

All the things I laughed at and cried

Hitched a ride

Inside my hide

 

Grin and bear it

You’re going to have to wear it

 

Everything lasts forever

Like the lines on your face

To the style of your pace

Nothing goes away

Once it is in your book

You are only in its way

 

On each page

No matter how you spell it

No matter the memory and the smell of it regarding those long-ago nights and days

Nothing goes away

 

 

 

Loner by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Too old for this

Too young for that

Slim enough to slide right through

Too much weight to run to the truth

 

An anti-social rover

I am a loner wherever I stand or sit

And yes

I have suffered from it

 

Isolation has its minor disparages

But a sea of advantages

In still waters I float

Closed the bridges on my moat

There is a lot to be said for being half dead

 

I once was a tell it like it is man

I now say as little as I can

 

I see crowds and want to join them

Till I get close and must ignore them

 

Warm heart, hot head, cold feet

If you can’t do it, I’ll supply my own defeat

Selfish to the point of mental denial

Judge and jury at my private pre-trial

 

But

 

I have made it this far as sane as I could be

Don’t want to hurt no one

Unless it is me

 

Maybe one day

Someone to care with

Someone to share with

Until that day

Kindly stay out of my sway

 

Having bled that

 

Ain’t a cat been born

I won’t save from a high tree

And that my friend

Is the real me

 

 

 

Where?  by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

We inhabit a world

In order to survive

Kill something living

For their meat and insides

 

Where dose evil and good come from?

Who or what

Gave them that ride

Take a gander

At your own insides

 

Down as deep as you can go

Now go deeper

Go with the flow

Or you don’t go

 

Go a bit further

To the beginning of time

I was not there

But I heard there was crime

And the rest

Walking that crazy line

 

Why do we do these things

I don’t know

And don’t know enough

To say I told you so

 

Where does it come from

The soft and the brittle

The excellent and the spittle

 

Maybe it’s best to smile

Lend a hand and wish them all good luck

Do the good and the best you can

Walk away from the dirt pile

And not give a fuck

 

 

 

Song Of The Impractical Poet  by Brian Purdy

[Halifax, Nova Scotia]

 

once, books ruled my passions

I left them - all but a few

then pictures claimed my attention

I chucked them one afternoon

 

now, song is my single intention

though it brings no revenue

I travel with no possessions

but a toothbrush and a tune

 

I camp in a farmer’s cornfield

in sight and sound of the sea

I sleep in the swallow’s shadow

come early and dance with me

 

we’ll take our meals at noontide

dining on things we find

we’ll open a packet of moonbeams

we’ll eat and spit out the rinds

 

don’t worry about your mother

your brother, sister or spouse

invite those worthies to join us

at our pinecone and bracken house

 

we’ll dance and sing like children

we’ll sing like the chickadee

come follow the tug of your lifeline

come early and dance with me.

​

 

 

The Master Builders by Brian Purdy

[Halifax, Nova Scotia]

 

To reach me during the summer of my groundhog

you needed to feel your way on hands and knees

careful not to unseat the rough-barked pillars

I raised to support my fortress of butchered trees.

 

Six feet into the silvery rows of the woodpile

and the height of father’s elbow when he crouched

I built my fort from nothing anyone needed

except for the stove and later for the hearth.

 

Father called it a dead-fall; I knew its dangers

but went to live as a hermit, summer through fall.

I shared the place with spiders and crawling beetles;

chipmunks left their paw prints on my sill.

 

Mother stood on the stoop beneath her washing

calling and calling me in; I didn’t come.

Hermit of the woodpile, summer’s student,

my ears were stuffed with dust and cicada songs.

 

Through eye-hole chinks I left in the fortress walls

the field unfolded its carpet —  and forty yards out

a sentinel groundhog, butter-fat and golden

lazed on the lip of his hole and preened his coat.

 

Seeing him dressed in gold I thought to name him

master builder of the kingdom under the field.

I added rooms to the fortress in imitation

and planned a secret escape hatch under the hill.

​

Two years earlier, on Spitzer’s acres

my father borrowed a shotgun and went to murder

the enemy that ate old Spitzer’s alfalfa.

I came too but a headache did for my sister.

 

All day we stalked chimeras through the hedgerows

came home faint with sun. No groundhogs died.

‘The buggers can’t be killed’ was my opinion

from that day to the day I made my find:

 

a body squashed and mangled, caught and thrown

by the wheels of farmer’s truck or someone’s Chevy.

That winter my fortress collapsed but I was elsewhere

so lived to see the ancient leave his hole

 

due for a cartridge through his foolish melon

and though it was late in spring the light was cold.

