4 poems by 4 poets

illustrations by palomine studios and penmarq studios

a call to arms by rev. peter jackson sternwall oh once upon a time the earth was round and flags were firmly planted in the ground men gazed up at them in silent awe respected women, and obeyed the law they went to work and earned their honest pay and saved their hard-earned money day by day ready to go to war if it need be determined to keep their territory free what evil spirits could look down on this and sneeringly see ought amiss? what monsters of perdition could find joy in smashing such pure gold without alloy? yet these good men and true woke up one morn and wished that they had ne’er been born for all that they had built up with such trust lay shattered - scattered in the whirling dust now demons walked the once free land and taking little children by the hand laughed at the barren fields and empty homes of another empire fallen like troy and rome o inheritors of this new armageddon what shall you place your faith upon? must moloch laugh through all eternity or will you stand and cry “it shall not be!”

abby: a fragment by corinne delmonico abby drove the menfolk wild, knocked them off their feet and left a trail of stiffened dicks when she walked down the street they oohed and ached, they laughed and cheered as down the road her bod she steered abby had humungous boobs, and an even bigger ass the boys all crowded round her, and barely let her pass is this my life, the poor girl thought through winters cold, and summers hot to be a spectacle for louts who have no clue what life’s about good heavens! i would rather be a bird, a cloud, a rock, a tree a slice of toast with raspberry jam anything but what i am a wall for all to write upon but who will remember me when i’m gone? an angel heard poor abby’s cry and floating gently from the sky resolved to give her a small slice of everything that is true and nice a demon also heard her plaint and being all the angel ain’t thought abby needed to show some spunk and strike back at the loathsome punks …

mojo by horace p sternwall cats and dogs and toads and frogs and chickens and hogs and snakes and gators in bogs and barely visible bugs in intricately woven rugs all greet the dawn with their mojo on but as the day goes by their dreams shrivel up and die except for those hardy souls who have specific goals like taking two pieces of bread and covering them with jelly red and peanut butter autumnal brown and washing it all down with a glass of chocolate milk as smooth as cleopatran silk there is no more truth to yield because all has been revealed

dream by timothy t jones no keys no pants can’t get out the window