little white poetry journal five

8/14/2019 little white poetry journal five

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M. Frias-May is a California writer, author ofThe Longest Suicide Note by Stanley K. inThe King's English, a magazine of novellas.

Justin Hyde lives in Iowa. E-mail him:[email protected].

Teri Davidson is a single mother of four girls.She works full time as Certified Optician and

has done so for the last 20 years.

Rob Plath is 37 years old. He's fromRonkonkoma , New York. He's been writingsince he was 19. He has one book ofpublished poems called Ashtrays and Bullswhich won 1st place in the 2003 NerveCowboy chapbook contest.

Paul Tristram: I have had around 300poems accepted/published in the last 3years, mostly in the U.K. in magazines like

Poetry Cornwall, Obsessed With PipeWork, Moodswing, The Ugly Tree and InBetween Hangovers to name but a few, Ihave also been published in Cyprus,India and Canada.


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!


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to tell the straighttruth as i like to, thereought to be loveletters

and so forth written inthis portion of a little

white poetry jour-nal. quite a project ithas turned out to be.the new generationis something else en-tirely, but it is its ownentity, and it is getting

along nicely, i do be-lieve, and i shall con-tinue to publish in thisfaith and belief, and ithank you very muchfor holding this thing.


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disproductions.org/hc


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lile white poetry journalvolume TWO | issue FIVE

MARCH 2007


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four storms

Teri DavidsonThe sounds geing louder and louder,A pounding like drums in my head.A million things twirling around,Like a thunderous tornado in my mind.

Screaming and shouting to deaf ears.Wondering when the eye will pass over.The calm before the storm.I have to brace and prepare for act two.It is quiet now, but for how long?The waiting is torture on my nerves.Thunder in the distance, tells me its coming.

A flashing of lights dancing behind my eyes.Fearing the damage, anticipating the worst.A gust of wind to carry me far away.Peace at last, serene and calm.Cherish the lack of sound and light.


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the convincer

and the convinced Rob Plathonce i was in a philosophy coursetaught by an old wise philosopherand there was this fiery student in the class

that always debated with himsometimes to the point of screamingthe student was intelligent but hardheadedand much less experienced at lifethan the distinguished old professor

of courseI remember near the end of the semester

during another heated argumentthe professor said something profoundthat suddenly convinced the

student of somethingthat he previously did not believe ini felt chills at witnessing this break throughbut then aerwards I felt sad walking home

like the time i saw my leg-breaker of a fathercry for the first and only time


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about the time i

dislike someone Justin Hydei find outthey were sodomized

by an uncle,

burned with cigareesby a mother,

or subjectedto some other heinous inequity

that snuffed outtheir sense of good willand decency.

its unfailingand

leaves me bewilderedas to whymore of us dontturn out the lights.


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body bag

waiting to happen Paul TristramI have drank twenty four cansin two and a half days,

it is becoming pathetic.Shes lying upon the seeedeep in her second trimester.I walk up and down the hallwayflicking cigaree ashinto the toilet.She believes in me, completely,

I cannot agree with heron this maer,whats going to happenwhen she finds out the truth?Shes perfect like lightning,like a cider lolly-popon a summers day

but shes also wrong,she must be.I have my good pointsjust like everyone has


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but I am a body bagwaiting to happen.

I owe her so much,Im sorry that shes wrong.But Im absorbinglike a sunflower,as tunnel visionedas an up streaming salmonand as selfish

as a hibernating tortoise.I just wish that it was not herwho had to grieve.


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planet crippled

Rob PlathProsthetic limbs in the shape

of cellular phonesProsthetic limbs in the shape of lap topsProsthetic limbs in the shape of SUVs

Prosthetic limbs in the shape of ATM cardsProsthetic limbs in the shape

of portable DVD playersProsthetic limbs in the shape of iPodsProsthetic limbs in the shape of GameboysProsthetic limbs in the shape

of digital cameras

Prosthetic heads in the shape of the internetProsthetic heads in the shape of cable TV

all screwed onto millions of so torsos full offeces rolling around on the planet Earth


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walking in the ditch

of a very busy hiway Justin Hydethe car wouldnt startaer my shi

at the organic-foodwarehouse.

i had no moneyfor a cab,

and id spent twenty minutes

fucking with the thingso there were no more coworkersto give me a ride.

it was a nine-milerto my efficiencyif i wound through town,

but a straight four-shotplus some changedown I-80


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and i hit the ditch running

when the first semisliced bydoing eighty-five.

many mangled deerwith jelly eyesdown there,

dying windshield wipers,exploded bitsof semi tires,

garbage bags filled withnightmares,

and more trucker bombsthan one would imagine.

i came upona full-on couchtipped upside down.

i righted the thingand took a seat.


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this seemed a good placeto pack it in,

i could become the wild manof the I-80 ditch,

living on deer carcasesand trucker piss,

occasionally sneaking into townto maul a piece of ass.

it seemeda very reasonable idea,

much more reasonable

than stocking shipmentsof vitamin suppositories,

or whatever othergoat-faced hellwas down the pike.


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drained

Paul TristramLike a wrung-out rag.A buckled special brew canupside down in a recycling bin.A broken tooth

lumping a paving slabon Sunday aernoonaer landing thereon Friday night.The blood from acheated mans heartand innocence and decency

from the freshly starved.I stand in the post officequeue on giro daywith three peoplestill in front of me.


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listening to nina

Rob Plathlistening tonina simoneits hard tofuckin write

its like typingwhen im reallyshitfacedher voice islike plasmait runs thickin my blood

& i dont needto do nothingbut sit there& listeninebriated& aerthe disc ends

i sing oneof the songslow to myselfsay,


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wild is the wind& her ghost enters

my pulmonarysystem& I shudder


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dear sister

M. Frias-MayBelieve me when I say Im a fan and op-pressed to. Im writing

This in pencil and hoping this P.O. is reallyyours. (It took $50

To find it and Im sure youre wondering Y Ididnt use the money

To join the club, to access the thousands ofexclusive, original

Photos of you and your planetary posterior).

If I knew for certain the dollars would flowto you (and not yr

Capitalistic pimp photographer friend) Idrisk my wife finding

Out about your global spandex circus Idrisk counseling and


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The oppression of fetish-less matrons andtheir thought thugs

But I cant know your take unless you re-spond

In your handwriting

And I hope

If you do take this time to considerthe

Contract you inked with your friend that

This leer I send is sincere and not

a trick

By your pimp capitalistic shooter to test yourloyalty and I hope

Im wrong about him

I hope hes art afflicted but I havedoubts

Visions of the contract I OWN YR ASS


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Stalled in the sky like a blimp

Visions of your choice-less plightthat makes

Decent decadent dollars but only perversepesos compared to his ample

Take on your amplitude

I urge you to resist hischarm and flute

His baked promises of U one day owningexclusive original rights to your

Solar wobble and (trust me) that day will behiing you on the ass as he

Cajoles the next U sexual-ized

Swiffering ton of bun,

please,

Acknowledge for no otherreason than


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I care about the life above your 24-inch waist

I care about your sweat, the double bind ofbusiness and beauty and the rash

Scratched raw

I care he frames you, names you, fames you,and will blame you if you dare

Dissent but please do

In the spirit of freedom

Send a signed 8-by-10 ofyour choosing

(Preferably from the catsuitcollection)

Warmly, and in solidarity, Fidel


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