​

 

 

The Credit by Brian Purdy

[Halifax, Nova Scotia]

 

Green river of my childhood

brown river fished

below the paper-mill race

where in midday mystery

your dark waters widely spread

 

Green-brown river

mirrored in memory

among the scales

of myriad fish

 

each new river

that astringently finds me

binds to mine

still more intimately

your medicinal waters

 

For puny understanding

of things which swiftly twist

and smoothly

flow - river at my source

I resurrect your myth

extol your legend.

​

​

 

Grandmother by Zea Perez

[Manila, Philippines]

 

everything about

her physique was slim, lovely

speckles set on

her face, her calloused hands sewed

daintily floral dresses

 

she sang kundiman

to grandfather as if he was

still alive

sometimes her

tune was full of love

at times

tragic

 

she sang about

a widow of a

soldier during WWII

her voice quivering

the sad refrain falling from her lips:

in war

life was cursed

 

 

*kundiman is a Filipino love song

 

​

Grandfather by Zea Perez

Manila, Philippines

 

tonight, stars shine like

votive candles against      

cloudless skies                 

I remember my grandfather

would play his guitar

whilst humming melodies                

as if wooing the moon to come out

however

more haunting                    

were his requiem songs

recalling WWII:                   

his grave life as a soldier

the killing of many kinfolk

the rape of women and children

bayoneted babies

shattered cities

ruined villages beneath

starless skies     

 

 

 

Going Home Early by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Been a long day

Heading towards

A longer night

No matter

How I focus

Nothing

Looks right

I have said

All there is to say

Maybe

I’ll go home early today

 

My debts

And my dishes

Are all packed away

Gave all the horseplayers

Their tips for the day

Got the car warmed up

Got enough gas

Don’t need the carwash

Just need to blast

Perhaps

Without

Too much delay

Going home early today

 

How many times

Can you hear

The same song

Before the material

Turns to

See thru worn

How many

Places to go

Where you just don’t belong

I never thought

It would turn this way

Might just

Go home early today

 

But knowing me

The way

I talk and play

Most likely

Change my mind

And stay

The rest of the day

 

 

 

Some Other Day by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Why not tell me

All about your troubles

And I’ll tell you

All about mine

Then

We could do something

Or nothing About them

Some other time

 

Why not tell me

What you have been through

And I’ll tell you How I got through

But first

Answer me this

Were your eyes

Always this blue?

 

We can talk

About your last marriage

The Hell and the wail

Or we can talk

About the Heavenly days

I spent in jail

Either way

Your hair looks very nice today

 

And

 

 

The world is

 Full of problems

There are plenty

For us to solve

 

But

 

Your perfume

And your loveliness

Are keeping me uninvolved

 

So

 

What do you say

I think it would be OK

I mean

Why not save the world

Some other day

 

​

​

I Go To Bed When I Want To by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

I don’t have to stay up

And I don’t need to stick around

Either way

I’m wearing my night and day gown

And I don’t have to pretend

Or defend

Nor do I feel the vibes of the bleak

When I’m asleep

 

This is going to be some kind of morning

This is going to a great day

I have no timetable

Minimal static

Just like yesterday

And while you’re at it

Go back another day

We are in the same play

 

It may even be

A better night

When I surround myself

With your starlight

Then

You got your place

And I got mine 

It may even be just as good the next time

 

Hello

Goodbye

Hello

​

​

 

Just Don’t Do It Again by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

I was a lawyer

I spent more time at the bars

Then studying

For the bar

I never missed a party

I went to all the dances

That is why to make ends meet

I currently chase ambulances

 

Give me a stay of execution

Before I come to my end

All that I did or didn’t do

I just will not do again         

 

I was a doctor

My focus was on the nurses and their pretty supposes

My diagnoses 

Became nothing more than hocus-pocuses  

After the malpractice suits

The fraudulent medical billing

The prescription fails

I began another internship, in jail

 

For Gods sake

Give me a break my friend

I just won’t do it again

I was a star

Stage screen and film

I took sexual advantages of the extras

Every her and him

I ruined every production

Turned them all upside down

Then the bottom and top fell off

I now work for peanuts as a circus clown

 

Please powers that be

Give me a new spin

I just won’t do what I did ever again

 

I was a husband and father

I was a cheater, and I was a liar

I broke my sweetheart’s heart

To my brood I became a pariah

 

For Christ’ sake

Give me a break

Wash my sin

I just won’t do it again

 

And if we all did not get caught

And all those times were erased and stayed still

Would we all do it again?

