The Flower

image-1Photography by aparna mendu Poetry by BIJAY KUMAR SHOW

Attractive and beautiful,

Ornament of meadows,

Manifested in eclectic colours,

Having blossomed in ecstasy,

I am the ultimate longing,

And destiny of the seed;


My petals open up on the

Silent knocking of the dawn,

Then bees gather irresistively,

With a musical humming sound,

And the colourful butterflies

Join by dancing across us;


Meanwhile morning breeze

Carries away our fragrance,

To spread it all around,

In order to greet onlookers;


Thus we experience the totality

By blooming to our peak,

Though our life is ephemeral;


But I see you craving since long,

With all the possibility of flowering,

Since the aroma that you are carrying is

Unable to come out from your

Suppressed and captivated consciousness;


As you do not open your petals,

When the sunshine of consciousness,

Knocks your door, in fear of being lost,

Therefore, though you live longer,

A sense of discontentment haunts you.

********************************** Bijay Kumar Show from Durgapur, India has been teaching in National Institute of Technology, Durgapur for about 08 years. He obtained his Ph.D. degree in Engineering in 2014. He enjoys teaching and research and likes to spend quality time with family. To him, poetry is the painting of one’s inner self with colours of eclectic feelings. Poetry is also a source of contentment and peace for him. His poetry has recently been published in Tuck Magazine, Dissident Voice, Section8 Magazine and Ashvamegh Journal (where he was selected as Featured Poet in its August 2016 issue).



Art and Poetry by Maro Kentrosdscn7937

Why is it that the eye should see

in modes of trigonometry?


The David’s triading out at me

one-hundred years of history


And Delacroix’s triangles unveil

 the fantasies of ancient tales


El Greco’s Holy Trinity

weaves the mystery of infinity


While Degas dancers line in threes

Picasso’s Muses prance through trees


And ‘Luncheon on the Grass’ for three

 the third eye of the Bodhisattva sees


The Androgynous Nymphia of Impiglia

 romance the world of Opera


While triangles prance thru Space for Art

 anatomy joins body soul and heart


And Neptune’s Trident turns in Space

  the Sun, the Moon, the stars, in grace


What truth is cast between the eyes

          that triangles tie them to mind and skies?

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Quick Autopsy

Poetry by Tom Pescatore ° Photography by Aparna Mendu


Man, there figures foaming (white) at the mouth,

where do their footsteps lead?

who is pulling their bootstraps in the right direction?

when they look up at sagging bodies in blue suits

is it cock or cunt? with red lip stick each (painted on),

what name do they speak (footprints)?

from their veins how much blood streaks?

where is the land they cover up and drown (curled up)?

Shit, there, cadavers in plastic sheets (body bags) need air,

should we bury them with asses up from ground?

How often should they be fucked (repeatedly)?

who is pulling their bootstraps in the right direction?

when they look down into brown dirt,

will it cake their mouths? disturb the sound?

what name will they speak (when told)?

from their ears how much blood leaks?

what will come of the land they’ve suffocated (in concrete)?

image-5Tom Pescatore can sometimes be seen wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia’s old Skid Row. He might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail. He maintains a poetry blog:

The Seed

Poetry by BIJAY KUMAR SHOW ≅  Art by Aparna Mendu


Each seed has the potential to be

Flourished into big trees, with the

Showering of beautiful flowers

And abundance of fruits;

With this longing, it starts its ride,

From within a rigid protective shell;


In the midst of the loving arms,

Of mother earth, in seclusion,

It sprouts, on the dissolution of the hull,

It grows in presence of sunshine,

And nourished by the reviving water,

While it plays and dances with winds,

And mesmerises the clouds for showering;

It delights for being shelter for many,

Finally flowers and fruits appear in it,

As a mark of deep joy and ecstasy.


Like the seed, our inner life force,

Is also confined within illusionary layers;

Thus, it never sprouts out of self-made,

Dogmas, beliefs, likes and dislikes;

Leaving our innermost core craving,

For the flowers and fruits of,

Love, bliss and compassion;

And we remain as seeds forever,

Trapped inside the different invisible layers.




Poetry by Boudreau Freret ≈ Photography by Aparna Mendu 


Giselle was dead.


I was in the wings with Albrecht.


The theatre was packed.


I had never before seen the marriage

of strength with grace

The dancers made it look easy,

these apparent contradictions,

Plato’s Forms for physical conditioning and artistic mastery.


