Chad Parenteau

Full 

 

I don’t

burst

britches

 

by way

of ego

 

but by

eating

out self.

 

Gnaw om

own skin.

 

Swallow

core in

one.

 

Purge

bad self.

Repeat

every

hour

 

hoping

for less.

 

 

Heather Romero-Kornblum

Fundamental

1.

Last time I was the glue,

my joints dissembled

melted 

like horses’ hooves

My skin hung like

leathery saddlebags

carried on my flank

I faded into nothing

collapsing under feathers

2.

How much can you weigh a woman down?

I was dust of bone

filings

lopsided grin

mop of hair

And still,

I was being used

3.

Blow me up 

like a confetti pinata 

4.

Again, how much can you extract from a woman?

 

I no longer find beauty

in coarse grains of grout

slathered

between shimmering bathroom tiles

(I used to look at

one side of a wall

and see potential

I used to forgive

for effort)

The collages of water-stained ceilings

earth meets water meets air –

all elements living together

no longer suit me

(I learned that

porousness

is not a virtue)

5.

The last time I was glue,

I could barely keep a pulse

They said

I was obsessed with my body

and how I feared it was disappearing

Evidently, women can live

inside holograms

6.

Stop asking me for things

MIchelle Smith

Earthquake 🌎 "My Sight is fading Fast"

Where and when?

We certainly know 

while the barometer is rising

Vegas and San Berdo hot temps

are not summer surprising

God, be my guide

I must survive, rubble, rubble 

toil and trouble stay by my side

 if  buried  alive.

Is the dirt road you hopefully 

are not walking on is not bursting

like cracked ice or a window 

shield suddenly

Is your apartment building on rollers

or poorly manufactured beams?

What took years to build comes apart 

threadbare into fabricated concrete seams

in seconds, there is no middle ground 

In between 

"Shake, Rattle, and Roll"

there's no time to hum or sing

Snap the ignited gas main

flames overpowering,  choking 

I cannot breathe 

nor see a few feet from me

Crackle of the telephone wires

e-lec-tri-ci- ty  flic-ker-ing 

"Pop goes the Weasel"

including my paint palette, brushes, 

and  wooden easel 

Clutching my blouse with  fists tightening 

From a bad dream am I awakening?

This is not "California Dreamin' on 

such a winter's day..."

Earthquake in the Golden State,

please don't have your way.

R A Ruadh

West Dalhousie 2025

One stroke of lightning
becomes an underground forge
nature’s Hephaestus

The forest fire feeds
the sky with towering clouds 
reflecting red flames

An eerie silence 
stalks the stillness of smoke
time has no meaning

Violent wrongness
thunderheads without thunder
there will be no rain 

Jeffry Jensen

BURSTING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK

I finally got around to starting another bursting love poem
right when a Year of the Fire Horse invasion
from across the street blasted into my consciousness.
I paused to call 911--take a quick peek out the window--
but then it was back to love--that is real love--
brick love, stone love, shiny rock love.
I was going deep into the burning emotional
messiness of it all when there was a banging
on my front door that took me of my mood.
It was a group of Chinese celebrants who were making
the rounds and it was my turn to put on my party hat.
I informed them of my current bursting love poem situation.
Fortunately, they got the hint and made
a beeline for my next-door neighbor’s place
with joyous smiles on their faces as the night sky
opened up with a seemingly sudden rip-snorting burst of its own.

Patricia Murphy

BURST

She burst onto the scene

Like a queen.

As in Queen Anne's Lace.

Because to face life

Is a height.

 

For to fight

For what's right

Seems like a plight

Into the night 

Upon a flight.

She is truly beautiful

With long blonde hair

Large blue eyes

Ruby red lips

And a smile to devour.

BURST 2

The burst of a soul

Is to control

And not to mole

Into a hole

Like a dole. 

But more of a mortal

On fire

From heaven and hell

Into a pale

Faced doll.  

There is no telling

From where it came

Just the same

Like a game

Where all tame.

But not lame

Who to blame

When it comes to fame.

We all want it,

But to get it takes a dame.