 

We humans are a mistake

 

Always up and down to no good

 

So

 

Of course

 

We would

 

 

 

 

Repeat Offender by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Folks never listened

That wasn’t nice

Guess that is why

I say a lot of what I say, twice

 

First half of my life

Hands in pockets crying and staring

Second half

Aggressively not caring

 

In my case I’ve been told

Two halves did not make a whole 

 

All it takes is one bad day

One bad day

 

Say it moving

Say it standing still

 

If I can’t have me

Know one will

No one will 

 

It was perfect at first

But what isn’t

What broke it down exactly

It was simple

And

None of your business

No one’s  business  

 

Yes

Yes  indeed

Yes out deed

 

What started as a spark

Turned rather dark

What started with a howl

Turned into a growl

 

There you have it

And there you don’t

What was written in the beginning

Would become all she wrote

All we wrote

 

The sacrifices of not doing but merely trying

Soon give way to the naked and dying

An unoriginal failure

I salute you, Norman Mailer

 

And in the end

When I blow my final gasket

The friends and lovers

I do not have

Can all view me

In a wide-open casket

 

That would certainly be a long overdue bill

And

 

If I can’t have me

No body will

No body will

 

 

 

A House by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

A house

With a wife

That won’t get

Fat

Big

German Shepard

A Siamese cat

 

A fireplace

That

Will not

Burn out

Hard

On

Each night

Solid

And proud

No matter

How high

I am

Know and

Understanding

When I

Am

Talking out

Loud

 

A roof

That won’t

Leak

Laughter

That

Won’t cease

 

A kid

Or two

Up and Down

The stairs

Always be

Around

To show them

All

Who

cares

​

 

Bump by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

One day at the mall

I could not help overhearing

A couple talking

I swear I was not leering

I said I know

My own business I should mind

But did you say

Someone eligible in your immediate

Family was blind?

We got one in our family too

By any chance

Are they nice and pretty pleasant

But what blind person isn’t

Should I keep on talking

Or mind my own business

 

Well 

 

They said they had a blind boy

As blind as far as the eye can see

He is in his late teens. and real smart too

 

Was yours born blind?

Yes

Yours?

Yes

A good start

 

Allow me to go on and say,

The one I have at home is already delighted

To look good, be smart, and have no need for the sighted

But a companion

With physically demanding leanings

Might be pleasing

No looks at all are hardly deceiving

 

The one we have at home 

 

Sometimes looks down on us

In the nicest misty way

She does read a lot and has plenty to say

Having said that

She likes things

Her own way

 

The one I got at home

Has got plenty of vision

Too much if you ask me sometimes

But he thinks as quick as a Detroit piston

 

We should get them together

Sit back and watch the fun

What’s the worse that could happen

If no one shows up with a gun

 

Blind faith with a dash of un-seen warpaint

 

 

 

My Jobs by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

It took no application

I earned it bit by bit

The town drunk

The village idiot

What’s it to you

Ever feel like a slow-motion train running thru you?

 

A citified fool

A chump from a dump

A sucker with three to take him

A solo duet of mayhem

 

Before the before

I accomplished plenty

I was the pat on your back

There were many 

 

All the details

Led me to derail

It just wasn’t worth it no more

I weighed anchor and set sail

To a who gives a fuck distant shore

 

It felt good letting go of the paperwork

And replacing it with a life on a wind perch

 

 

 

My Face by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

My face was wet from the rain I told

My face was wet from my exploded soul

I told no one

I let it go

 

Just a slip of a girl

In a slap of a world

Fell on me

Like an angel from the sky

Look at me

Look at her

You can never see why

 

Then soon she wised up

As I dumbed down

She flew back up as I stayed to the ground

That was a very loud silent sound

 

Then came another and another

All came to the same conclusion

Look at me and see an illusion

One for you and one for me

But it did not come out even

It did not come out as we

And still

It may never will

Yet

 

One days nope

Is tomorrow days hope

 

 

 

The Great Indoors by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

I made a lot of money

Producing this and that

My only friends are at the current time

Three dogs and a rescue cat

 

I got a thirty-two-room home

That I constantly pace and roam

There is nothing like the great indoors

When you relish rather immensely being alone

 

My mom was married three times

I’ve been married twice

So many crap games outside out there

So many chances to roll the dice

 

I do not want to lose

Anymore of my hide

I just want to stay inside

 

The first wife was named Alice

For a million in cash

She let me keep my palace

The second was named Pat

Let’s not talk about that

 

So, everyone out there in T.V. land

If it suites you, hold somebodies hand

But after all that I have personally heard and saw

It is the great indoors for me, holding some lovely paws

​

 

 

Remember by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Do you remember

What day we met?