But then, until that moment, I had never really witnessed

Professional anything.

Or rather, if I had, hadn’t appreciated it.

and I was in awe.


Where are the flowers?

Albrecht asked.

and suddenly they were in my hand

thrust there by a passing member

of the touring crew.


What are these!

he whispered wide eyed

These aren’t real!



With furrowed brow

He took the plastic stems

and began to beat the blossom ends

against the black brick wall

contorting his face to my delight

repeating with every blow,








and the harder I tried to maintain my composure,

the more I feared I would wet myself.


Then on cue, Albrecht danced

back on stage

and wept real tears

as he placed the flowers on Giselle’s grave.


I was in awe.

But then, until that moment, I had never really witnessed

Professional anything.

Or rather, if I had, hadn’t appreciated it.



Olympia Zine Fest

unnamed-3Olympia Zine Fest Kick-Off at the library with our guest of honor, Osa Atoe! It’s an all-ages punk show featuring bands whose members also make zines. The show starts at7pm at the Olympia Timberland Library, 313 8th Ave. SE.unnamed


Poetry by Miles Varana  ½ Comic Art by Emiliano Zingale


As a child you watched

your parents’ stars climb

the domed basilica of night,

then bred the path of your own

through the foggy chill of

your bedroom window.


As a youth you shot out

like an Ottoman cannonball

to shatter the marble heads

of the Saints, shrieking

through the dark until unexpectedly

your plasma cooled, and

brighter stars prevailed.


Now you are old and the time

comes for you to make your first

choice. Choose either to join

the once hated martyrs in their eternal

inertia, chanting:

Kids these days!

In a chorus that fills the deep void

of space, or put on your constellation

necklace and lay down in

the low dirt to die.

lesperimento-tavl1-engMiles Varana’s work has appeared in a variety of publications, most recently SOFTBLOW, After the Pause, Chicago Literati, Yellow Chair Review, and Clear Poetry. He has worked previously as a staff reader and managing editor at Hawai’i Pacific Review. Miles lives in Madison, Wisconsin, where he enjoys rainy days, naps, and copious amounts of sushi.

the mail carrier

Poetry by John Grochalski Φ Photography by Dan Nelson_dsc0117 

the mail carrier

comes into my job


her ebony skin glistening

from the humidity


carrying an ass you could happily ride

all the way to fantasyland


she says, goddamned, it’s sticky out there

as she slaps down the mail

and wipes her brow


you know, i say, tomorrow is going to be worse

because sometimes i like to be that guy


a sly smile, she rolls her eyes and says

whatever to tomorrow, i’m off from this shit


oh, big plans? i ask


she says, no…un-for-tun-ately

i have to attend a car safety training


mandatory, i say

the american workplace is always shoving

that kind of crap down our throats


existence distilled down to make

some middle-manager’s yearly quota


or maybe it’s because i’ve had five accidents

with the mail truck in two years, she says


christ, i say


but whatever to that too, she says


she hands me the mail

and waves hot pink painted fingers


she winks, see you later


i watch her go

that silky hair obsidian in the LED lights

rolling down her stained back


socks pulled up like a boy scout


that ass wrapped in midnight blue shorts

shaking all the way  toward the humid sky


thinking that i better start

watching the streets when i see her

out there in the wild


instead of watching that booty


because at my age a man’s health is worth way more

then a quick flash of erotic delight


as it drives recklessly down a dead end street


or through a red light

when you’re caught snoozing


maybe even looking the wrong way.


by Lyn Lifshin

Available from

Intense and charmingly erotic, this new volume from Lyn Lifshin explores female personas including Enheduanna and Leda’s daughter. In this collection, Lifshin’s ‘barbaric yawp’ asserts its independence once again. This series of poems claims unfamiliar territory for the” queen of the small presses”. #AliveLikeALoadedGun is a stunning poetic journey brought to life by Transcendent Zero Press.


her curves, graceful
as the crane, a slim
beauty. Some believe
she arose from the
fantastic Other World
along with fairies
and elves. Her eyes,
emerald, skin pale as
any sea bird darting
thru foam, delicate as
foam. Crows and
ravens braid anklets
of darkness around her
thighs. Displease her
and her eyes glower,
eagle-fierce. Peacock-
like, a symbol of
purity, she is like a
heron, mating for life,
an ouzel, small but
tenacious. Her feathers
charm and disarm,
ribbons of
feathers linked
to ancient mysteries



her image in clay,
she is dancing
with other women
with egg shaped bodies.
In her house, pomegranates,
the fruit of the dead.
Where new fresh
life waits in
the womb of
the divine feminine,
blossoming stems
of vegetation
sprout from her hands

