Friday, October 4, 2013

Melissa Davis
A Still Life Portrait
I painted my life when I was twelve
Sunshine and beaches and lots of friends
I would find my match –
A connection for life
We’d have children
We’d party
We’d be rich with never a strife
I restored my painting when I was twenty
Good books, good food, and a few good friends
I would find my match –
A connection for life
We’d have good educations
Wait to marry
Have children later
Be secure with never a strife
And now my painting is cracked
No team can restore its former state
I have no match –
No connection for life
I am alone, lonely
My friends are pills
Reality is a nightmare
And it cuts like a knife.

  I have read work from Vintage Poetryand have noted the high quality of work accepted. I only hope my poem meets your standards. I am a doctoral student and teacher. I have had poems and fiction pieces published with journals such as Leaves of Ink and The Circle Review. My nonfiction has appeared in journals such as the American Reading Forum Yearbook and The Commonline Journal.
Thank you in advance for considering my work.
Melissa Davis

Friday, August 30, 2013

short stores from umehoma new link

cheek out my new link  , short stories from umehomo

Sunday, July 7, 2013

poems by John Grey

John Grey    

Bio is as follows:

John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in International Poetry Review, Chrysalis and the science fiction anthology, “Futuredaze” with work upcoming in Potomac Review, Sanskrit and Fox Cry Review.


a la affection,
amongst the latter-day suitors,
always followed by flowers,
arrive bedchamber
behind which the believed,
beloved, besought,
enter the. big blue room,
window by the bay,
sills copper-casket brown,
like your skin
wrapped round
a face defeated by cameras
eiderdown quilts
fleet and wavering,
having flung your fragrance
for 30 years,
now around your mouth,
another gigolo,
full disclosure


We drive by the site of the murder.
No body, no blood-stain,
no cop car with whirring siren,
no ghoulish bystanders.
But there's no people either.
Not a soul in sight.
It's just this brick wall
with faded election poster,
a sidewalk with weeds poking
through the cracks.
I stop the car, get out.
You stay behind.
I am exactly where the victim was.
You could be as close
as the killer.
We're at the site of a murder
and it feels as if
I'm the first since then
to stand here and wonder,
what if it happens to me.
And who but you,
from such close range,
could ask yourself
what if he's the one
I do it to.
It's not even a murder by this.
It could be love
for all we know.
It could be whatever
we feel or fear
could happen with another.
No violence, no death,
no arrest, no execution.
But we leave the site of that murder
like it's the site
of something in our lives.


and you think you dragged
yourself up from nothing
but not like the nothing I'm from

eating out of trashcans
licking the rain off sidewalks
begging all the alley bums
to be my old man

just look at my face
can't you see the fish-heads
the taste of raw cement
the breath the booze
that I am heir to

so I've cleaned myself
up a little since those days

I only eat the best garbage

I only drink the pavement
outside the fanciest addresses

and I even have a kid of my own
the bum


you're on the mound
you're in command
you're elevated
like your body
is your brain
and they're both pumping

two guys
struck out already
this inning
you're throwing smoke
and the fans are
as rabid as wolves

I'm wishing
I could write poems like that

readers cheering
or tensed up for the next one

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

suffering soul by Mr. d.j.d.b

On the stairs i wept after the horrific sounds i heard kept me awake so scared and afraid to take a look at the aftermath blood stained carpets hand trail marks  along the hall way walls kitchens a mess the sceans are grotesque wishing i had left you days before my death the penalty for loving you with every breath i could in-hale so tell me how you murdered me now burning the house with our worldly possessions to many lessons from what i didn't learn raised alarms but none triggered a concern i hope in hell for eternity you suffer like i did at the whelms of your hands watching karma's plan knowing soon you will greet your fortune doom so i can be at peace and stop reliving the events that took place in that room...... here is the sort of thing i do 

suffering soul 
by mr d.j.d.b © 

  wondering through a lonly place 
by mr D.J.D.B 
Dazed and confused i wonder through the broken streets after being abused by society  feeling slightly under dressed as i stumble pass the only thing that could fix this mess would i make it in to the light an feel the freshness inhale a clean breath of air instead of this poison aroma that.s sent all the innocent in to comas watching the blind being guided by political corruption hearing no words to end this destruction violated the rights made by our four fathers anti publication is what drove us in to this apocalyptic future no proof of identification losing all form of male population animals present the new earths  creation manifestation i'm lost in this wasteland no sign of any human life so i  guess i'm next faced to re-debt this price borrowed when i jumped off a bridge wishing i never lived to regret the things i once did memories of an evil child growing up in the wild west i beg of you lord please forgive these stupid things i have done i confess it was me feeling numb crying in to the palm of my hands coming to terms while the emptiness burns as i try to withstand and out smart he.s plan but there is nothing more i can do hoping to start something new vanishing of in to the desert blue .......

In an English country garden grew a wild rose that brought eternal youth word got to the out side world. The villages started to search for proof looking in every crack and cranny lifting rocks and the roof of every shed bringing the aged before the were dead but this rose could only be found by the purest of pure if you should ever touch a leaf she would no for sure who.s good and who.s poisoned to the core . One day a girl so bright was playing in the English garden when she caught sight of the rose under the beauty of the sun her power shows her magic glows the little girl froze as she lent in to pick this rose but was startled as the redness turned black she tried her hardest but the rose wouldn't go back to growing clouds covered the village sky as judgement day was coming thunder rain being forced from the heavens above it was the English rose.s pain as she who came to pick the rose wasn't as pure as every one knows

Sunday, March 24, 2013

cheek out the new chapbook by Michael Brownstein, A RENDERING OF TORAH " key"is vintage poetry Favorite piece.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Bio: April Salzano teaches college writing in Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Pyrokinection, Convergence, Ascent Aspirations, The Rainbow Rose, The Camel Saloon, The Applicant, The Mindful Word, Napalm and Novocain, The Second Hump, and is forthcoming in Jellyfish Whispers, The South Townsville Micro Poetry Journal, andInclement.  She is working on her first collection of poetry and an autobiographical novel on raising a child with Autism.
Self Checkout
I can hear the genius at Walmart
corporate headquarters, pitching
his new idea:
Why open more lanes
when we can make the customer
do the job FOR us?

Please place your item
in the bagging area…
Ok, item in bagging area. Ha! I’m
my own cashier! I’m avoiding the lines.
I’m saving…no…I’m MAKING time!
Beep. Beep. Wahoo!
Please place your item
in the bagging area.
It’s placed.
Please place your…
It’s. In. The. Ar.e.a.
Please place your item…
Motherfucker, it IS in the bagging area.
Item not bagged.
Skip bagging. Ha! There.
Beep. Beep.
Please place your item
on the belt.
What? Why? It’s in the bagging area.
You said bagging area. Hello?
Assistance required.
Yes, yes please assist me.
Do your job. I am not
a cashier. Can’t you see that?
Please place your item in…
am I wearing a smock? Am I?
the bagging area.
Belt! You said the belt!
Please wait for assistance.
No! I won’t!
Fine! Happy? Waiting
for assistance. To finish
select your payment method.
Card not read. Please wait
for assistance.
Please kiss my ass.
Please wait for assistance.
Ready or Not, Here I Come

1…works it in…

            2…kids later, I’m pleased with the struggle…

3…(pause) 4….(pause)

                                    5…(rhythm established)…

6,7…Yeah, right there (kegel’s working).

8..uh oh…9… I’m…gonna…(No! Wait!)…

10…I’m sorry.
Yes. Yes,

you are.