The Tin Man
Wasn't I more truthful
when all I could do
was groan? Though
Dorothy oiled my jaw
so I might speak, how
to tell a girl with silver
shoes, a girl who rides
cyclones, how
could I say what a year
locked inside my
rusting tin can self
felt like? I told her
and the Scarecrow
I wanted a new heart so I
could fall in love again
with the beautiful
Munchkin girl I
had once courted.
But when the Wizard
with his tin snips and sawdust
made me complete,
I wanted
only to rule
the West of Oz...
by
Tracy Mendham: more -->
Zappa's Penis
What my mother remembers most from seeing
Frank Zappa in concert, back in the sixties,
Back in the freak days (both Zappa's
And my parents'), back when mom
Wore her hair washboard straight
And blonde enough to blind, when dad
Had a ponytail and earring, when I,
Or half of me, at least, floated
Next to half of my sister in an ovary,
What Mom remembers most from that night
Isn't the music, or the drugs she hints
They took, or how Dad danced
But Zappa's penis, the biggest I've ever seen,
She says, thirty years on, wistfully,
The way you might recall a vacation
To the World's Biggest Ball of Twine
by
Colin Rafferty: more -->
The Life of Umbrellas
I want to live the life of umbrellas,
full of sudden openings, of stealth and travel.
To sometimes fold my bat wing heart away
and reach over your head
to close you in a bubble.
On the path across the Ponte Vecchio
in light drizzle, I would parasail you, keeping out
the scorch of a moghul-arched cloud,
the rattle of a strong gust. I might turn
inside out, becoming the reverse
of myself, and you could follow,
unsuiting as fast as gypsy fingers
find a pocket on a March day
in a square dotted with drops.
by
Rachel Dacus: more -->
They hang in the dark
corner of a room, three black
duffel bag sized sacks
like giant eggplants, upside down,
wrapped in a woven membrane
like a nylon sock. The face
pressed in the bottom of one pouch,
eyelids closed, is a girl I knew
from high school, her hands
still puffy, clammy & cold. Mark Gibbons: more -->
Just because the snow is bright before you
Doesn't mean I'll come, for there are better things
Than snow upon the moonlit hills at midnight.
You might falter, descending from the train,
Startled by the closeness of the stars.
And just because the train is gone behind you
Doesn't mean you'll turn and find me there.
Catherine Conlan: more -->
Old man Farley butts his eight
eighty year old teeth
against a bone
of deep fat fried chicken.
There are men at Eddy's Corner
who used to share
whisky nights with Charlie Russell
and wake alone on the crop-dusted hill.
They smoke too much and shot too many guns. Nothing
burns their throats anymore.
Joseph Capista: more -->
I steal back the half-chewed pig's ear
from my dog's mouth and with needle
and dental floss, I sew it into
the mattress on my wife's side of the bed.
more -->
A man builds an airplane from a kit. Another learns how to make Orange juice. Read two poets' versions of their own funeral or ponder relationships and air cooling devices in "Air Conditioner" or relationships and air sucking devices in "Hoover". We read this issue over and over. That's how good it is.
Also, make sure to catch the Heavy Metal Issue's artwork by Gumball Poetry long-timers Ben Parzybok and Laura Moulton. Want to submit artwork for an issue? Go here
Winter 2000 To our surprise, we all survived Y2K. Want to see what's on the mind of our brave, new millenium poets? Read this issue.
Fall 1999 Issue The good times just keep rollin'. Submissions seemed to be concentrated in the subliminal, the fairy tale, youth, and, of course, sex. Everything's about sex, eventually, isn't it?
Summer 1999 Issue Our Inaugural Issue! It was
a real doozy, read about cornfields, sex, whales, childhood, skyscrapers,
the plight of poets and more in this outstanding issue.