What time it was?

That my shirt was red

You laughed

At everything

That I said

 

What we drank

And how many

The waiter’s name too?

 

I know you don’t

But I do

 

I don’t remember

The promises to you that I made

I had to be told that your eyes were grey

I forgot your birthday a million times

I never shared with you all that was mine

 

I always forgot to give back all that you gave me

But I reckon we are even, when it comes to memory

 

 

 

Tick by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

It is only

A matter of time

Till I reverse

My decline

 

In just

A short while

I shall

Have a seat

On the aisle

 

Once bleeding

And bitten

Will soon

Be rewritten

 

The worst

Of my circumstances

Are due

Second-hand chances

 

You can

Keep a good man

Down

So

I’ll go

Sideways

To make

It uptown

 

To get

What I have not

Simply

Needs a twist

In my plot

 

Hey

Black and white

Word

Get ready

For my

Rainbow swirl

 

A race

Against time

Starting

At

The finish line

 

 

 

myPhone  by j.e. Rosser

[Las Vegas, USA]

 

call me if you have nothing to say

call me with minutes we’ll play

call me I keep cell phone in hand

call me—or text—unlimited plan 

call me before and after whatever

call me day or night I’m busy never

call me bitch to bitch dude on dude

call me in public—who said it’s rude  

call me—it’s my right to git ignorant

call me—if you don’t I git indignant

call me every minute—every 5–10

call me on landline when cell ends

call me at checkout in grocery store

call me—no!—tweet Lakers final score

call me—while on bed prepping for tan

call me—damn!—light at intersection I ran

call me when getting your nails done

call me partying at the club having fun

call me at work from 9 to 5 I’m there

call me from parking lot no matter where

call me—talk about kids—the snow and mittens

call me when dog has puppies cat has kittens

call me curbside from airport as arrival dictate

call me after court date to determine your fate

call me—us talking and driving is not a crime

caller! caller!—are you there?…are you there?

caller had wreck D.O.A.…nothing more to say

 

​

 

The Little Things by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California] 

 

You don’t have to look up

I have the proof

It may be a thought, a bit too abrupt

But we all are sleeping under the same roof

 

And yet

 

I am getting so used to making the same mistakes

I can’t do the math on the give and takes

Tomorrow will be another yesterday

Be it far from me to get in its way

 

The little things

Don’t bother me anymore

The bigger things

Now have the floor

The world I have entered

The bed I have made

Are surely and sorely the results of my own finely tuned escapades

 

The grass that I cut

Is on my own lawn

The things that I cherish

Will never be pawned

 

I am getting so used to making the same mistakes

I can’t do the math on the give and takes

Tomorrow will be another yesterday

Be it far for me to get in its way

 

It seems like a million suns

The last time I went anywhere with anyone

A million moons

The last time I anxiously with purpose got anywhere too soon

And

Why is it so hard?

To see the elephant in my own room

 

And just when you think

You’re at the bottom of the ladder

Just hang on a bit more

There is a lower wrung brother

 

We are getting so used to making the same mistakes

We can’t do the math on the give and takes

Tomorrow will be another yesterday

Be it far from us to get in its way

 

But like it or not

I’m going to have a great day

 

 

 

People by Alan Berger
[West Hollywood, California]

 

People can be so cruel

People can be so cool

It all depends on if you got laid the night before

Or taken for a fool

 

People can have spark

Or reside alone in the mind and park

It all depends on if you have someone or yourself to talk to in the dark

 

Thru the worst of times

To the worser of times

Is it too much to search for a lifeline?

 

So much goes on after and before

Depends on the traffic you let thru your door

Timing sometimes is not everything before or late

Depends on what you let thru your gate

 

Fast or slow

You get where you are designed to go

No secret that life is hard

But there are times when it smells like fresh laundry hanging in the backyard

 

We met on a Sunday

By Monday we were through

The memory will live forever

Even as the name became askew

 

You also don’t have to be so needed

Walk away, after you seed it

It’s the stuff so near you, you can’t really see

It’s the stuff so far away that becomes the romantic mystery

 

I think there is a very thin line

Between dreck and respect

 

 

 

What IF by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Would it be that unsound? 

If

It only took a second to build love and trust

And took a billion years to tear it down

Rather that the other way around?

 

My word

Would it not be great?

If a slip of the lip was never heard

And did not forever seal your disastrous fate

 

In this world

To rightly play your part

Don’t talk too much

But become your own art

 

Would it not be lovely?   

