New Poem: John Yamrus

 

the name

 

Angel Face 

never seemed to fit Angel Face. 

 

first, 

there was that 

scar that ran from under her chin, 

 

to just 

over her right eye. 

 

then 

there was that skin 

that looked like a pot of boiling soup. 

 

Angel 

could whistle 

by the time she was two 

 

and 

claimed 

to remember the day she was born. 

 

she 

worked 

the counter 

late nights at Manny’s, 

 

had 

a collection of hairs 

from a Persian cat that died three years ago 

 

and loved 

her god-damn little boy 

with a force that made all the sense in the world.

 

John Yamrus is an American poet. His latest  book of poetry Twenty Four Poems (Meat For Tea Press, 2023) is available through Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Twenty-Four-Poems-John-Yamrus/dp/B0BRCC2LTW/ref=sr_1_1?qid=1677577221&refinements=p_27%3AJohn+Yamrus&s=books&sr=1-1

Bold Monkey Review- now on Instagram

 

The blog is now on Instagram: Bold_Monkey_Review

I'll be posting some short poems, photos and info related to the blog. let me know if you have any work that you wish to contribute.

New Poems: John D. Robinson

CHALLENGE

Drunk, I’d challenge the

biggest guy in the bar to

a fist fight or buy me a 

drink,

mostly,

I was ignored and

dismissed as an

asshole,

which I was, 

but,

one time, I

 awoke with a

bruised and

 busted

face, ribs 

aching

like an 

inferno

and a

 torrential

hangover that

calmed with an

early morning

joint and a 

glass of wine,

some soft jazz

and some 

thoughts

 about

getting a 

job,

but I couldn’t

think of

anything that I

could do

or anyone

that would

employ me,

I gave up on

the idea of

getting a 

job 

and sat

looking out

of the

window

as the rain

fell lightly

into the

 streets

as strangers

passed by

each other

in 

silence, as

I looked

into the

distance,

knowing that

someone

somewhere,

knows a

different

life.

 

  

 

GAS LEAK

Ihad it real bad,

a stomach full of

hot searing air,

drunk and

stoned, I lay

upon the floor,

exploding with

flatulence, I

couldn’t help it,

it was constant

and noisy,

just several

yards away, my

friend was 

getting good 

with a lady and 

my trumps

we’re becoming

an interference

with their

romance, I

slurred an apology

then farted with

an atomic

viciousness, that I

swear, for a 

minute moment,

lifted my body,

from the floor

and then another

monster erupted

and I began

laughing and my

friend and his

lover began

laughing and a 

little while later,

my stomach

calmed and the

sun knocked on

the windowsill 

and I slinked off

home to change

clothes and then

make my way

to work, leaving

the lovers to

make love.

 

 

  

JAMMIN

Just like you, loss, has followed me

all my life, loss of childhood,

virginity, innocence, ambitions,

dreams, friends and lovers,

the loss of hope, for something

better, loss of direction

and belief and loss is natural and

should be embraced, 

but we don’t

embrace it, we hold it

up for all to 

see or try to hide it away,

the Buddhists

say that ‘all life is

suffering’

I think the Buddhits may

have something here,

loss

is not something

we get used to, we like to

hold onto shit, like breath

or love

and at some point we have

to let go,

let go of it all,

some Buddhists

and other ways of life

believe in

reincarnation,

well, fuck man, 

I’m always in

for another

jamming session.

The Celibate Rifles - Johnny