Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry
Poetry and Commentary that Smells
Let's go down to Union Street
where impoverished people meet
around barrels brimming with green despair.
They'll fidget nervously while we stare,
as each in turn dips a cup,
lifts to quivering lips and drinks it up.
On Union Street the barrels overflow
so we'll see many rounds before we go.
And as they drink themselves blind,
we'll walk through a door they'll never find.
Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief
Artists & writers only exist because the world is not perfect.
The scars of my soul bleed through words in the form of poetry.
A Literary Notebook - Since 2007
Imagination, is the art that runs the world, in Reality and Dreams.
Every soul loves soul music
Craig Bingham
Live While You Can
A Portal To Another Green World
GALERIA DE L'AUTOR. Especialitzat en paisatges de Catalunya i Andorra. Retoc d'imatges i creativitat.
Showcasing Our Rich Culture
Wonktastic, wimblistic; wanderings, wonders.
Thoughts on art and language
Chi come la fenice può rinascere?
Poetry for the less discerning.
Ideas, opinion, tips, advice, inspiration, and motivation of daily life.
CGFMEDIA
Photographer in Stockholm, Sweden
Prime my subconscious, one hint at a time
Pungent Sound Journal of Pulp Poetry 
On Union Street I found the exit door
But I won’t go back down there anymore.
Just one little sip left a lasting curse
Like the bleak words in your brilliant verse.
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Haha. Thanks, Geoff. And well done. We’ll be expecting more poetry from you.
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Brilliant, yes. But the darker side of the winter months, for sure.
Sobriety and lack of despair, and to all, a good night!
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Thanks, Liz.
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