The Titillating Tyra

Flash Fiction By Connie Bedgood § Art by James Guy


Martello is in a different universal plane.  It is a planet with four suns of graduating sizes next to each other like pearls.  The inhabitants are mostly Bunyips and several less highly developed races.  Except, of course, for the Tyra. They are highly regarded by the Jibbons as pets, in spite of the fact, a Tyra is so loving that it can have no loyalty.

The best of the Tyra are peach in color.

In the greatest city, Tingo, there was trouble.  A Jibbon named Ionic, whom may immediately be forgotten, destroyed a building which was important for reasons we cannot fathom.  This event cause great agitation in the atmosphere, and the Jibbons left their homes and industry and playgrounds…streaming toward the center of town, which is how a certain laboratory door was left ajar.


In wandered a Tyra kitten.  It was happy to find itself there; but, then, the Tyra is a happy animal.  It roved about fearlessly … it could become invisible if alarmed…and it

glowed at the legs of tables and at the glittering mirrors on the walls.  It crept sinuously, humping and arching its back like a clouded leopard along the floor.  It’s front and rear legs were like a cats.  The middle pair of legs had two sets of elbows bending forward and backward.  It was created as skillfully as a crawdad, and it was exceedingly colored in various shades of peach.

Occupying almost half of the lab was a huge and intricate machine, showing signs of development with measuring devices standing side by side.  The kitten treated the machine with curiosity and sent a wave of radiation outward which were its glow and purr.  As it arched its back and stepped forward on a switch, a humming sound like motorcycles converging on a parking lot that lowered to a hum.  The Tyra watched as a blue glow began to grow at the top of the machine inside an open box.  To the kitten, the blue glow was like the smell of an antelope to a hungry lion.

The Tyra reared up toward the blue glow, hooked its front legs over the bar after bar and drew itself upward.  It climbed from transformer to transformer, skittered up a condenser, changing the setting and finally teetered on the edge of the blow glow.  The kitten hung there fascinated, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of some unheard twinkle of music it made to contrast this source less flame.  To and fro, and to and fro it rocked and weaved riding a wave of compulsory spectacle.  Once, just once, it moved its

center of gravity too far from its point of support.  It tripped into the box, and into the blue flame.



This is Houston, Texas, in August and in a class room filled with no air

conditioning.  The sweating kids were at their desks waiting for their assignment to be completed on the green board.  The humidity was so thick it would take a serrated knife to cut through it.  Every time the teacher lifted his arm to write, his shirt stuck to his body.

Behind him he heard the rustle from the moist teen agers.  He finished writing his assignment and turning he could see every student scratching the welts on their bodies.

His mouth fell open in amazement and with a frown on his face, he began to welt up himself.  He had self-control and did not scratch.  He hollered, “Class Dismissed!” and began to scratch.

Finally, the class scratched out the door, the teacher noticed a variegated peach colored something on the window sill.  The huge windows were open for any air to come into the room.  He looked away quickly away to keep the students from noticing.  After they had left, he looked back and there it was – an arched creature with

six legs; but, of course that was ridiculous.  He picked up the ruler from his desk and slapped it down hard on the edge, startling the creature and it leaped out the window into the courtyard several stores below.  As it disappeared, the scratching or rather itching stopped.

He stared out the open window at the building across the way then down into the court yard below and felt in a daze.  In his mind he went over what had happened, saying to himself…I know drugs are not involved for me.  He searched the window sill for clues with none available.

The teacher began to formulate a plan.  Next he walked downstairs to the gardener’s storage place, asking for a sack of Sevin dust for an experiment his class was going to do. Back up the stairs and sat down to wait in case the six legged animal returned.

When the Tyra kitten fell into the blue flame, it braced itself for a fall at least as far as the floor below.  Its shock was extensive, then, when it found itself already resting on a surface.  It looked around, panting with fright.  The invisibility reflex in full operation.

The box was gone.  The blue flame was gone.  The lab with its windows, lit by the green Martello sky was gone.