To not always have to follow the money

And in your world of a dark night hue

It was the money that followed you

 

I tried my hand at marriage

Used my feet to walk away

What didn’t I get?

We had a chance to stay together

If we never met 

 

But, as far as the ear can hear, and  the eye can see

There will always be

You me we

And the rest of us

All traveling

On the round blue sky and sea bus

 

 

 

A Sunshine by Aila Cruz

[Manila, Philippines]

 

I was alone most of the time

lost in my own world

wandering

then you came around

full of life

blooming in your prime

I was in awe

you showed such wisdom

I felt so alive

you helped me glide

 

remember the times when I cried?

you were there at my side

like a sunshine

remember when I couldn’t decide?

you were there shedding light

 

we were like a perfect find

like a barrel fermenting its wine

we had each other’s back

a blissful gift from The Divine

 

no words can rhyme

this friendship

that we knitted

 

forged

and seasoned

by time

 

 

 

Cinquains by Aila Cruz

[Manila, Philippines]

 

Love

 

Precious

Who gives me sparks

The light inside my world

Your love feels surreal, yet it hurts

My love

 

 

Today

 

Today

A lovely day

I learned something unique

Something I will cherish starting

Today

 

 

Path

 

My way

Leads me towards

Home, under a blazing

Sun, great to have my umbrella

With me

 

 

Friend

 

My friend,

I’m glad you’re here

Giving time, sharing thoughts

Your presence is comforting, thus

Thank you

 

 

Home

 

This place

A so-called home

It is comfortable

And a place where I can be free

Always

 

 

Lullaby

 

Tonight

Before I sleep

I listen to your voice

It’s a lullaby to my ears

Good night

 

 

Kobe

 

My pet

A small round dog

He’s white and full of fur

He loves to play and eat a lot

My dog

 

 

My Task

 

Washing

The dishes, my task

A daily, casual chore

Something I feel relaxed doing

Sometimes

 

 

Sinigang

 

My meal

Is sinigang

Prepared by my brother

A delicious, comforting dish

I feast

 

 

Study area

 

My space

Is quite small

Yet it’s manageable

I feel comfy, like a harbor

In here

 

 

Backyard

 

Backyard

The green area

In my family’s home

Surrounded by trees, blooms, cats, a

Garden

 

 

Father

 

Dear dad,

You’re my hero

I hope you can be here

To save the day and make me smile

Always

 

​

​

Commodity by Elena Ruiz

[New York City, USA]

 

Do you ever feel diminished

Cut in two?

Everyone is in love with you

It's not about you

It's the prestige you hold

People are boastful and bold

You have become an object

Someone's muse

A target on your back

You are currency

Something sought after

Forward motion is the key

To setting yourself free

You can't save anyone

Prevent them from coming undone

People ask you for money

They plead for help

It's about how you recover

How you ascend

No one helped me

My flat affect has been a loyal friend

Nonetheless here I stand

I will not be a commodity

Bought and sold

You have been forewarned

You have been told.

 

 

 

Creative Energy by Elena Ruiz

[New York City, USA]

 

Energy that engulfs my soul

Is my light source through it all

My words and thoughts

My musings per se

Help me make sense of my ordinary day

Being neurodivergent doesn't slow me down

Vision fortitude and courage

Help to cultivate a new worldview

The happenings of my life aren't so nice

I believe that's the way for many of you

Close your eyes

Envision a whole new you

Then go out into the world

Orchestrate your life anew

Never giving up on your dreams

Always see life through your creative lens

Hoping this world never ends

 

 

 

Silent Bells by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Hello

How do you do?

Maybe if I could like myself a little better, you may like me too

Do you have a pet I could play with as we sit beside you?

 

I would like to come out of the rain

We could sit by a fountain, and I could hold a paw and a hand

 

I would like to be adventuring with you on flat dry land

Instead of this wet rocky mountain where I un-stand

 

The mountains I crawl

The ones where I hang on to, and the ones where I fall

 

We could be alone in a crowd

And unspoken words would be crystal clear and loud

 

Sing a song in my ear

Make it a version we will always keep near

 

If I can make you happy

And me thrown in as well

That would make my nights and days

And we could ring our two, too long, silent bells

 

 

 

Anything And Everything by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Anything is possible

Especially the impossible

Everything can be figured out

Especially the improbable

 

In an unkind world

Don’t be cruel

You will never know

Who is listening and watching you

Realize it or not it will come back and haunt you

 

