Showing posts from 2018

Happy New Year 2019


Last Call by John Patrick Robbins

John Patrick Robbins 
Is the editor of both The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers.  His work is often referred to as being outlaw poetry although he prefers to call it barroom instead .
His work has been published in.

Ariel Chart , The Mojave River Review , Red Fez, Blognostics , Romingos Porch , Synchronized Choas , Piker Press , Outlaw Poetry Network , Horror Sleaze Trash ,Blue Pepper , Academy Of The Heart And Mind,  A Beautiful Space,  Inbetween Hangovers .
His work is always unfiltered. 

Last Call
Empty bottles and myself have much in common and little to share. 
We stand as statues and are better thrown away than collecting dust .

The party is over and another will be left to clean up after this mess I leave behind .

I can imagine them cussing me as they survey the wreckage wondering how someone could live as I have .

Judging me never knowing my truths .
I wonder will they question why I never left any scraps of paper behind.

Was I not a writer ?
Or was it just a excuse to sit on my …

Lighthouse by Jane Ayers Sweat


The lighthouse ruled the lonely peakWarning ships of danger Yet in the foggy night Came the cry of a stranger.
Her name was the Fiery Irish Most beautiful ship on the seas A jealous mistress from Dublin Capturing sailor's hearts with ease.
The sailors bewared of her anger None dared raise her ire at sea But the sailor who crossed her that night Would simply cease to be.
They whisper her name in pubs still And ponder her link to the Fates So many sailors have vanished The lighthouse waits.

Old Dogs And Young Fleas by John Patrick Robbins

John Patrick Robbins 
Is the editor of both The Rye Whiskey Review and Under The Bleachers.  His work is often referred to as being outlaw poetry although he prefers to call it barroom instead .
His work has been published in.

Ariel Chart , The Mojave River Review , Red Fez, Blognostics , Romingos Porch , Synchronized Choas , Piker Press , Outlaw Poetry Network , Horror Sleaze Trash ,Blue Pepper , Academy Of The Heart And Mind,  A Beautiful Space,  Inbetween Hangovers .
His work is always unfiltered. 

Old Dogs And Young Fleas

I respected the old dogs the most when it came to writing .
They knew the miles saw through bullshit easily .

They allowed me into the inner circle I listened when they spoke.
Cause you never got anywhere in this life over time without being smart. 

They bared the storms before the net .
Kids found publication far to easy these days .
Clowns and publisher's  were many .

Those that held titles were seldom what they pretended to be .
I was a kid to them but still they showed …

In The Distance by Melissa R. Mendelson

In The Distanceby, Melissa R. Mendelson
In the distance,  I can hear their cries,  their hopes and dreams,  their demise.  In the distance,  I can hear their pleas,  their prayers,  their unanswered needs.  In the distance,  I can feel their burning gaze,  staring across the barrier and through the red tape maze.  In the distance,  I know that they are there,  seeking haven in a broken foundation,  stranding them nowhere with tears and dirt stained faces,  wishing to call home in so many places but stranded behind the wall, wasting as Time comes to do its job, erasing the lives that we may never know because in the distance, we’ll never go.
Melissa Mendelson Blog/Website

Reunited by Jane Ayers Sweat

Christmas hovered near Watching Snow watching them What could such a cold being See in the light so dim?
Then Christmas saw the angel aglow  Embrace the woman with Love Easing her pain in that moment Of missing her loved one above.
Snow felt the whisper of someone Not of the Earth anymore She felt the tickle of the Sun And melted with a roar.
All was as it used to be And ever after would remain For they were reunited And their Souls forgot their pain.

The Gift by Michael H. Brownstein

Bio: Michael H. Brownstein is the author of A  Slipknot into Somewhere Else (Cholla Needles press, 2018).
Slipknot into Somewhere Else  available at:

From the publisher:

How do we create love?
Four days from the start of winter, five days from the great Ursid meteor shower, six days after the temperature climbed into the sixties, rain fell, froze on contact, changed everything to white ice, clean and smooth, clean and crunchy rugged. The man and woman stood outside of their small home, logs burning in the fireplace, candles lit in darker corners, thick sunlight heating everything through thin windows. It was cold outside. They listened to the scents around them, saw the sounds of life, smelled the fresh breeze swinging through the bare trees, arms around each other, scarves across their throats, hats light on their heads, hea…

Happy Holidays!!!

