Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
Your grief and rage are layers of peeling paint pasting together the rotted boards of a ramshackle house and when those layers are scraped away the bat-filled building collapses into a massive sink hole which gives birth to a ravenous mouth crammed with rows of shark teeth that devours everything I consider mine. So the night is long. Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Rocky Mountain Runaway
Chi come la fenice può rinascere?
Poetry Mud
Ideas, opinion, tips, advice, inspiration, and motivation of daily life.
CGFMEDIA
Flowing with the flow.
Lettura racconti gratis - Free reading of novels
Everybody has a story. Here's a little of mine.
Quando si ama si dona
Sono una donna libera. Nel mio blog farete un viaggio lungo e profondo nei pensieri della mente del cuore e dell anima.
the literary asylum
Art, health, civilizations, photography, nature, books, recipes, etc.
Photographer obsessed with water, and with taking photos.
Philosophy is all about being curious, asking basic questions. And it can be fun!
Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time
A learner for life….wants to live fully….destination matter so does the journey…every movement to feel alive…and die with peace in eyes…being me…
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 
Oh my! I definitely felt this one.
Fits so many situations/people that won’t let you walk away, because of their own tapeworm-like appetite.
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Thanks, Liz.
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Love the opening three lines. Great work!
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Thanks very much.
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The second mate kept telling us how
Wrong we were, and that
What we heard about him was wrong too.
He was a chapel man you see and every Sunday
He wore his hat and read the gospel aloud
To all who would listen. There was a cat
On that boat and she listened, curled on his bunk.
Until one day you wake up screaming
We left with the tide. Chug, chug, chug.
– C.Elwydd Abel Prentiss
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