Even when totally broken

The best words I have heard

Where the ones not spoken

 

I try to be civil

With the least amount of syllables

 

Make beneficial mistakes

Give the dog under the table

What you have on your plate

If you see anything you want

I would strongly recommend

Not to wait

 

But having said this and that

I have only changed for the worst

I went to see the gypsy

But she could not lift the curse

 

 

 

Bow Wow Meow by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Life brings out the dog in me

The pussy cat is stuck in the high tree

 

It is always the time to shake and bake

That is the time I revel the snake

I’m living in my own zoo

With nothing to lose and everything at stake

 

I have no animal trainer

Just a sideways elevator

 

There is no bull pen

Only imaginary pets

And invisible friends

 

That is my life my son

Only places I’ve been invited to

Were my weddings

A federal courthouse

And a minimum insecurity prison

 

But I gotta tell ya

Been living under the gun

I would not trade it for a place in the sun

It has mostly been fun

 

 

 

Cup Of Tea by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

I am not every one’s cup of tea

Nor any one’s bottle of poison

I never had children

But I have called my pets my sons

 

The movements I have decided for myself

Could never be called stealth

Also, it is not a good idea to examine my non-wealth

But the word Teflon could be used to describe my lucky health

 

I river of crime

A frozen flow

Are the members of my portfolio

 

In this world that at times seems crappy

In it are two eyes, a nose and mouth

And everyone just wants to be happy

 

To flee or not to flee

At times I want to run away from me

Then there are the times I can do no wrongs

And want to run into my own welcoming arms

 

I have tasted the harsh

And bathed in the sublime

 

But

 

Will my own love ever be mine?

 

 

 

Money Can’t Buy Anything by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

She had the world at her feet

Money to burn

She introduced

Her head to a gun

 

A voice like the spring

Money can’t buy anything

 

His looks and his dough

Were his bread and butter

He was born into money, and money into him

His health was outstanding

Never needed to go to a gym

But he found life too demanding

Just could not take it anymore

So, he caught the red eye from the 29th floor

 

All his associates thought he was bluffing

Money can’t buy nothing

 

Then there were these two

Who had nothing but each other

Neither one wanted before or after

Any other lover

Making the rent each month

Was an eternal crisis

But their love was priceless

 

Rise to the occasion

Rather than sink at the destination

Money will not sweeten the tunes you are hearing

Rather it will only increase the blaring

 

Yearn to be happy and sing

Money can’t buy a damn thing

 

 

 

Phone Call by j.e.Rosser

[Las Vegas, USA]

 

702 207 0220

so tell me--where is calling on Real Men Don’t list?

602 206 0266

I was being considerate--didn’t want to bother you

702 207 0220

of course you were--wouldn’t be a man if you weren’t

602 206 0266

what can I say--calling is up there on list--1 or 2

702 207 0220

I’m a real bitch when I don’t get enough attention

not to mention--enough affection--no doubt about it

602 206 0266

sounds serious--condition you shouldn’t ignore

702 207 0220

the bitchiness gets worst--longer I go without

602 206 0266

don’t sweat-it--you’ll be alright--I’ll handle emergency

702 207 0220

that is reassuring--but doesn’t satisfy desire to talk to you

602 206 0266

whenever you feel like talking--call me--I listen better than

talk--I’ll always have time for you 

702 207 0220

Is that open to interpretation?

602 206 0266

no--it isn’t--I’ll probably regret it

702 207 0220

you’re not taking it back--that’s your promise to me 

 

 

 

Men Talking by Elizabeth Larrosa

[Texas, USA]

 

What if I choose to be the one I believe in? Instead I do, tell the difference of character with my love on life, in between the pages. Those pages are written in the past. I could understand what I am doing to myself thoroughly due to my lasting effort. I don't have anything to say now. I understand that men have loved. 

 

I, only, do understand what I want. If it's only what I want. I think from what I saw, that, now is the appropriate time to not suffer and I did understand. Men have talked to a point of placing a lost cake in front of myself. Should I feel badly to want? I may not have anything at all to say, but I think enough has been said. To feel: the lasting effort of men talking.

 

 

 

Human Nature by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

If nothing is wrong

There is something wrong

If everything is alright

Something is not right

Some people live the dream

Some people live the scream

 

I drifted in

On the wings of men

Let us see what I can accomplish

Before I drift away again

 

Maybe I’ll climb a mountain

Or build bridges that I could later burn

Perhaps I’ll dream in the darkness

Or make it all come true in the sun

Maybe stop and smell the roses

Or a life on the run

 

Will I spend my days and nights?

