The Scum Gentry Poetry Hole

Three Poems

Three Poems

Rachel Coventry
My bad soul stayed back
Clinging to your clothes like smoke
Catching in your throat
Moving in peripheral vision
Sometimes a demon grinning
In your vitreous humor.
In its absence I developed
A fondness for charity shopping
Rummaging through piles
Of soiled sweaters with balling,
Picking them up with stiff fingers
Sniffing from a distance
Never buying anything.
They burnt out a wheelie bin
At the end of our road.
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Manz DeFio
He told us he was a Wagoner,
But he didn’t even know what that meant.
Half his buttocks hung in thin air,
The other half planted on the bar stool.
It was hard to figure out
What the smell about him was,
Vaguely onion or vinegar.
I wondered how many times he’d been to mass,
Sitting in the dark recesses,
Listening to the priest mumble,
Scratching his crotch.
I could envision him
Pummeling down country roads
On ...
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Thirsty Thursday

Thirsty Thursday

Metal Maher
It’s eight oh four
I’m seated in the dining area
At a table used for gathering dust
Rather than displaying banquets on
Cigarette ash spilling from the tray
Adding to the dust
Wine in the press.
It’s Thursday you see
And that means a lot to a man
It’s the last night before boorish commoners
Flake out into the streets to have “good times”
But there is wine in the press ...
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Before her last breath,
He laid down a silver coin at her feet
She knew it was her time
Shunning the bargaining stage
Rotted oak trees rise above the stench
Her golden locks trickled across the cracked dirt
Her lung deflated
Her eyes filled with blood
The wind splashed tears along her cheek
Her blood turning cold
The body giving in
Her soul and essence reaped
Returning home,
She basked in serenity
Raul broke the silence
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Ian Critchley
She held a seed, in a
Cupped fist like a
And as she slowly decreased
Her grip, the sun
And the seed began to sprout
And blossom,
In bloom.
I said, “it reminds me of you,”
And that “once you let the dark
The light in,
You could flourish.” ...
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Thoughts During an Uncomfortable Moment with Brenda Browne

Thoughts During an Uncomfortable Moment with Brenda Browne

Laurence Vougiouklakis
I dismiss honesty
Sincerity is tedious
The human heart pumped itself dry 457 years ago
When some fucked up Italian spilled his guts
After too much wine
And complained in a wet alley
“It’s just too much, it’s just too much to take”
He probably said this in some elegant dialect
Possessed by an absurd sense of entitlement
Talking about some vile bitch
Who grew tired of his love-making
Probably too passionate;
Fuck her like an animal ...
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