The Ramingo’s Porch – Four Poems By Brian Rihlmann

Ramingo Unknown Author's Immage

THE SILENCE OF OUR FATHERS

none of them ever admitted it
at least not that I remember
the whole village of fathers
and father figures
that raised us to be men
all silent about an animating force
as common as an itchy ballsack Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – “Emily” a poem by Bill Ratner

Ramingo Unknown Author's Immage

Emily

Emily the cat
sitting on a tractor beam
turns her calico head to face me.
She is nearly gone.
I cry for her as for my mother. Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – A New Poem By John Yamrus

John Yamrus

 

puke-green

was
his favorite color.

it
was also
his favorite word Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – “Inside Look” and “After Midnight” Two Poems By Peycho Kanev

Peycho Kanev.jpg

Inside Look

Beauty is everywhere. Inside the day
of the night and the night of the day. Inside each fleeting
moment which is eternal. Inside everything in this world.
Inside the rose on the table, whose blood is redder
than life and whose life is more alive than everything
that ever lived. Inside the moon’s sickle,
which bends even more and brings the winter’s cold.
Inside all the little things that are dreaming huge
dreams of the eternal universe. Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – A New Poem By John Yamrus

John Yamrus

after the reading

i
took
some of the money i made

and
stopped off at K Mart… Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – “Drinking Again” and “A Morning Routine” Two Poems By Bradford Middleton

Ramingo Unknown Author's Immage

DRINKING AGAIN

I been drinking, drinking too much again as the days
pass in a blur of dependency as the witching hour
comes around again until late last night I stumbled
on home from another wrecked afternoon of drinking,
damn drinking with the realisation that not a poetic
word had been written in over a month. Continua a leggere

The Ramingo’s Porch – “Death or Glory”, “Flying Coffins” and other prose poems by Howie Good

Ramingo Unknown Author's Immage

Death or Glory

Outside my door, there’s a ruckus, several million maniacs and imbeciles, in the fragrant company of feral dogs, finding something, a sort of darker blue, like the butt bruises of roller derby queens after a match, and if you say yes, yes, you’re the good guys, and if you say no, no, you’re the bad guys, held at gunpoint and given three days to get ready for death or glory, and just when it seems science can’t help, older women show up at noon with their white hair and canes and wheelchairs and walkers, angry that this is happening again. Continua a leggere