Looking for my other half

Or should I concentrate on getting out with a few laughs

 

I’ll try to hold my head up high

Through the black and the bluing

Knowing where I am at

But not knowing what I am doing

 

I thought that I wanted to be alone with my thoughts

Not run around and leap and shout

All I heard was me saying loudly to myself

“And how is that working out”?

 

It begins as a lark

Soon our whispers turned to barks

It became too dark

To recapture that first and last spark

 

We had met on dry golden land

Then sailed into a storm

It was not long

Before she cursed the day I was born

 

But I did hold my head up low

When I realized

It was time to go

 

Now as I wander through my brian and my lanes

I believe it will all be a mixture of pleasure and pain

Expect the worst

Be grateful for the best

But no matter the time studied

You will never know

If you passed or failed this test

 

 

 

The Gospel According To Lewis Williams by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

Brought up South

Taking up North

Smart mouth

Way before a man of the cloth

 

Joined the service

To fit and belong

Bully with his boys in a uniform

 

Yet

This was before

He found the Pulpit

Or did the Pulpit find him

Like us all

Lewis Williams

Dose not know where it ends or begins

 

After his duty

Found a woman beauty

A good wife

Had two kids

One was shit

One was his light

A 500 batting average

In baseball it would have been more than alright

 

With his Riviera

Had some rivals

Soon had one hand on a short rifle

This was before the other one was on a Bible

 

A good man of the community

Found his stability

Lucky to know him

And to hear where you are going

 

And if your living wrong

Or only standing still

He will address your ills

 

Because, as Lewis Williams always preaches

 

Pay your moral bills

And

“If the good Lord won’t fix you,

The bad me will”

 

 

 

An Anatomy Of An Anatomy by Alan Berger

[West Hollywood, California]

 

The grey in my hair

Will soon be demolished

As soon as I locate some inexpensive shoe polish

 

The bones under my skin

Will come alive once again

With the assistance of The Good Doctor Gin

It also does not hurt any

With my brain adorned with unoriginal sin

 

I got a full tank of blood

And some gas in my ass

It helps tremendously to not remember the past

 

I started out with twenty

Fingers and toes

They allow me to walk, run, and crawl

But it’s my middle finger

That says it all

 

 

 

Train Wreck Casualties by j.e. Rosser

[Las Vegas, USA

info@jerosser.com]

​

train wreck casualties 

 

people

          who

refuse 

          to

               accept

reality

           that

nothing in

life

     lasts

              forever

without

               change

are hard

               to ignore

                               because

                 they

become

              train

wreck

           causalities

of reality

​

 

​

​

The Rupture Of A Major Vein by Poet, 27

[Camagu Gongxeka, Cala, Eastern Cape, South Africa]

 

I'm lost

& confused,

Dear God

We meet once again

Where I'm pained

With no way out,

Crying to the voices

Screaming within

 

I dream

With my eyes open,

Starring into an

Estranged space,

I fear tomorrows

Forestalling sorrows,

Sorrows about my well-being

Risked with chemical-

Imbalances

And nightmares

Of loss of life

With shocking infliction.

 

So we're here

Dear God

Once again I dream

Of virgin horses

Numbing electrifying

Brain complexes

That refuse to pack away

A thought about

Tomorrow;

Maybe we’re doomed

To breath

The fumes of

Burning flesh!

Flesh that was once life

To a soul

Beneath the stars

 

Dear God!

Earth should feed me

Shelter me

& Heal me

Before you decide

It should bury me

 

 

 

A Wave Of by Linda S. Gunther

[Santa Cruz, California]

A wave of confusion steals every inch of me
She is with him
They embrace in the shadows
My closest friend

With my man
Her yellow sun dress fanned out

Against the sprawling oak tree
They cling in passion
One he and I never knew
His hands everywhere on her form
Furious they kiss

Her leg wraps around his

A wave of denial envelops me
Then, an unexpected splash of relief
We had a life but without any life

I fly back to anger
Our vow to honor and respect fizzled
I slip away quietly
Down the steep hill
Stunned

Alone
Untangled
I see her husband on the checkered picnic blanket
He waves to me as I descend the slope

Branches break beneath my feet

He sets out crackers and cheese on a wood board
A wave of revenge sweeps over me

My cheeks grow hot

I plot and plan in the fraction of a second

A muscle within me flexes

I am readied for the game
Posed to snap, crackle and pop their secret little bubble

In my own devious way
I smile my dimpled smile

Sit beside him on the blanket

Next to her tall, husky, brown-eyed husband

I hike my jean skirt far above my knees
Show off my tanned shapely legs

Engage like the warrior I am becoming
Swoop the long crimson curls away from my green eyes