The Tyra kitten sprawled in an open area, a sort of lawn.  No colors were right; everything seemed half-colored, smoky, out of focus.  There were trees, but not low and flat and bushy like true Martello trees, but with straight naked trunks.  The different atmospheric gases had colors; clouds of fading changing faint colors baffled and revealed everything.  The kitten twitched its morafs and squiggled its zink, right there where it stood; for no amount of early training could have overcome an encounter like this.

It gathered itself together and tried to move; and then it got its second shock.  Instead of arching over inch by inch, it floated into the air and came down three times as far as it had ever jumped in its life.

It cowered on the dream-like grass, darting glances all about, under, and up.  It was terrified.  It saw its shadow through the shifting haze, and the sight made the Tyra’s heart pulsate which scared it even more, as the heart was in the pit of its stomach.  There were no shadows on Martello.  Everything seemed the wrong way up backwards. All were less visible.  His body did not work like it should and he could not see properly and there was not a single Vox to be throdded.

The Tyra jumped again with extreme caution.  Then it bobbed for a moment, seesawing on its middle legs and flung itself skyward.  Up it went about ten feet turning and end over end and landed on the grass.  This delighted the Tyra so much it gathered itself together and leaped again.  Its fears were gone in the exploration of bouncing.  The Tyra, it has been told, was gleeful animal.  It cavorted and sailed, soared and somersaulted.

It looked upward, and saw what looked to be an opening in the wall some eight feet about the ground.  Overcome by a spirit of high adventure, it sprang upward and came to rest on a window sill – a feat of which it was very proud.  It crouched there, prenning itself, and looked inside.

The Tyra beheld a pleasing sight.  More than twenty amusingly ugly animals, apparently imprisoned by their lower extremities in individual booths, bowed nodded and mumbled.  At the far end of the room stood a taller, more slender monster with a naked head—naked compared with those of the trapped ones, which were covered with hair like a wamson’s egg.  A few moments study showed the kitten that in reality, both sides of their heads were hairy; the tall one turned around and began making tracks in the end wall, and its head proved to be hairy on the other side also.

The Tyra kitten found this entertaining.  It began to radiate what was, on Martello, a purr or glow.  In this marvelous place it was not visible; instead, the trapped animals began to respond with the most curious scratching with their claws.  This pleased the kitten even more, for it loved to be noticed and redoubled the glow.  The receptive motions of the animals became almost frenzied.

Then the tall one turned around and made a curious sound or two.  The smaller monsters left their stalls and disappeared through an opening in the wall.  Then the tall one picked up a stick from the platform desk and brought it down with a dreadful crash.

The impulsive noise frightened the Tyra kitten half out of its mind.  The Tyra became invisible; but its visibility system was reversed here, and it was suddenly outstandingly evident.  It turned and leaped outside.  It clambered for low growth of shrubbery and concealed itself among the leaves.

Very soon, however, its irrepressible good nature returned.  It lay relaxed, watching the delicate movement of the stems and leaves – in a slight breeze.  A winged beast came humming about one of the blossoms.  The kitten rested on one of its middle legs, shot the other out and caught the beast in midflight.  The thing promptly jabbed

the kitten’s foot with a sharp black probe.  This, the kitten ignored.  It ate the beast, and belched.  It lay still for a few nanos, savoring the sensation of the bee in its gizzard.  The experiment was suddenly not a success.  It ate the bee twice more and then spit it out way across the courtyard as a bad job.

The Tyra turned its attention again to the window, wondering what those booths of animals might be up to now.  There was no noise in that direction.  Boldly the kitten came from hiding and catapulted itself at the window again.  It was getting adept at accuracy leaps in this mad place.   It balanced on the window sill and looked inside.

Surprisingly, all the smaller animals were still gone.  The larger one was leaning behind the shelf at the end of the room.   The Tyra and the larger animal watched each other for a long moment.  The animal was grappling for something and threw a cloud of pungent dust into the air toward the Tyra.

The kitten choked and became visible as it was scared, which was very.  For a long moment it was incapable of motion; gradually, however, it became conscious of a poignant, painfully penetrating sensation which thrilled it to its heart.  The kitten gave itself up to the feeling.  Wave after wave of agonized bliss rolled over it, and the Tyra began to dance to the waves.  It glowed incandescently through the emanation served

only to make the animals in the room scratch histrionically.  The Tyra felt strange, transported.  It turned and leapt high into the air, way out from the building.

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