GAS Featured Poet: Jay Simpson

Jay Simpson was born in Sydney, Australia. She worked as an English,

Drama and Music Teacher for many years in schools, TAFE and the

University of Newcastle. She moved to Perth, Western Australia in

2011. She is recently published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal, The

Alien Buddha LovesYou, Masticadoresindia, Fevers of the Mind, Voices

from the Fire Anthology, Dumpster Fire Press, The Writer’s Club,

Horror Sleaze Trash, Ukraine: The Night and the Fire and Bedroom

Anatomy Lessons, Dumpster Fire Press. Jay is published in a number of

online magazines and journals. She is currently working on her book to

be published in 2024. Jay loves poetry, art, music, satire and black

comedy. She loves recording and reading poetry publicly. She is the

Creative Director and Author at Living Dangerously.

Stench of Lies

Horror unnerving dilemmas life death hurt pain

armies of muscle clear landscapes life death hurt for gain

camera shots war machines dance through waiting crowds

belligerent commanders enjoy the spectacle eye off the innocents

split personalities power games subservients in chains

certain slaughter mad men maniacs at play

weapons blaze indifference bubbles piety is detained

mud trudging crusaders muddling lost causes’ killing spree

rock ‘n’ roll surging drumbeat action figures do their job

unholy lies sell news stench delivers truth

 Shock

Look into the killer’s eye

take away the will to live

scream at the trickery

abandon hate’s holy books

heavy spin spurious arguments

socialites’ media hookups

political gains monies invested

late night’s sexual intimidation

all bets are on they circle your name

your existence your harmony

war wins the game

heart loses on the battlefield

 Silence

Mysteries multiply time passes by

canvasses record incidents life on the fly

blockages stultify long term plans

autocrats make hard edged demands

remove willpower destroy hope

silence dissenters choke smoke

party politics is the game we play

truth and justice speed away

into the silence that clogs our drains

into the instant of humanity’s shame

 Broken Woman

Third hotel room hyperventilation no key

code lost morning misfortune

disposal unit hospital nearby

godless congregation broken wings

bags lugged shouldered

groceries left behind

picket fences street walkers

a broken woman clings to her manuscript

homeless mother forgotten child

isolation fills her craving

to write to hide

she takes her time pulls down the blinds

waits for redemption

Untouchables

The drummer revels in strip clubs

g-strings litter the dance floor

untouchables push against time

speed toward reunion

time difference numbers calculations

spells joy and despair

the pilot logs the coordinates

stewards bring whiskey and rum

luggage appears in airports

oil lamps in her sanctuary

mischief pulls the nightshades

wet canvasses fill barren walls

swirls of silk drape her bed

a chest for her underwear

table chair book pen

decadent frugality

GAS Featured Poet: Arvilla Fee

 

Arvilla Fee teaches English Composition for Clark State College and is the poetry editor for the San Antonio Review. She has published poetry, photography, and short stories in numerous presses, and her poetry book, The Human Side, is available on Amazon. For Arvilla, writing produces the greatest joy when it connects us to each other.

Time Out

 

I remove myself

from shoulders and elbows

jostling for position,

the stiff staccato beat

of a million harried feet.

I trade traffic lights

for skies pinpricked with stars,

high-rises for pines,

the smell of exhaust and sweat

for the dewy dampness of soil.

I curl cat-like on my blanket,

content to spoon the moon,

and fall asleep to the serenade

of crickets on the bluff.

Oh, Child of Mine

 

It was the doctor

who cut the cord,

your life blood,

your life bond to me.

It was she

who laid you

on my belly,

just above the womb

that once tucked you away

from the world.

But it was you

who cut the cord,

eighteen short years later,

cut the life blood,

cut the life bond to me.

It was you,

the untethered you,

who floated far beyond

the reach

of my now empty hands.

The Breath

 

of memories

fog my mind;

I can’t see through the pane.

I can’t see through the pain.

 

But I trace my fingers

in the condensation

and make a lopsided heart,

 

a heart that once held

the whole of you,

unbroken by tragedy,

 

that split second in time

that divided then and now

and left me unprepared

 

to navigate a world

never quite warm enough.

GAS Featured Artist and Poet: Ivan Jenson

 

Ivan Jenson is a fine artist, novelist and popular contemporary poet who lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan. 

His artwork was featured in Art in America, Art News, and Interview Magazine and has sold at auction at Christie’s. Amongst Ivan’s commissions are the final portrait of the late Malcolm Forbes and a painting titled Absolut Jenson for Absolut Vodka’s national ad campaign. His Absolut paintings are in the collection of the Spritmuseum, the museum of spirits in Stockholm, Sweden. Jenson’s painting of the Marlboro Man was collected by the Philip Morris corporation. 

His novels, Dead Artist and Seeing Soriah, illustrate the creative, often dramatic lives of artists. Jenson’s poetry is widely published (with over 1000 poems published in the US, UK and Europe) in a variety of literary media. He has published a poetry book, Media Child and Other Poems, and two novels, Marketing Mia and Erotic Rights and his newest thriller, The Tigress. 

Mundane Miracles, his critically acclaimed poetry collection, hit number 1 on Amazon in American Poetry.

East of Ivan, his memoir, has continuously been on the Amazon Bestsellers List since its release. 

Ivan Jenson’s website: www.ivanjenson.com
Twitter: @IvanJenson

Sunken Treasure

Are you planning
to do anything
with the time you
have left?
If not,
could you waste
an hour listening
to me complain
about the service
in this place?
Because I feel like
I've fallen into a tourist trap
or into an alcoholic Santa's lap
or that I could have gotten
a better room with a view
to grass that isn't a greener hue.
And could you set me up
with somebody who believes
the Loch Ness Monster
and Bigfoot are a match
and who might see me
as an old trunk in an attic
that contains fool's gold
when at last unlatched?
Anyway, as you
might have guessed
my weekend is wide open
and I am utterly unattached.

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