Stanzaic Stylings

A Poem A poem has two things Beginnings, endings. It cannot pause. You can try setting boundaries within it's banks but it flows unconditionally merging with oceans. When ideas flow  into the mind poems begin a journey  oF words mingling with divine energy .

The Nervous Managers A nervous man in the library is like what we call an “hysterical” manager of a diner with whom to imagine to work makes you wince, gives you sympathy for the cooks and ruins your meal.  Or a waiter who looks at you funny if you order water instead of wine or who is in so much a hurry he rushes off, later bringing the wrong thing and by then you are too hungry to exchange it. All these owners, these ex- military men, civilian police… Don’t they realize there are places and moments that don’t need bosses? BIO : David Francis has produced six albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  His film "Village Folksinger" has been screened in the US and the UK.  David's poems and stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. www.davidfrancismusic.com

Sony Holland Website From the Kitchen Sessions collection.  http://www.sonyholland.com Recorded by Gary Mankin: Filmed by Terry Dudley How Am I Gonna  words & music J. Holland, Heebalibra Music, BMI Second shift on the cafe crew There’s a red sun sinking down the avenue Tired in my bones, tired in my brains Need time off to ditch these chains… But how am I gonna make the rent  How am I gonna pay the bills Without surrendering my soul Falling down that hole Young and beautiful yoga girls In Lululemons, balayage curls Camping at tables, tall summer drink Halfway smile even while I think How am I gonna find the means Have some fun, spread my wings Without relinquishing control Saving my soul I want to run with the poets and painters The artists and writers and sweet music makers I want to live with the dreamers and dancers I keep knocking on the door but nobody answers… Time I finally catch my breath Devil’s hour

HOLLOW GREEN ENVY Hollow green envy n' bitter blue pain Like cool trepanation   that's vibratin' brain... Hollow green envy in a tan Gucci suit Like bumper crop branches with rotten fruit... Hollow green envy on a cranked amplifier Like a scream in your pillow with two feet in the fire... Hollow green envy wishin' it was you Just lyin' your ass off To hell with the truth... Hollow green envy in a pale empty shell Like dented display cans on a juke joint shelf... Hollow green envy always greasy n' bent Like a pawn shop axe that won't pay the rent -K.W. Peery  BIO :  Americana songwriter and Kansas-City-based storyteller K.W. Peery is the author of eight poetry collections: Tales of a Receding Hairline; Purgatory; Wicked Rhythm; Ozark Howler; Gallatin Gallows; Howler Holler; Bootlegger’s Bluff; Cockpit Chronicles Tales of a Receding Hairline was a semifinalist in the Goodreads Choice

Dear Editor I seriously hold sympathy for the editor  that must read this mess I call poetry. I wonder if not a drinker,  do I drive them to the bottle soon after this meeting. Do they read my name and expect insanity ? Would they die of shock to read  my beautiful ode to roses and wonder where's the joke . Or do they simply reject it soon as it arrives at the  door. In fear it will corrupt those gentle souls known as true poets . As the party boy of the scene with a bad reputation precedes me . I sent out five submissions and none came back rejected . Seems folks need a laugh far more than they need pretty words . What do you want good grammar or good taste ? I wonder after hours of bleeding hearts and sonnets about life . Does my name alone beckon a good time without regret. Bad boys are always more fun than modern crybabies. Dear editor . Lets dance . John Patrick Robbins   Is a barroom poet and editor of both Under The Bleachers and The Rye Whiskey Review .

In the Desert little pine struggling with its baby arms to tie itself to the hitching post and not be blown so hard by the wind a tall pole with a feeder tilts   in the distance gray mountains it didn’t take root but was planted, the little pine  O wind that causes hallucinations at least  give it the dignity of a horse! BIO: David Francis has produced six albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  His film "Village Folksinger" has been screened in the US and the UK.  David's poems and stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. www.davidfrancismusic.com Comme

Blizzard O wonderful emergency! Silver needles spin for hours weaving tapestries to drape rooftops sidewalks streets. Millions of icicles delicately arranged on lamp posts along metal railings around cornices. White magic prayed for by children. A spell shutting down school making way for snow fights. Perfect opportunity to burrow longer in bed. Be late for work. Appearing un-businesslike in rough clothes. Snow crystals cover all stains and blemishes. Each windowpane becomes a miniature museum of fine line etchings. We are snapped awake by frost. Our woolen gloves full of lace.

