The Scum Gentry Poetry Hole

Bukowski Afternoon

Bukowski Afternoon

Poetry
Paul Tristram
I awake upside down and giddy, again.
Head upon the sticky carpet
With my body sloping up
At an insane angle
Onto the settee.
I gag, cough and spit something
Wet sponge textured and ashtray tasting
As far away from me as I can manage.
Twist, fall and pull myself up
Onto my shaking legs,
Steadying the sloshing mess of my insides
By grabbing a-hold of the settee arm
And squeezing tight.
As my battered soul tries ...
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Three Poems

Three Poems

Poetry
Rachel Coventry
WITCHING
.
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.
.
THE TRUTH
.
They burnt out a wheelie bin
At the end of our road.
...
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Baiting

Baiting

Poetry
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

Poetry
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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Pale

Pale

Poetry
Dableo
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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She

She

Poetry
Ian Critchley
She held a seed, in a
Cupped fist like a
Womb,
And as she slowly decreased
Her grip, the sun
Hit,
.
And the seed began to sprout
And blossom,
In bloom.
I said, “it reminds me of you,”
And that “once you let the dark
Out,
The light in,
You could flourish.” ...
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