His Mount Everest by Donal Mahoney

Bug no bigger
than a comma
scales the wall
next to my recliner.
He's climbing
his Mount Everest

and headed
for the ceiling,
a solo climb,
no bug in front,
no bug behind him.
He has no gear

and miles to go.
He may fall
at any moment.
Let's hope
he signed up
for Obamacare.

Two Poems by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Rolling Antoinette Heads like Hub Caps in the Street

Just wait until they start chopping off heads again
dying breaths
like bags or plastic
in the grocery store checkout
line.

Make any animal desperate
and it returns
to survival.

Civility
is a mask
children wear
every Halloween
to clean up
on candy.

I watch the rolling Antoinette heads
like hub caps in the street.

Six million dead
in the ovens
instead of
pizza.

Like the side mirror
on every vehicle
warns:
objects are closer
than they
appear.



The Price

Thumb wars
are better than
real wars,
but no less
numerous.

Disagreement happens
over the placement
of a placemat.

Let the tree huggers
hug
and the Greenpeacers
peace.

As long as there are human beings
on this planet
with pants that make them
look fat
there will be other human beings
that have to pay
for that.

Three Poems by Rob Plath

DEAR BUDDHA

i agree it’s all
a fucking illusion

but a big whiff
of shit makes you
think otherwise



DEAR ABYSS

gaze at me
all you want

this tea & toast
is so fucking good



CRAZY ONE-MAN PARADE

he walked
the deserted streets
alone
thru thick kafka fog
strange gray confetti rained down
landing in his hair
he was a crazy one-man parade
the tiny ragged squares stuck
to his slim shape
like a mad second skin
he picked one off his arm
it had the word FUCK written on it
they all had FUCK on them
it looked like blood
he screamed three times
& ran home to take
a bath of fire

Three Poems by Mike Meraz

I smoke a cigarette
In a room where
It's not allowed.

I put up a sign
On a wall where it's
Not permitted.

I write a poem
In a style
That is looked down upon.

I am a criminal,
In a sense,

But the cops
Are wrong.

__________________________


The poets
On the edge
Are now
In middle class
Houses
Drinking
Coffee
No longer
Bad asses
Of the
Underground
But coddled
Socialites
Reading
To each other
At the
Latest
Open
Mic.

__________________________


I always dreamed
Of bridges
Not of tall buildings
Or of shotguns
But of bridges
At midnight
When no one
Is looking.

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About Me

Black-Listed Magazine is an online literary magazine. We publish on a rolling basis: weekly, daily, sometimes hourly. Send submissions here: blacklistedmagazine@hotmail.com