“They still up there?” he asks.
“Yes, looking for more wild flowers,” I reply

And touch his pant leg

He says something but I’m not really listening

Laugh even though there is no joke

I am like syrup oozing
He pours red wine into a plastic cup

And hands it to me

His eyes warm and dark

He brushes a wisp of hair from my cheek
I run my fingers down his shirt sleeve
A not so accidental falter into him

I lean in

Press my breast to his shoulder

The plastic cup tips in my hand

Red wine spills

Drops trail down my forearm
I offer a shy smile

My long eyelashes do the rest

I am a warrior

With two fingertips

He traces the red liquid on my bare skin

I notice his gold wedding band

The sun catching its glint

My smile broadens
His lips go to the inside of my wrist

Where he tastes the trickle of Cabernet
“Sweet,” he says

“You are very sweet”

I release a sigh

“Ohhh,” I say and bite my lip
He grins

His eyes close

His head falls back just a little
A crunch of leaves from behind

The thump of footsteps approaching

We are interrupted

He winks at me
Does he know about the two of them?

Does it matter?

I put one finger to my lips

“Our secret,” I mouth to him

He nods, his eyes close again for a second

A wave of satisfaction engulfs me

 

 

 

To The Other Half Of Me

 

We murdered

Murderers

We stole

From thieves

Then drank under the stars, with stars and royals

At the bloody beach

We killed

Killers

 

Our names were, and are

 

Kray

 

Show us

Someone who isn’t

Mentally ill

Normal

Was never on this earth

Nor, will it ever will

 

We had more class

More than Cambridge had classes

We had more love

Than Romeo and Juliet

One of us looked great in glasses

Though it did not end ok

At the beginning

We fucking ran the whole play

 

Our names were, and are

 

Kray

 

Bigger celebrities were we

Then the ones who pretended

On stage and screen

Looked better too

Without make-up and creams

 

Did our thing

In only one take

Grabbed more than a few brass rings

Before we were baked

Twins

In twin prisons

We were sent away

 

Our names were, and are

 

Kray

 

Ron went first

They gave me permission

For his funeral to be

To

Say goodbye proper

To the other half of me

 

 

Alan Berger

 

West Hollywood, California

 

 

 

Solitary Refinement

 

Don’t care for crowds, concerts, or fools

You will not find me

At a barbeque

Give me a reason

To say I ‘ve had it with you

 

I like to look

Not be looked at

You cut me off on the highway

Where’s that baseball bat?

 

I like to listen

Except when it doesn’t glisten

 

I’m dropping the ball

And that is the catch

I’m in an extra inning extremely rough patch

Along with the rest of the earth’s batch

 

Sound familiar?

I thought that it would

Don’t want to admit it?

Gee, I thought that you could

But I’ve been wrong before

And I’ll be wrong again

How come and why?

I would not know how to begin or end

Do you?

I did not think so

My fine feathered fickle friends

 

As reclusive as a tomb

Love and hate

Share the same room

When as accessible as a mailbox

Is when it’s time to put on the brakes and change the locks

 

 

Alan Berger

 

West Hollywood, California

 

 

 

Villain

 

Got tired of her

And the marriage

The loopy-loop holes

The boredom the clauses

They all were convinced

She died of natural causes

The wedding contract

Done expired

Once again

I was out for hire

 

Left with nothing of mine

Except for all her money

Spent every last dime

On the pretty ponies

 

Rented a room

From a woman that let me belong

After that song ended

She too

Didn’t last long 

 

Hit the highway

With my thumb out

What came my way

Went out with a shout

Nobody heard

She didn’t breathe another word

 

Joined The Navy

To see what was left of my world

Got into a fight one night

Man overboard

Splish splash

He took an Atlantic Ocean bath

 

Deserted in Paris

As soon as we hit shore

By the time they figured it all out

As cruel and unusual

I was around no more

 

Took a vacation

Down Venice way

Rented a gondola

As soon as I met

Another lady to slay

 

What can I say?

Who is to blame?

It makes no difference to me

At the end of their days  

 

Then soon again

I met a woman

Too soft to touch

And too beautiful to kill

She slit my throat one night

As I lay sleeping on under a full moon

She allowed me

If you will

To pay my long over-due bill 

 

Now I’m down here

And I can’t buy a thrill

It’s hot as Hell

And I ran out of pills

 

The moral of the story

Is I was born without any

 

 

Alan Berger

 

West Hollywood, California

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