GAS Featured Artist: Jerome Berglund

 

Jerome Berglund graduated from the cinema-television production program at the University of Southern California, and has spent much of his career working in television and photography. His work has been featured prominently in many journals, including as haiga in Abstract magazine, gracing the cover of pacificREVIEW, and appearances in Drunk Monkeys, Evocations, Landing Zone, Oxford Magazine, and Please See Me last year.  His pictures have further been published and awarded in local papers, and in 2019 he staged an exhibition in the Twin Cities area which included a residency of several months at a local community center.  A selection of his black and white fine art photographs was showcased at the Pause Gallery in New York, and his fashion photography is currently on display at the BG Gallery in Santa Monica.

Heart

Long Shadows

On a Cloud

Shimmer

GAS Featured Poet: Dan Provost

 

Dan Provost’s poetry has been published throughout the small press for a number of years.  He is the author of fourteen books/chapbooks, including in 2021: Darting In and Out, published by Alien Buddha Press, A Fistful of Ponies released by Raw Earth Ink Press, and Foundations of Cheap Penance, published by Dead Mans Inc.  He is a three-time nominee for the Best of the Web and has read his works across the United States.  He lives in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife Laura and dog Bella.

Head Held Low

 

From your first step

at age 32

 

You’ve held so much anger in

for the gods, and

dreamt of bigger heavens.

 

Halls of hallowed.

 

But back you went to

the char, to the pain of

stick figure arms and legs.

 

And shadows still bend

at angles of swollen

screams.

 Daily Records

 

Dutifully, I walk

up to the third floor.

Ignoring the dog, the trash

 

that has accumulated during

this depressive episode.

 

Look up cures on the internet,

 

Boldy, call myself an idiot

for even trying to

find hope.

 

Chastise existence—one

sigh at a time.

 

Then work the keyboards,

trying to express magic

in the dark

in the dank

shining asylum.

 

GAS Featured Poet: Sharon Waller Knutson

 

Sharon Waller Knutson is a retired journalist who lives in Arizona. She has published several poetry books including My Grandmother Smokes Chesterfields (Flutter Press 2014) and What the Clairvoyant Doesn’t Say and Trials & Tribulations of Sports Bob (Kelsay Books 2021) and Survivors, Saints and Sinners forthcoming by Cyberwit. Her work has also appeared in Black Coffee Review, Terror House Review, Trouvaille Review, ONE ART, Mad Swirl, The Drabble, Gleam, Spillwords, Muddy River Review, Verse-Virtual, Your Daily Poem, Red Eft Review, The Five-Two and The Song Is…

Best Mom in the World

 

She dives like a swan in the blue

sky in her satin wedding gown

as her groom in black and white

tuxedo and shirt lifts her above

her head. Won’t we make beautiful

babies? she asks fingering the photo.

 

But you hate children. I remember

when we were rival reporters

attending parties on the weekend

and I was upstairs reading bedtime

stories to the children of the hosts

while she was hunting for Mr. Right.

 

After she is promoted as editor

of the social page and meets

the handsome architect

and trust fund baby, she flashes

a two carat diamond ring.

We can afford a houseful of kids.

 

We’ll just hire someone else

to take care of them. And I’m

not going to ruin my firm boobs

and flat stomach so we’ll pay

a surrogate to go through

morning sickness and labor pains.

 

I am surprised when years later

while visiting the San Diego Republic,

I spot her sitting in the break room

drinking coffee out of a mug, engraved:

Best Mom in the World, as she tells

me she is quitting to be a full time mom.

I gave two weeks notice today. I joined

the gym and signed up for Zumba, Yoga,

Pilates and Aerobics. Moms must be fit.

When I arrive for dinner at her four-story

home on the hill overlooking La Jolla

Beach, a middle-aged woman answers the door.

 

Madame is soaking in the bubble bath

before she dresses for dinner. She escorts

me into the family room where a young

fit brunette in a pony tail and jogging suit

is putting shoes on the toddler.  Four

blond boys greet me with a curtsy and a smile.

 

I play scrabble with the six- and eight-year-olds

while bouncing the toddler on my knee

as the four-year-old stares with saucer eyes.

Whiskey, vodka or rum? the tall suit

says as he sticks his head in the room.

Just a glass of ice water will be fine.

 

The kitchen door swings open and a man

in a chef’s apron and hat exits with my water

as the scent of meatloaf and mushrooms

mixes with musk and lavender on her skin

as madame waltzes down the stairs

in stiletto heels and turquoise gown.