No Bluer Sky No bluer sky than that blue dust blue mountain the creaking swing the plink of hammers from a roof across the field the willow curled the parched grass the shutters the sound of brooms on the white dust BIO: David Francis has produced six albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  His film "Village Folksinger" has been screened in the US and the UK.  David's poems and stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. www.davidfrancismusic.com

A Pale Cold Night by Melissa Mendelson is a deliciously detailed short story serving up an alluring touch of suspense and excitement.  When reading this story you are not observing the scene but rather experiencing it side by side with the characters. Each character is on point and creatively portrayed in detail with colorful banter that will have you wanting more.  Melissa is a master story teller and this eBook story is no exception. Artfully created, and with the perfect ending.  A must read for all. A Pale Cold Night on Amazon

Water versus Wine When  I drink  water my  words become  clear pictures and happy fantasies  When I drink  wine my  words become dark poems and sad realities 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.

Consumed Trapped in a prison that has no bars Has never committed a crime. Her mind meandering like a maze Incarcerated for infinite time. Doomed to be confined Held captive by the noise Clatter, chatter, jabber Seizing all her joys. Misery draped over her like a black shroud This feels like a circus With an invisible crowd. The mind can be a scary place There's no parole from here So she sits and waits and dreads The coming of her bier.

Sailboat Man in a sailboat stretched out like a starfish controlling the sail but it starts to fall and he loses it flat on the waves and then a shadow falls over the beach with his back bowed he pulls the ropes  him against the sea him against the wind and another shadow falls and he raises it no one has noticed but out of shame the sun went behind the clouds now in the distance closer to the horizon you see a man play tug of war with a sail and then you see him sail Biography: David Francis has produced six  albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  He has written and directed two films: "Village Folksinger" (2013) and "Memory Journey" (2018). His poems and stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. www.davidfrancismusic.com

from  Euclid Creek Book Four          September 24, 1950 It was called Black Sunday, two decades before the suspense novel of the same name was written, and the cause of such a moniker had started days earlier and was reported in the next day's paper on the front page, right under the bold headlines about the Korean War news "Canadian Forest Fire Smoke Clouds Darken Ohio" said the headline                           (in those quaint days when the headline actually foretold what was in the body of the article) "Dense yellow clouds of smoke, wind-borne to the Great Lakes area and beyond from forest fires sweeping hundreds of acres in northern Alberta" (also northern British Columbia, in what would become known as the Chinchaga fire), "blotted out the sun in Greater Cleveland yesterday afternoon" The smoke was first seen here at 8 AM, and a local preacher that day sermonized the end of the wo

Ireland Heaven must surely be in Ireland That's what the leprechaun said, "Your life was not in Ireland but You can go there when you're dead." Lord, take my Soul to Ireland So I can finally see The land my ancestors roamed Near the Irish sea. Let me smell the grass in Ireland Above my cold dead feet Let me dance an Irish jig Even as I sleep. Oh to be home in Ireland Where my emerald blood runs free And the screech of the banshee Holds no fear for me.

In Canning Park They have the names of the plants -- all exotic Latin names and origins -- but where are the plants? Have the seeds blown away in this strong wind or are they out of season? Cats curl up in the holes where mongrel full-grown trees protect them, and roll over slowly to scratch their backs but when the sun moves the sun- and tree-round shade they go to sunbathe. Sometimes the young go to the old for something they can’t get on the street; with all of its new coffee shops and chain stores it still can’t offer this womb-like timelessness  when you’re in the mood. Biography: David Francis has produced six  albums of songs, one of poems, and "Always/Far," a chapbook of lyrics and drawings.  He has written and directed two films: "Village Folksinger" (2013) and "Memory Journey" (2018). His poems and stories have appeared in a number of journals and anthologies. www.davidfrancismusic.com

Burn My Heart Burn my heart there is nobody to judge you Burn my heart pour your love over the flames Burn my heart I would choose you to die with Burn my heart when sensation arises on the way Burn my heart and colour my ashes with tears Burn my heart and dance with my name in your mind Burn my heart and lie about us flying to paradise Burn my heart take the last train to the hell situation Burn my heart and remember you are a woman Kills What kills you everyday kills me every other night It never stops flooding and extends to my flesh What kills you everyday kills me every other night It appears from the shadow of the sun behind the rain What kills you everyday kills me every other night It is the stranger who dies after chasing the fireflies What kills you everyday kills me every other night when the barefoot soldiers bombed the house of dreams What kills you everyday kills me every other night It is the stone who breaks t