Deborah Guzzi – 1 poem

Life with the Gay Caballero

“aye, aye, aye, aye”



the annoyance of I

the single letter which leaves no rook

for interlopers

for transgressors who walk the we


togetherness a swear word not to be uttered


the impotence of I

skull bound




the local hermit with a brown paper sack


the phony host

tempting with open door

who buries you under

palm crosses of their weaving


open ovens which lure with the scent of sugar cookies


poets, writers, politicians



spoiled brats

suckle the I


sunsets of yellow, red, brown, black, dirty white

are mine.




Deborah Guzzi writes full-time. Her poetry appears in Allegro, Shooter, Amethyst & Foxglove Journal in the UK – Blue Nib &Automatic Pilot, Ireland – Existere, Ekphrastic Review, Scarlet Leaf & Subterranean Blue, Canada – Tincture, Vine Leaves & Ariel Chart – Australia, mgv2>publishing- France, Cha – Hong Kong – Greece – pioneertown, Sounding Review, Bacopa Literary Review, The Aurorean, Liquid Imagination & others in the USA. Deborah was nominated for the Pushcart Award & Rhysling Awards.

D W Evans – 1 poem

A Bequest


My Grandad left me his coffin.

He often told me so.

It was solid wood he said

tongue and groove, deposit down.

When my time came they could turf

him out and pour me in.

Only right I should take a turn.


He was a widower too long

without a dog for company

and missed Nana mightily.


Every Friday after fish for lunch

cooked by himself and paired

with stout and buttered stottie

he would lie out on the village green,

flat on his back if the weather was mild,

playing dead after the antique style

of stone knights in musty churches.

A teddy at his feet to simulate

the usual faithful thing

a lion lost to time or even a pig.


When Grandad died for real

I told my coffin tale. Still,

they went ahead and cremated him.





D W Evans

Tom Montag – 1 poem


No one lives forever.
Death will get us all, you know.

The biggest fellow you’ve seen is
soon nothing but a cup of dust.

The dead can never see the sun,
yet every spring grass grows green.

As I walk my sadness, sometimes
the sound of wind in the pines

is about enough to kill me.


Tom Montag’s books of poetry include: Making Hay & Other Poems; Middle Ground; The Big Book of Ben Zen; In This Place: Selected Poems 1982-2013; This Wrecked World; The Miles No One Wants; Love Poems; and Seventy at Seventy. His poem ‘Lecturing My Daughter in Her First Fall Rain’ has been permanently incorporated into the design of the Milwaukee Convention Center. He blogs at The Middlewesterner. With David Graham he recently co-edited Local News: Poetry About Small Towns.

Michael Lee Johnson – 1 poem

Open Eyes Laid Back


Open eyes, black-eyed peas,

laid back busy lives,

consuming our hours,

handheld devices

grocery store

“which can Jolly Green Giant peas,


darling, to bring home tonight-

these aisles of decisions.”

Mind gap:

“Before long apps

will be wiping our butts

and we, others, our children

will not notice.”

No worries, outer space,

an app for horoscope, astrology

a co-pilot to keep our cold feet

tucked in.


Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada.  Today he is a poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage County, Illinois.  Mr. Johnson published in more than 1072 new publications, his poems have appeared in 38 countries, he edits, publishes 10 poetry sites.  Michael Lee Johnson, has been nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018.  198 poetry videos are now on YouTube  Editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow Haze: poetry anthology, Dandelion in a Vase of Roses available here  Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings:  the Best in Contemporary Poetry