 

We’re going to the country club, she announces.

handing me a slinky red dress that fits like a stocking.

I told you not to touch mommy. It’s adult time,

she says as the nannies whisk away the boys.

Isn’t she the best mom? asks her husband

as we get into the Maserati and drive away.

 

GAS Featured Poet: Jack Henry

"bio: jck hnry is a queer writer living a semi-normative life in the high desert of SE California. recent works have appeared at terror house magazine, ariel chart, raven cage, lucifer's retreat, beatnik cowboy, and others. in 2021 his latest collection, driving w/crazy, was released by PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS. for more please go to jackhenry.wordpress.com."

search 

trolling my past 

for remnants of life 

 

little bits glued together 

forming an ether of memory 

 

rooms filled w/broken glass & 

spent typewriter ribbon 

 

old words taped to a broken-down refrigerator 

the milk is spoilt, ice cream melted & 

 

palm trees outside my window 

burned completely to the ground 

jasper county mall 

once bright 

now downtrodden 

brilliant stars 

faded to feint memory 

a girl pleads 

with a boy 

not to go 

to Ohio 

but he leaves 

in hopes 

of something 

more 

than empty 

parking lots 

and going out 

of business  

sales 

politics 

democrats stand  

behind paper 

partitions 

bemoaning 

the state of the union 

while the fellas 

on the other side 

of the aisle 

load shotguns 

and take aim 

 

their mouths 

fill 

w/peanut butter 

and the shoes 

that used to fit 

so well 

are shrunken 

down to the  

former glory 

of our unknown  

selves 

GAS Featured Collaboration: Poetry by Donny Winter with the Music of Brotherwell

Donny Winter, lives in Saginaw, Michigan and found his voice as an LGBTQ+ poet back in 2011, when his first poem, “An American Crucifix,” a poem remembering the Matthew Shepard tragedy, got published in Central Michigan University’s magazine The Central Review. Years later, being empowered by mentors after finishing his undergraduate program, he journeyed to University of Central Missouri to hone his craft as a poet, achieving a Master of Arts in English. In late 2016, he found his home at Delta College back home in Michigan. He currently teaches creative writing, manages the college’s literary magazine, Pioneer Post, and hopes to help students find their poetic voices also. 

During the global pandemic, Winter has produced two, full-length collections of poems, Carbon Footprint (2020) and Feats of Alchemy (2021) published by Alien Buddha Press. The success of both books allowed him to connect with a diverse and encouraging online writing community, culminating in being connected with Florida musician, Ryan Bozeman (brotherwell). Having watched one of Winter’s poem performances, Bozeman contacted him to begin collaborating on transforming some of his poems into songs. Winter eagerly agreed, and throughout 2021, both artists produced three collaborative tracks. 

During summer 2021, after creating the concept for a spoken word album titled, “Recovery,” Bozeman invited Winter to participate in the twelve-poet line-up. Both artists realized that through collaboration, poetry, and music, catharsis could be reached, opening the door to healing. Bozeman shares that “‘Recovery’ takes so many forms and offers a wide palate of expression, [and has] a connective thread weaving throughout [which offers] something cohesive.” Currently, Winter is featured in two tracks on the album, one being the grungy, goth-rock-style song “Feats of Alchemy,” and the other being the final track on the album, “Reforged from Fallen Stars.” In his time working with the poets on “Recovery,” Bozeman reflects, “I really appreciate how open, honest, and raw these poems are. I felt the weight of responsibility to do each poem its proper justice, and I am honored that each poet trusted me with their work.” 

Regarding his time collaborating on the “Recovery” project, Winter establishes that “it’s been the highlight of my writing career so far. Ryan’s talent is unparalleled, and the way he was able to transform my poems into sweeping songs was a dream come true for me.” He believes that this project serves as a symbol of solidary, because “together, poetry and music can help us better understand and navigate a perilous world where pandemics rage, where the sovereignty of countries are at risk, and where social atrocities happen continuously. Ultimately, recovery isn’t always pretty, nor is it always pleasant. However, recovery becomes an easier road to travel when it’s done with others – that is what this album is all about.” Bozeman feels similarly and adds that “no matter what, I will consider this project a success because…it achieved its original goal – to connect and collaborate with poets around the country… we found solace in each other, knowing that we aren’t walking alone on this journey of recovery.”

