Mar 6
by Jeffrey Paolano
The Blotch
At the bell Dr. Rotherstall, PhD, has but forty-five minutes to run down to her car, drive to the DMV, comply with the state requirement to renew her registration in person, and return to the classroom before Read more
by Tyrone Townsend
Ever woke up to one of those days feeling like
God took a dump on you?
It’s always the day after a decent hangover or “one of those days.”
It’s that awkward moment when life happens all too quickly and your reaction is too slow.
Life conned you into “living.”
Life is full of experiences, but life is a manipulative bastard.
Many idioms describe our experiences:
“That’s life”
“Shit happens”
or “It is what it is.”
But a heap of situations like drunk nights, one night stands, close calls, and
mishaps are endangerments concocted by my own hands.
Some hindrances are intricately woven into the madness of our lives, yet there are
events out of our control.
No one is immune to pain and sorrow.
So I agree that “shit happens.”
There’s no map filled with geographical landmarks; only trial and error.
We’re all flawed individuals born into existence and made into “humans.”
We’re just trying to make it back home after a night out
then repeat the cycle.
We’re all too hard on ourselves except our high expectations fuel us.
I raise my glass to all of you:
Outsiders–
Misfits–
Loners–
Rebels–
Deep-thinkers–
Degenerates–
or anyone who knows life can be a bitch!
Cheers!
Drink up!
“I don’t know what’s gonna happen man, but I’m gonna get my kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.”
-Jim Morrison
Tyrone Townsend is a writer, illustrator, and occasional blogger. He served four years in the Air Force and now attends college at Armstrong Atlantic.
by Nicholas Chiarkas
PERDITION
death brushes past me
she drags away frightened friends
Mara why not me
recurring nightmares
midnight mourning of dismay
retain terror’s taste
died in that jungle
returned home to no parade
can you still feel me
Nicholas Chiarkas served in the US Army (101st Airborne Division) from 1962 – 1965. He is the author of Weepers, an award-winning mystery/suspense novel set in New York City in 1957.
by Gerard Sarnat
Lands of broken toys, Chi-town bricks weighed my Mosul wagon.
Poseur know-it-all putz sure The Kid Had It,
pussy wagon bulletproof spunk after spunk blasted
Teflon tainted by smart-aleck prig’s ruthless ambit.
Gelatinous abyss peaked this fraught jewfish’s
dysmotional algebra.
Mendelian mendacious, morally elastic squid’s
self-loathing golden rule hubris screwed-reamed-
creamed-blasphemed-extorted spaz cliques deemed unworthy.
Grifter betrayed shave-buttered girlfriends, forsook buddies
to settle scores, swapped out the whole shmeer
for flashier peacocks.
A pinhead shidiot jerkoff brimming with butthair conceit,
porked with delusions of stallion dicks, in the sack 13 hours,
splooging the other 12; pee-wee one-eyed Charley whetted ‘n
whacked choke-the-chicken skeet (ain’t strudel yanked on jammies).
My detrusor Miles Davis dance done, Pa grumbled Ma’s
honeypot festered.
Bedding a once friend’s gullible wife’s crippled life, good boy
tries to be bad, two-faced boy to be good. Never met Mom’s dad
— she said the cad shouldn’tv’e been told he was brainiac
and seeded moi’s arrogance – parents were right to be lurid.
Nearing my boneability crossroads, the less I comprehend, but
menschier perhaps?
Gerard Sarnat has had family members in the Armed Forces, some of whom have shared their experiences with him. He is the author of four collections: HOMELESS CHRONICLES from Abraham to Burning Man (2010), Disputes (2012), 17s (2014), and Melting The Ice King (2016). He has built and staffed clinics for the marginalized, including many veterans, and been a CEO of healthcare organizations and Stanford Medical School professor. Married since 1969, he and his wife have three kids and three grandkids.
by Newt Ronan
These are the forgotten children.
Lying abandoned where they fell.
No pulse, no sound, no light.
They took nothing but breath
And left no more than idle wind
Stirring summer grass at midnight.
No past, no future, leaving no memories
Of life or living or dying.
Call them forgotten.
Buried in abandoned graves
Or burned to ash, scattered,
Blowing through vacant fields and darkened streets.
Newt Ronan is a US Army Infantry Vietnam War veteran who led platoon size operations in the DMZ and in the area west of Chu Lai during 1968 and 1969 was honorably discharged in 1970 as a captain, Infantry. His awards include the Silver Star, Purple Heart, Bronze Star, Combat Infantryman’s Badge, a case of malaria and an Agent Orange injury. Retired after a long business career, he spends his time on fitness and family and, in his writing efforts, failing to do justice to the fallen.
Feb 20
by Brittany Schick
Standing at parade rest in the dark Afghan night, watching the spotlight illuminate the colors at half mast slowly waving with the breeze… It wasn’t the hundreds of camouflage-clad souls standing around me to pay their respects to their fallen comrade that choked me up, or the roll-call of his name followed by eerie silence, or the bugler’s perfect tribute through taps. No, it was when they read that he was born in 1989… 1989. I have a baby brother who was born in 1989. 1989 wasn’t really that long ago… It wasn’t nearly enough life for this young man to have lived. It was 23 short years, 5 of which he had spent in the service of his nation. What if he had been MY little brother? MY smiling blue-eyed baby brother with the curly brown hair and the pudgy little hands; the one who had started out as a little guy talking with a lisp and smiling with a cute under bite, who was now a man, standing much taller than me, and smiling with the confidence of youth. What if HE were gone forever, killed on foreign soil in the dark of the night fighting insurgents? I saw the feeds — I watched this other man, someone else’s brother, get gunned down…and now I was standing at attention with hundreds of others, others who didn’t really know the full story. But did it matter how it happened? Did it matter how he had died that night, thousands of miles away from all those who would have wanted to be at his side? No, not really. What matters to his wife, mother, father, and brothers — biological and those in-arms — is that he is gone.
Brittany Schick deployed to Bagram AB in 2012 as a Captain in the USAF. She is currently stationed in Haiti as a Foreign Service Officer with her husband and daughter.
by Elaine Little
The weeping woman enclosed her in an awkward embrace. After a respectable amount of time, she dropped the hug and turned her attention to her purse. An oversized yellow envelope peeked out. This is for you,” she said as she backed away slowly. Read more
by Nicolya’ Jones
As I lay here, holding you, running my fingers over your soft head, I find myself wondering if I really know what it takes to love you. Do I know you well enough to be able to say I truly love you? You’ve permeated my thoughts, invaded my senses & got my head spinning. You got me so high, I don’t want to come down. It’s no wonder I rush home. With a single glance, my heart skips a beat, my tongue slides from between my lips, & I think my panties react to the sound of your voice. You have this way of undressing me with your eyes & making me shake without touching me. I lay in awe of you sometimes how you command this body that I can’t seem to control sometimes. With a well placed kiss, a gentle touch of your hand & I forget that I’m supposed to be mad at you, that I had a hard day at work, & hell, sometimes my own name. Read more
O-Dark-Thirty