4 poems by 4 poets

illustrations by palomine studios and penmarq studios

the beast by nick nelson as i was walking down the street a surly beast i chanced to meet he seemed a stranger to civilization and had ideas above his station he fixed me with his insolent eye and asked me, was my life a lie i held his gaze and answered straight that i was but a child of fate this answer quite amused the creature good humour liquefied his features and just as i relaxed my stare he disappeared into the air i continued on my way to work but doubts within my brain did lurk about the origin and provenance of this beast of surly countenance who was he to question me? am i not wild, and bold, and free? my body occupies a cube but i am no philistinic rube my brain is free to float at will i need to make a living, but still immortal fire within me burns i only need to wait my turn a gothic tale by regina osgood stapledon you can't have a cat without a mouse you can't have a story without an old dark house or an old dark house without rain and thunder if you wish to provoke a sense of wonder you have to have a pretty maid no matter when the tale is laid in centuries past she would be demure but today she must have lots of spunk, that’s for sure and a hero with a handsome face who knows his proper place and obeys the maiden’s commands and is play-dough in her hands but before he falls under her spell he has raised or been through hell and been a rebel in his fashion until struck by the lightning of true passion a dark-eyed femme fatale might be a foil for our gal or she might have a best female friend who will be there for her until the terrifying end and you know a good story can’t be without a feisty old grandma or aunt who provides a running commentary whether the tale turns humorous or scary when the rain and thunder have passed and the truth revealed at last and the heroine has her man then you have done all that you can white people by corinne delmonico some white people go to princeton some of them go to yale all of them go to law school none of them go to jail all of them write novels and are children of movie stars they ski in switzerland on weekends because that's just who they are all white people love elvis and visit graceland once a year he is their true and radiant king and for him they shed a tear all white people have advisors who tell them what to think and maids to comb their long blonde hair and butlers to bring them drinks they drink latte and cappuccino in dainty little sips as they sit in the sun by the swimming pool and wait for the apocalypse last train to perdition by anonymous a ticket to temptation, or a soul to sell the meter never stops clicking in the cab to hell satin smiles in a perfumed fairyland wake up in the morning, in the sleeping car of the damned everything they told you was not a lie they told you were going to die and now you are dying, sure enough because you couldn’t get enough of that evil stuff you didn’t listen to what mama said now your bones are aching and your dreams are dead wouldn’t you like to start over again? it s not an option, in this world of sin you are not a princess, a dragon or an elf you are only your pathetic self you are not a hit, you are a certified flop the downbound train is pulling out, it is not going to stop