All Fucked Out By Chad Parenteau

No fucks

given 

for months

and none

received

for longer. 

No more 

fucks for 

those who

expect

me to spill

my secrets

after one

half-night

stand. 

I try to

create my

own fucks

seated at

a bar with

no alcohol

in front of

a good 

bartender

who knows 

if someone’s

on a stool 

and only

drinking 

a water

and jotting

down words

on paper,

they have

a fucking

good reason

so leave 

them and their

fucks alone.

Chad Parenteau hosts Boston’s long-running Stone Soup Poetry series. His work has appeared in journals such as Résonancee, Molecule, Ibbetson Street, Pocket Lint, Cape Cod Poetry Review, Tell-Tale Inklings, Off The Coast, The Skinny Poetry Journal, The New Verse News, dadakuku, Nixes Mate Review and The Ugly Monster. He has also been published in anthologies such as French Connections, Sounds of Wind, Reimagine America, and The Vagabond Lunar Collection. His newest collections are All's Well Isn't You and Cant Republic: Erasures and Blackouts. He serves as Associate Editor of the online journal Oddball Magazine and co-organizer of the annual Boston Poetry Marathon. He lives and works in Boston.

Nostalgic By Dennis Moriarty

Sunday morning strolling, street corner dreamers

and Sombre bells.

Following in the shadow of my father’s footsteps,

along pavements littered with 

Broken promises and unfulfilled ambitions, past 

a few of his old drinking haunts,

one a coffee shop now, outside which a family 

sits, a skinny latte mummy,

a double espresso daddy and two hot chocolate 

children, IPads and phones,

not a pint glass or smouldering fag between them.

Around the corner

and the church comes to greet me, the church

where he prayed 

each Sunday morning for salvation and a free access

all areas pass to heaven.

Just three people outside now where once there 

might have been thirty,

two old school faces and an earnest young man with

smile on his face and a bible in his hand.

I take the path to the church, open the door and 

look in, can feel his presence 

two rows back, imagine him beckoning me in to sit

beside him and pray for my own salvation.

Without hesitation I slam the door closed and walk

away.

Yes, I am nostalgic, but not that fucking nostalgic.

Dennis Moriarty was born in London, England and now lives in Wales. Married with five grown up offspring Dennis likes walking the dog in the mountains, reading and writing.

In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and went to county Cork in Ireland to read his work at the international poetry festival. Dennis has had poems featured in many publications including Blue nib, Our poetry archive, Setu bilingual, The passage between and others.

This is Brew Week By Renee Williams

For the life of me, I’m still not sure if blueberries or peaches should find their way into beer.

Craft brew options have my head spinning as I wander into the bars of Athens

with distributors from Heidelberg, Devil’s Kettle, Thirsty Dog, and Fat Heads all there.

An IPA was never my thing, but hand me a wicked wheat ale and I’ll be your BFF. 

I try to explain to my eighty-three-year-old mother the allure of this nonsense. 

How do you describe enjoying a flight of 8 different beers—

of various potencies and bouquets —with about ten of your closest friends 

all drinking from the same tiny shot glasses?

Yes, the tables at the J Bar are a little sticky, so best not to get too comfortable. 

But I have my 2026 Brew List on hand with an ink pen ready,

so I can mark down if I’ve tried the Elvis Juice from Brew Dog 

or the pilsner, Come At Me, Beau! from Little Fish Brewing. 

After a quick stop at Insomnia Cookies for some chocolate chip delectables to cleanse the palate,

we’re on to Tony’s because the night wouldn’t be complete

without indulging in the Femme Fatale Pink Boots, Double IPA at 8.2%

or the Oh, yOU, Oh Yeah, Imperial Stout because we’re all grads of Ohio University.

As the Court Street Shuffle comes to a close, and my tortured taste buds can tackle no more,

I find my way to the West End Ciderhouse to choke down …just a little more.

At that point, the Peach Melba and Raspberry Sauce ciders suddenly become tolerable

and for the next six months, Budweiser will remind me why it's the king of beers. 

Renee Williams is a retired English instructor, who has written for ONE Art, Alien Buddha Press and Pine Mountain Sand and Gravel. 

 

 

Labor Emotional By Skaja Evens

It's when you give in to take a breath

The onslaught of persuasion 

Disguising coercion 

A million reasons to say no

As defense for a singular syllable respected

A complete statement alone

It's when you smile and acquiesce 

Pushing the mask in place to lie

Squashing sovereignty for another's comfort

Attempts to avoid the awkward

All uncomfortably suffocating 

As though suffocation is ever the right fit

Skaja Evens is a Best of the Net-nominated writer living in SE Virginia. Her work has appeared in Medusa's Kitchen, The Rye Whiskey Review, Synchronized Chaos, Mad Swirl, Spillwords Press, Ink Pantry, and Blue Pepper, among others. Her first book, conscientia veritatis, from Whiskey City Press, is available on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/conscientia-veritatis-Skaja-Evens/dp/B0CZTRN7ZP

Blood In My Eyes by Susan Isla Tepper

Every spare bed 

in your house

animals sleep together

snug in harmony

 

But, you see

I need a bed

badly—

a place to rest

my bloated head

Full of gin 

and the blood in my eyes 

Unlike your animals

blanketed by love

literally— your love

The kind never 

experienced

while I was growing up

Susan Isla Tepper is a a twenty year writer and author of 13 published books of fiction and poetry. Her latest new release GIRL UPSIDE DOWN is a Novella published by Wilderness House Press. www.susantepper.com

WHERE DO YOU WANT TO EAT? BY Dan Flore III

she took me to some Mexican joint

upscale

people wearing clothing

I can’t afford

I was exhausted 

felt like I was crisped 

on the edge of the sun

sun burnt

burnt out

I just want to go somewhere where 

I can blend in

and nobody knows I’m there

even myself

I said

when the waitress came over

she had tattoos 

on her leg

that could wake up the town

I ordered three tacos 

I could eat one

I went out to smoke 

it was a good respite

it was night by now

and I was getting cooled off

when a group of drunks 

started yelling

and the panic started

there was no way I could go back in

that restaurant

I sat on the bench 

looking like a clown with a poor disposition 

can you finish your pina colda and get me the hell outta here

I texted her

she came out 

and saw me crying

you poor thing what happened? 

I said the night bit me 

I just wanna go home 

which is where she took me 

and in a hurry

Dan Flore III’s work has appeared in over a hundred different publications. His latest book that’s available is JUMBO POETRY (Crying Heart Press)

with a little pond By J.J. Campbell

i remember when

i was a child

i always wanted

a little piece of land

with a little pond

just enough solitude

so that utopia would

be possible

now, i’ll be lucky

if its a trailer with

an outhouse or a

composting toilet

the doctors say

i’m dying

i laugh

ask if they would

like a shot of jack

as well

if anything, life is

so fucking overrated

in these days of who

is the biggest asshole

after i finish my next

glass of scotch i’ll tell

a story about a wayward

soul and all the embers

from the burning bridges

J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Synchronized Chaos, The Beatnik Cowboy, Yellow Mama, Night Owl Narrative and Crossroads Magazine. His most recent book, to live your dreams, published by Whiskey City Press, is available at Amazon by going here: https://a.co/d/073NBSFO