Merry Christmas and Happy New year from all of us at Stanzaic Stylings.

doo wop kids byJohn A. Grochalski

thethree of uswere in calvin’s basementtrying to singthe book of loveand failing miserablycalvin couldn’t hold a noteand neither could iryan could hold a notebut onlyif he was singing broadway musicalsin a high school playbut we wanted to bethe next r&b wunderkindsdoo wop kidsthree whitecatholic boysfrom the suburbssuckered by r&b music and rapinto thinkingthat we could be anythingwe werecultural appropriationbefore we knewthat it wasn’t appropriateto appropriatewe wanted something specialthat wouldget us out of the suburbsout of pittsburghand into a charmed lifewe would’vedone betterstudying medicineyet there we wereoh i wonder, wonder whooooooo…..while calvin’s sistersat in a cornerrolling her eyesshe saidthat we sounded like a packof dying catswhich might’ve been somethingbut it wasn’t enoughto catch the dreambecause this morningyears lateri’m sitting here in brooklynsoundlessand hungoverand calvin is out there in illinoisraising kidsfinding godchecking the papersto see if …

Twenty-Three to Twenty-One #1 by Michael Ceraolo

This is the first poem fromTwenty-Three to Twenty-One, excerpts from each of the letters that one Julia Sand wrote to Chester Arthur, along with Arthur's imagined responses.

from Twenty-Three to Twenty-One
"[1881 Aug 27]
To the Hon Chester A.Arthur,
The hours of Garfields life are numbered--- before this meets your eye you may be President The people are bowed in grief; but---           do you realize it?--- not so much because he is dying, as because you are his successor" "the thought rose in a thousand minds that you might be the instigator of the foul act Is that not a humiliation which cuts deeper than any bullet can pierce?"
"But making a man President can change him!" "Great emergencies awaken generous traits which have lain dormant half a life If there is a spark of nobility in you, now is the occasion to let it shine Faith in your better nature forces me to write to you"
"You are free---                         free to be as able & as honorable a…

Inside of My Dream by Ahmad Al-Khatat

Inside of My Dream Inside of my dream
there’s a bird flying
from one nest to an-
-other, without wings Inside of my dream
there’s a man holding
a sign that says, I
have serious cancer Inside of my dream
there’s one refugee
with tears of grief
because he lost hope Inside of my dream
there’s a young lady
smoking, and waiting
for the train to suicide Inside of my dream
there's a black cat
staring at me, and
waiting to the end of my dream
BIO Ahmad Al-Khatat, was born in Baghdad, Iraq on May 8th. He has been published in several press publications and anthologies all over the world and has poems translated in several languages. He has published two poetry books “The Bleeding Heart Poet” and “Love On The War’s Frontline” which are available on Amazon. Most of his new and old poems are also available on his official page Bleeding Heart Poet on Facebook.

Trinity by Linda Imbler

Bio: Linda Imbler is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee.  Linda’s poetry and a listing of publications can be found When not writing, Linda is an avid reader, classical guitar player, and a practitioner of both Yoga and Tai Chi.  In, addition, she helps her husband, a Luthier, build acoustic  guitars.  Linda enjoys her 200-gallon saltwater reef tank wherein resides her almost 19 year old yellow tang.  A retired teacher, who began writing in earnest in January, 2015,  Linda believes that poetry truly adds to the beauty of the world.  Much of this beauty she feels can be found in the night sky and, on warm nights, her telescope serves as inspiration for this belief.


Angels, bearers of light, too bright, too bright. Demons of great beauty and mysterious allure. My soul,  whatever graces and deficits it holds,  is mine.

Never Mind the Zodiac by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Ryan Quinn Flanagan is a Canadian-born author residing in Elliot Lake, Ontario, Canada with his wife and many mounds of snow.  His work can be found both in print and online in such places as: Evergreen Review, The New York Quarterly, Stanzaic Stylings, The Song Is..., Red Fez, and The Oklahoma Review.
Never Mind the Zodiac
No way around it,we are throughit
never mind the zodiac,there are othersigns
no friendsor family
flooded culvertsof too muchwater
my kissesupon your foreheadin a darkness
we can’t helpbut share.

