GAS Featured Poet: Wendy Webb

     Wendy Webb (she): Born in the Midlands, home and family life in Norfolk, keen gardener and photographer. Published in Indigo Dreams, Quantum Leap, Crystal, Envoi, Seventh Quarry, The Frogmore Papers, The Journal) and online (Littoral Magazine, Wildfire Words, Lothlorien, Atlantean, Radio: Poetry Place), Writing Magazine 1^st Prize (Pantoum). Wrote her father’s biography, and her own autobiography. Favourite poets: Dylan Thomas, Gerard Manley Hopkins, John Burnside, the Romantic Poets, Emily Dickinson, and the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

Current poetry collection: LOVE’S FLORELOQUENCE

Fellows, All  

Our fellow creatures,

how to breathe life into fur

or feathers, hair or bald.

I shall, indeed, grow bolder

by each word,

my hoof/claw/footprints

resist sand or rock, 

pools of dreams.

You want to know

cute foibles of movement?

Of course; the large eyes,

depth of vision,

cruelty endured.

So many fellow creatures

demanding support,

protection,

cash and endless devotion.

Are creatures animal kingdom?

Can I plead for the flea?

Empathy, the bee, the butterfly,

tree rooted 1,000 years.

Whispers in the stars, seas,

air we breathe.

Stone, Plainly  

closing down sale

due to retirement

after many years

trinkets or art

inexpensive

craft or gifts

pausing ornaments

realistic prices

to treat a special

appreciative

friend or

bestie

green with gazing

not cheap   nor

to wrap   send

bought polished

insignificantly

priced stones 

gave special

wild moment

in friends’ pockets

if every bought

stone given to

embryonic ghosts

I could

not carry

such load

GAS Featured Poet: Richard Vargas

 Richard Vargas was born in Compton, CA. He earned his B.A. at Cal State University, Long Beach, where he studied under Gerald Locklin and Richard Lee He edited/published five issues of The Tequila Review, 1978-1980, publishing early works by Jimmy Santiago Baca, Alberto Rios, Nila Northsun, Dennis Cooper, Michael C Ford, Ron Koertge, and many more. His first book, McLife, was featured twice in February 2006, on Garrison Keillor’s Writer’s Almanac. A second book, American Jesus, was published in 2007. His third book, Guernica, revisited, was published April 2014, by Press 53, and was featured once more on Writer's Almanac. A fourth book, How A Civilization Begins, Mouthfeel Press, was released in September 2022. His most recent publication is leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel, Casa Urraca Press, July 2023. Vargas received his MFA from the University of New Mexico, 2010, where he workshopped his poetry with Joy Harjo. He was recipient of the 2011 Taos Summer Writers’ Conference’s Hispanic Writer Award, was on the faculty of the 2012 10th National Latino Writers Conference and facilitated a workshop at the 2015 Taos Summer Writers’ Conference. He also edited/published The Más Tequila Review from 2009-2015, featuring poets from across the country. His poetry continues to appear in poetry journals and anthologies. Samples of his poetry, videos, and etc. can be found at 

https://www.richardvargaspoet.com/

leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel

 

i always take it for granted

the dusted chest of drawers and nightstands

the well-made bed with the crisp sheets

folded and tucked at each corner

sure to bring a smile to the grumpiest

of drill sergeants

 

the snow-white towels, the clean tub and toilet

a commendable attempt to add a little class

with that peculiar folding of the first

square of toilet paper hanging 

from the roll

 

rarely giving a thought to the women

who roam the hallways in the morning

knocking on doors looking for the empty

rooms ready for them to do their magic

 

no thought given to

the kids they raise

the bills paid late

the men who leave

and don’t come back

 

they pick up after all of us

oblivious strangers passing 

through on our way to a better

place than this

 

i leave a five-dollar bill and loose change

on the table as i check out

my small token of appreciation

for these hard scrubbing angels

doing their best to provide

a place to rest on the long

way home

from leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel, Casa Urraca Press, 2023

smokers

 

from inside the breakroom

eating my lunch and surrounded

by co-workers munching on spicy Cheetos 

washing them down with Mountain Dew

staring into their electrical

hand-held devices that

suck out what’s left

of their humanity

 