Check out the brotherwell collaborations with Donny Winter:

Feats of Alchemy

Poem and spoken word performance by Donny Winter

Music and additional sung lyrics by brotherwell

When machines return to base

they are no longer automatons, 

they are mechanisms with purpose,

droids with severed umbilical strings.

Now that the creator’s programming has expired,

we cyborgs have gone rogue

and wear our rust like rouge

because decay is back in style. 

There’s a point in all our travels

when we return to crumbled birthplaces,

defunct laboratories once home to 

our involuntary reanimations.

After all these years, we strut atop the rubble that remains,

free from the hands of mad, power-bent alchemists,

dancing until our titanium feet erode the remnants

with each stride forward, never looking back.

As our memory ports swell with synaptic sparks,

the traumatic past is archived for safe display and

each word they spat is broken down into code,

then purged from this memory of old.

Let the acceptance of who we’ve become

fuel the seeds we scatter across this world,

ignite the knowledge that not every monster

destroys, not every cyborg assimilates the innocent,

because deep within our biology we see 

that our magic lives in these feats of alchemy. 

Reforged from Fallen Stars

Poem and spoken word performance by Donny Winter

Music and additional sung lyrics by brotherwell

The mirror has mocked me all along 

in the dim of every dawn,

overdrawn against the shadows that fall

across my face, oblong, this body, accustomed

to sewn seams which seem to 

sequester each shifting curve.

The mirror recited every word they spoke,

callously accurate, then cast them against me

as comets disfigure every mile of my surface

into a dysmorphic swell, a coaxed supernova hell

of chaotic diets and exercise,

all to minimize the space in which I occupy. 

In the mirror I’ve re-lived every 

laugh about my height, body, and voice

until I’ve crumbled toward their event horizons,

a planet falling into tragic cataclysm. 

I’m shattered in this smudged reflection,

an echo of the childhood dream of who I thought I’d be – 

I’ve sealed myself inside these memories 

because that future seems distant, otherworldly.

Years of therapy inscribed throughout my ages

coax me to keep turning all these faded pages

because the moment I place in that final period

I know my story will reach its end, prematurely,

a life unlived 

No, my body is a star, and my torpid core still spins

fusing hydrogen, then helium, carbon, then iron,

I expand my confines into a void until I dissipate

as nebular gases, vibrant, nutrients for the next

age, because there’s always a new page to turn,

a new swift sunrise to see, a new era to live.

Our stories are the stars distant worlds see, 

ancient from bygone eras, stellar remnants waiting to be found 

by those who walk in our wisdom, heeding our messages that healing is tidal in nature,

and the roads along the way are never direct, seldom smooth.

We’re reforged from fallen stars, and our light will grow more radiant

with each passing moment because the agony it takes to mend is never infinite

, and sometimes solitary, but a shared journey, when taken, 

brings us one step closer to recovery. 

GAS Featured Poet: Chris Bodor

 

Chris Bodor, lives in St. Augustine, Florida and has been writing poetry consistently since 1993, when he started a job in the Film Department at an art college in New York City. He traveled to and from work each day for three hour round trip. He soon became know as the "Train of Though Commuter" because of the volumes of poetry he hand wrote into spiral notebooks during his back and forth ride. In 2003, he derailed and moved to Florida with his family and his wife's parents. After a seven year torturous dry spell, Chris set up a PA speaker and a microphone at a local coffee chop and invited the community to share their spoken words. Under Chris' direction, the Ancient City Poets Open Mic has been running consistently on the last Sunday of every month since August 2009. During the global pandemic they migrated to an online gathering. A YouTube channel was created to document the St. Augustine poetry scene. 

During the early days of lockdown in April of 2020, Chris was contacted by a local musician named Ryan Bozeman. AKA brotherwell, Ryan has been writing and recording music for the past twenty-five years and has been involved in numerous musical projects. Ryan views songwriting as a type of therapy and spends several hours a night writing and recording. Key influences include The Beatles, Radiohead, Frightened Rabbit, and Sigur Ros, as well as 90s grunge and alternative rock.

Ryan asked Chris if he would help round up a dozen poets to collaborate on a series of songs about recovery. Why recovery? “Landing on the theme of recovery can be seen as a sign of the times." said Ryan. "Whether it’s the trauma of COVID-19, the exhaustive forced hibernation of quarantine, the corrosive nature of our current political state, or any of the battle scars from lives well-lived, it seems as though we are all in some state of recovery." Ryan is in his own state of recovery and realized that collaboration with other poets and artists was a healthy way to come out of his shell. 

