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The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media
The Scum Gentry New Poetry Magazine, dark poems and poetry online.

Journalisticus Gonzocus Hibernicus - poem by Kevin Higgins

Each morning around four in the afternoon
            a crypt cracks opens and out you crawl,
the shades Michael Hutchence’s valet leant you bravely
            fighting off the viciously sarcastic Irish sun.

Today you’ll be asked, by a last minute replacement
            for Dave Fanning, what it was like
to fondle with both cheeks a bar stool on which
            the more avant-garde half
of Hall and Oates once sat.

            Later you’ll impress
a guy from Clonmel by taking out the plectrum
            the editor of the NME sent you this Christmas,
the one Keith Richards used as a tooth pick
            during the Steel Wheels tour.

Tomorrow, Andrea Corr will text
            to tell you she’s added a codicil to her will,
leaving you shares in the leg of a piano, against
            which Liberace once briefly leant.

When next in L.A. you’ll celebrate
            by making inappropriate use of a cubicle
where it’s said Charles Bukowski, back in the day,
            failed to properly flush.

But first, you’ll hold open a lift door
            for a dude who claims he was once asked to join
Katrina and The Waves. Then home,
            to dream up paragraphs
for a world exclusive on a glass
            of water Adam Clayton once considered drinking,
under the soothing blanket of granite
            where you must, until the next time,
once more die.


Kevin Higgins’s Song of Songs 2:0 - New and Selected Poems will be published by Salmon Poetry in April. His poems have been quoted in The Daily Telegraph, The Times (UK), The Independent, and The Daily Mirror. The Stinging Fly magazine recently described Kevin as “likely the most read living poet in Ireland.”

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Arches - poem by Lana F. Call

the way my spine contorts
like a bricklayer building a cathedral
does this shape please you Lord

sexless arches these mounds
of pious limestone laid
at the feet of man or God

shaped men made in man’s image
not from bone or Adam’s apple shaped
I am this frame

without a painting in it not created
but manufactured wholesale
from the detritus of other things

we built this me
together you and I
architects of this vestibule

an antechamber a prelude a prequel
to                      what
a spider spindling in the corner

where are the wedding parties
the batmitzvahs the triune
streamers and potluck dinners

these pews slouch empty
and                     why
because they saw the foundation poured

they were here the day the glaziers
installed my stained glass windows
unworthy of being gazed through for that

a committee helped select the exact
curve of my steeple this celestial
aquiline angle fit for daily prayer

a sermon on my mount
made unusable simply because
it came from a catalogue

and still I stretch my spine
cock my marbled knee provocative
at just the right flirtatious arc

not too slutty not too chaste
just right but
wrong anyway


Lana F. Call is an emerging poet from the Seattle area. Her work often touches on social issues that are important to a wide audience. She speaks with a message of love, understanding, and overcoming adversity. She has been featured in W.F. Landry’s “Beauty Project”, and in “The Virgina Normal”. She has one published book, “Chambers Street (and other small-heart poems)”. For more information, you can find her on Facebook and Instagram.

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On the Bag with Dan Joy - poem by Daniel Galvin

Met you on the last night of America—
you dived in our cab as we pulled away.

We went on the bag, some apartment block roof,
sun rising white and hot.
You showed me the goals you’d scored that day,
mimed the sweeping boots and turns.

The drugs sent us to the streets,
wandering anywhere, everywhere hopefully,
aimlessly through the Brooklyn dawn,
babbling, mental
my insane reflection in your spaceship eyes.

You called off work (you had a foreman job
ninety Mexicans under you for being a good full forward)
but had to improvise a ten-tonne concrete delivery on the phone,
passing the task to Guillermo
who would be waiting at the back gate.

Job done, we lay under the subway line
sipping hot booze from coffee cups
like the tramp I’d always fancied myself.
I pointed to a psychiatric hospital across the road,
you chirped two please!
We laughed in the same key.

Daniel Galvin is a 22 year old writer from Co. Cork who lives in Galway. He has had his writing published in Hidden Channel Zine and is currently working towards his first poetry collection. He studies Writing at NUIG where his focus is on poetry.

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