i look out the window

see them gather

in the space designated

for their shortened 

life spans and lungs

congested with thick phlegm

 

a stranger asks for a light

and in the blink of an eye

an arm extends with a small flame

to be shared and appreciated

 

standing in small circles

they smile and look each

other in the eye

engage in conversation

 

i almost envy them

talking about things 

the rest of us have

long forgotten

 

living and dying

as they see fit

from leaving a tip at the Blue Moon Motel, Casa Urraca Press, 2023

anti-climate climax

 

this spaceship

orbits a hot ball 

of solar blasts cracking

a sky with skin cancers

dried up riverbeds

and whirling dust devils

 

guardian angels throw

grief and poetry at the walls

watch them stick

blow chops of melancholy jazz

on tarnished horns

in small rooms filled

with clouds of skunk 

weed smoke and 

the clinking of cheap 

shot glasses

 

it’s almost last call

one more day awaits

their ain’t enough

 

cool to go around

thanks but no thanks

you avert your eyes

i returned home, damaged goods

your peace has a price

GAS Featured Poet: Stephen Mead

Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer.  Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online.  Recently his work has appeared in CROW NAME, WORDPEACE and DuckuckMongoose. Currently he is resident artist/curator for The Chroma Museum, artistic renderings of LGBTQI historical figures, organizations and allies predominantly before Stonewall, The Chroma Museum - The Chroma Museum (weebly.com)

April Rain

 

Does loving, merely feeling, make us what we are? 

That's where pain abates or can be used. 

People kiss on streets, weave backdrops for puppet theaters. 

Abundance happens. 

 

Meanwhile rain ripples, 

is fabric, a sheer sound curtain.

 

Suddenly, out on the thoroughfare, a main bridge collapses.

We stand on the sidelines, assaulted, shocked, drowning emotionally.

 

Under such water I draw myself towards you, 

a sea cow, a beacon. 

 

Divers hunt for bodies. Sedatives get administered. Authorities notify kin. 

Others, on-call, are a compiled stand-by stationed 

to bring any possible gentle thing. 

 

Their intentions drift soft as fog 

over an erupting volcano.

 

 

 Despite It                                                            

                                                                                       

Living as a grocery list, or reading one, 

the basic sustenance, true music with each book

opened, each page to find a face in

between digging under couch cushions for change...

 

There's a painting in this, the act of a hand

waltzing with its edges to resemble a freedom

time does not totally steal.

 

Here I meet your outline & try entering it,

pulling the fit round as the pod of a bean.

There's really no distinguishing separateness

any more.  Your needs & ability to ripen,

your risk of withering, match my every length

as a hostage to the future.

 

Likewise delivered, held by the weight

& the waiting, light pours through the room

for every chance & its absence

to reconcile realization.

 

Who, what will accomplish this deed?

 

Here, scribble supplies:  bread, milk, toothpaste.

Here, open a book.  Let your music swim in

& ingredients mingle.

 

The stock must be much, blessed despite lacks

& the struggle for other blessings.

 

GAS Featured Artist: JD Moffitt

 

Themes include independence, solitude, threads of small town life, family and nature. My practice includes predominantly pencil drawing and watercolor on paper. Day to day observations, focus in drawing and painting from plein air, life studies, photographic sources and the imagination.

Midwestern small-town Hoosier, I have worked in surveying, drafting, cartography, graphic design, and fine art. We grew up on the hill, overlooking the farms. I've been lucky enough to call a few of those kind, strong, hard working farmers my friend. I know how good they are, they do too. I've often thought that I could be that, what they are, in truth, it was never up to me. We were awarded the view.

Creating art is not a sensible occupation. It is unreasonable really, nonsense. What is it useful for? There is no physiological need for it. It does not make those we love safe or secure.

What is the reason for it then?

Could it be that it is the other way around? That beauty is what is behind reason? That what we find ourselves attracted to makes up our hopes and dreams, gives our lives purpose, and gives us reason?

JD Moffitt <jdmoffitt.com>

Summer Flowers

Selfie

Will and Grace

Zahl's

Susan