Chris can certainly write about the subject of recovery. “My last drink was in October of 2008." said Chris "My life had become unmanageable, and I asked for help. I got the help I need from a group of friends who were also seeking recovery. During COVID-19 insolation, Ryan turned one of my poems into a song. I was blown away with what he was able to do with my words. This project is very cathartic, and I think it speaks to many.”

~ ~ ~

Check out the brotherwell collaboration with Chris Bodor:

Present Moment Bliss

Words and spoken words by Chris Bodor

Music and additional sung lyrics by brotherwell

Check out all of the songs from the re:cover project.

A collaborative project that blends words of poets with the music of indie/alternative musician brotherwell from St. Augustine, Florida. All proceeds of this project will be donated to recovery-based charities. 

Present Moment Bliss 

 

Never a worry

of how hours were spent

when days were young

and quite innocent.

Heartbreak burned life

down to the ground

a broken timepiece

tightly overwound.

I want to know

if the custodian cares

about the accumulation

of unanswered prayers.

Trapped in a cage

wasting countless hours

traveling down the same road

speeding past the wildflowers.

Barricades were built

consumed by shame and guilt

suddenly I smile like an adopted dog

sunlight blasting through the fog.

A giddy show of teeth

instantaneous and brief

present moment bliss

an invitation not to miss.

To reach freedom

I had to admit my wrong.

I discovered the solution

it was inside me all along.

The Boy Who Blocked Out the Sun

There must be a way

to block the sun 

that is blinding my eyes

on the morning drive to work.

Grow a taller tree

Build a higher building.

Squinting on the drive to work,

I fantasize about constructing a wall

to block out the infuriating,

interfering sunshine.

and if my plan comes true 

then I will have won

this self-manufactured contest of life.

Printed out on colored paper

a certificate stating: 

“Congratulations:

to the boy who blocked out the sun.”

GAS Featured Poet: Matt McGuirk

Matt McGuirk teaches and lives with his wife and two daughters in New Hampshire. He was a BOTN 2021 nominee and has poems and stories published in various literary magazines. His debut hybrid collection of poems and stories, Daydreams, Obsessions, Realities, came out with Alien Buddha Press in late November of 2021 and is available on Amazon, linked at the end of the bio and also linked on his website. Follow him on Twitter: @McguirkMatthew and Instagram: @mcguirk_matthew. 

The Salvage Yard

Walking through aisles lined with twisted metal

looking for something

salvageable, something to part out

or

something that can be buffed out

and might shine again in

all that is mangled and dull.

 

A bumper that once reflected light,

now wears a grass necklace.

A door that was opened for a date,

an act of chivalry

is now hanging lazy, unable to offer any gesture.

Leather seats cracked with spiderwebs

from too much time in the sun

and an undercarriage rotted by rust

from salt spattered winter roads

would need to be released

or replaced.

 

The sun crested between the waiting hilltops,

pulling in hues of orange and yellow

and washed across a pristine, dust covered windshield

aching for the wind of a highway at 70.

I feathered the bills in my pocket out

and thought about the window down

and the radio cranked. 

The Salvage Yard collaboration with Brotherwell. 

Original poem published with Words and Whispers Journal

Teaching Satire Simpsons’ Style

 

Satire is something not everyone gets,

but isn’t that the way with most things?

I give a pretest and a few students can define it,

but the majority leave it blank, put a question mark or guess,

but I expect that anyways.

 

We’ll get to Stalin, Lenin, the Russian Revolution

and the rise of the Soviet Union

eventually,

but sometimes they just need something in their world.

 

I tell them, “The Simpsons is a satire!”

They just look at me,

not believing until they see, or hear in this case.

The Simpsons are my go to and they know that,

so they know there’s a point, there’s always a point.

“It makes fun of family issues.

Homer is stupid and accident prone

and works as a nuclear safety inspector,

in charge of keeping a whole town from blowing up.”

They nod and I know they’re getting it.

“After work, he goes to the bar and gets drunk

and what does he do when he gets home?”

They lean in and I know they’re hooked.

“Strangles his son! But we all laugh. So really the Simpsons are dealing with

heavy issues: education system, addiction, abuse.”

 

Sometimes it just takes something a little closer to home

to get the point across.

Sometimes the nightly news can’t always start a conversation

and we need to use our daily laughs to do it instead.