GAS Featured Poet: John Yamrus

John Yamrus is widely recognized as master of minimalism and the neo-noir in modern poetry. In a career spanning more than 50 years as a working writer, he has had nearly 4,000 poems published in books, magazines and anthologies around the world. His writing is often taught in college and university courses. Three of his more than 40 books have been published in translation.  2025 has seen the release of two new books: the quasi-memoir CAPTAIN BEEFHEART NEVER LICKED MY DECALS OFF, BABY and a book of poems, DON’T SHOOT THE MESSENGER: JUST GIVE HIM A GOOD PLACE TO HIDE.

the reading was a flop.  

we 

were 

up against 

a football game 

and the last nice day of the summer. 

hardly 

anyone showed 

and 

the wine 

and the cheese 

went to waste and 

the chairs were empty 

but the 

few of us 

that were there 

sat around in the gallery 

and the 

paintings on the walls 

spoke to us 

and 

taught us 

way more than 

any of my poems ever could.

he wanted to write 

like 

Hemingway,

but it came out 

sounding like bad Bukowski.  

on 

top of that,

he had nothing 

real or new to say, 

but that didn’t stop him 

from saying it again and again 

and again.

it was Tuesday, April 13^th, and

Marcia 

was laying 

on the couch, 

listening to Dylan, 

but,

not really listening,

 because she was also reading a book,

and 

the sun 

was out and

the light coming into 

the room made her smile, 

especially 

when Dylan sang 

(maybe directly right at her) 

how does it FEEL? 

and 

she really 

didn’t know what to say, 

but 

she knew 

what he meant, anyway.

GAS Featured Poet: William Doreski

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024).  He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors.  His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.

Astronomically 

 

Space contains us, but what space

contains space? Galaxies flirt

with our sense of great distance.

Whirling pools of silvery rage,

they tease us through telescopes,

 

daring us to imagine the void

into which the universe expands.

Hard to believe it began

as particles crushed together,

plotting to fill every corner

 

of the solid, absolute ether.

Dark matter whispers secrets

huge radio dishes strain to hear.

We try to place ourselves close

to the core of everything known,

 

but science puts us near an edge,

far from the primal explosion site.

You believe an entity did this,

but we are the entity, the mind

projecting brain waves further

 

than the laws of physics allow.

The night sky winks at us

but doesn’t see us winking back,

its absolute energy dispersing

more rapidly than we can think.

 

 

Forsaken For Good

 

The ruined church still mutters

blasphemous but heartfelt prayers.

These rise in gusts of oily smoke

but can’t penetrate the atmosphere

 

to reach the outer galaxies.

I’m afraid to enter that shell

of fallen plaster and broken glass.

The congregation abandoned it

 

when the organ exploded halfway

through everyone’s favorite hymn.

Brass shrapnel killed the organist,

the priest, and two communicants.

 

Their ghosts still pray for healing  

but no palpable entity hears.

If I entered and walked boldly

down the rubble-strewn main aisle 

 

the ghosts would probably hide

from my heavy atheist step.

But what if they appeared in raw

daylight and confronted me?

 

Someone said it’s impossible

to see a ghost and live. I fear

that I’d explode like the organ,

scattering bits of bone and flesh.

 

Better stand outside in the snow

and listen to garbled prayers

that might be the titter of mice

rummaging through the wreckage.

 

 

 

 

GAS Featured Poet: Carl Carr Basile

 

Carl Carr Basile has been writing poetry since 1976. His work has been widely published in numerous ezines. Today he focuses his attentions on writing novels, short stories, and poetry, as well as taking occasional breaks to jam using his cornucopia of class guitars.

\*surfeit*\

prismatic tides

sun catcher

a chance to rise

sand sifter

lyric poetry and song

rondeau recitals

meditations

vanished glories

impenetrable themes

green shades of spring

creeks run deep

woods and grass

lily and violet

colors that surround

winged wandering feet

sweet breath

sun’s heat

whispering shadows

woodland cries

mythic lovers

twisted trails

desolate forest

blissful forgetfulness

ho vistouna lupa

sul sentiero

\*status quo*\

children

still play

in our streets

wiry boys

cute girls

bright smiles

sweet and friendly

i buy cold

lemonade

at

the girls’ stand

wave at them

as i pass

but now

a few years

past

lemonade stands gone

as they reach

pre-teen

to acknowledge

or wave

at them

makes me

suspicious

this unknowable

world

tips

and turns

tumbles and burns

GAS Featured Artist and Poet: Cierra G. Rowe

Cierra G. Rowe is an artist, painter and poet. As an artist, her work is unapologetic, carrying depth and raw expression. As a poet, her writing holds the same but in a more clarified way; being pure and unfiltered. She is firm in her belief that art, in all forms, should not be dictated by audience but rather that it must remain as an unbound act of expression. 

MOONSHINE

by Cierra G. Rowe

I will fight it tooth and nail
And in the end it won't prevail.
Candles, sunshine, stars and lamps;
The darkness won't get through.

Not used to coping in this way,
Nowhere to run from this pain
but deep inside I hear a voice;
''The darkness won't get through.''

I'm writing this to try and show,
try to mend, try to grow,
It's so hard to let go.
The darkness won't get through.

Around me, your presence swirls;
Your smile and your soft curls,
Your spirit in the skies and moon,
The darkness won't get through.

I know you never went away.
I can see you on some days.
I can hear you too.
The darkness won't get through.

Your strength trickled down to me,
Through time and birth and agony.
I'm standing and I feel you.
The darkness won't get through.

I will fight this punch by kick.
I won't let the sadness stick.
''Lord have mercy'', it's so hard.
The darkness won't get through.

On sunny days, you're around.
On rainy days, you're around.
I know you're not gone.
The darkness won't get through.

We keep in touch in special ways,
from time to time on random days.
It's not enough but that's ok.
The darkness won't get through.

Take a beating and learn to fight.
learn to crawl then learn to thrive.
Laugh and cry and dry those eyes,
The Darkness won't get through.

I really miss you.

Artist Bio: 

I grew up in a sleepy, southern, one-stoplight town. Having always been naturally artistic — as I matured, so too did my closeness to painting. This inherent passion has always compelled me to paint without boundaries. My art is driven by a complex combination of emotion, sensitivity and vulnerability. Speaking through brushstrokes, my paintings are filled with depth and meaning. As an outsider artist and someone who is intensely consumed by her work, I have not sought to fit anyone's mold. This firm rejection of ideals and modern archetypes is influenced by fragments of my background. Throughout adolescence, I dealt with private anxieties and a burgeoning awareness of reality, in solitude. I had no intention of seeking approval to exist or permission to become an artist. This seclusion and rebellion led to me throwing myself into painting and poetry. As an artist, the most important thing to me is remaining authentic. My earliest art has paved the way for present compositions. Throughout painting, I have often embraced change; shedding what was for what is; allowing my art to narrate metamorphosis. I dislike the exactness of forms and I find solace through painting things in my own way. I have no control in how viewers interpret my paintings. Most works of art have their mysteries; It is stimulating to feel as though you understand them — through gazing into them.

Insatiable

Spirit

 

Cannibal