Lola by Jane Ayers Sweat


How I wish I could have known you
When your hair was fiery red
Before time changed it to a shade of gray
And you forgot what you just said.

I wish I could have seen you
Hair in curls around your face
Running swiftly barefoot
Trying to win a schoolyard race.

I wish I could have heard your laugh
When you were just a girl
I imagine how light it sounded
You had no cares in the world.

I wish I could have talked to you
Before Time chased away your mind
Before your body grew so tired
And your thoughts you could no longer find.

I wish I could have known the you
That you were once upon a time
The happy, healthy person,
Now it seems I know a mime.

How I wish I could have known you
Before you were 93
Then maybe, just maybe
Your mind would remember me

Review of Crossing the River Rubicon by Joan McNerney

WOW!!!This detailed poetic story by Joan McNerney details the intricasies of a life well lived through two genres combined, both poetry and storytellng to present a poetic memoir with a sense of purpose and style.Reading this story is experiencing her life right along side her.  The image laiden prose have your own imagination soaring to new heights.Powerful insight tells this story in gallant style. You will not be able to put this book down once you start reading it. It is, to put it simply, an extraordinary write by an experienced and creative poet penned with exuberance and masterful imagery with detailed focus.You can read some of Joan's poetry by clicking the link below:Joan McNerney Poetry Page

Winter Solstice By Joan McNerney

Photo by Joanne Olivieri
Winter SolsticeBy Joan McNerneyHurry, short days are here,too much to do.Get ready, find gloves,hats, scarves, sweaters.Stopping to see theshape of a snowflake.Coming home to luxuriatein dim light listeningto heat hissing and findingwarmth from hot teas.Bundled in bed comforted bymounds of blankets, books.Finally succumbing toour northern goddess,whose black nights are longand silent as evergreens.Joan McNerney Poetry Page

Enthusiasm of a neo-pagan by Sunil Sharma

Enthusiasm of a neo-pagan---SunilSharma
Staggering home from the moon-lit meadowsnow receding as magical realms far off blending with the skies and starswhere I glimpsed the Olympians laughing/dancingalong with the ordinary mortals; the devoteesworking up a frenzy for their respective gods!My feet are lithealmost air-borneheart bursting with joyantelope-like I flyacross the uneven terraina scented breeze followsintoxicated stepsas I have alreadyencountered the unicorn and the red-eyed Bacchusin the sacred grove near the streamand the Aphrodite beckoning Sapphofrom her entranced Musesin an uplifting instant!blessed

True Fantasies by Eliza Segiet

Poem by Eliza Segiet Translated by Artur Komoter  True FantasiesHow easy it is to restin loneliness of fuzzy thoughts.To leave plans behind,to be there -far,beyond real time.Just meand my true fantasies.To be free,yettrapped in the mouth of pulsating nature.Only the low tiderevealing the nudity of the beachreminds thattime flows.Prawdziwe fantazjeJakże łatwo odpocząćw samotności rozmytych myśli.Zostawić plany,być tam -daleko,poza realnym czasem.Tylko jai moje prawdziwe fantazje.Być wolną,a jednakuwięzioną w ustach pulsującej natury.Tylko odpływodkrywający nagość plażyprzypomina, żeczas płynie.

Enjoyable Time By Guy Farmer

Enjoyable Time
By Guy Farmer

It’s a small place
They go to when
They don’t want to
Be bothered, a quiet,
Out of the way eatery
Perfect for their illicit
Rendezvous. No chance of
Being discovered,
They talk about this and that
Gazing into each other’s eyes,
Loopy smiles on their faces,
That is, until one of their
Spouses comes storming in
Demanding an explanation
And ruining a perfectly
Enjoyable time once again.


Brief Bio:

Guy Farmer writes evocative, minimalist, modern poetry about the human condition. Visit him online at

Negative Space by Ann Christine Tabaka

(Photograph of “Maggie” by Linda Imbler, poet, writer, and musician)
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA.  She loves gardening and cooking.  Chris lives with her husband and three cats. Her most recent credits are: Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review,The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig,Synchronized Chaos, Pangolin Review,Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review,Fourth & Sycamore. *(a complete list of publications is available upon request) Negative Space Humming a tune, the song is never sung. Strumming the cords, a melody is lost. Counting minutes, hours turn to days. Seeking direction, a course is all but set.