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Poetry Pg. 3  Winter 2010



The British Invasion, Or How I Became Popular
 With The Girls

        by Bob Bradshaw
The cool boys
wandered around the classroom
just before the teacher showed up
throwing erasers and spit balls.
I had transferred to the school
in early February.
One model citizen greeted me by spitting
into his left hand and "polishing"
my face.
But after the Beatles arrived
nothing those boys did
could break up the knots
of giggly girls talking
about the British invasion.
It was as if a meteor had smashed
into the planet, changing everything
over night. Anyone with a future
was learning to play an instrument.
My parents envisioned me college bound.
Their son, a doctor with a cold stethoscope.
But I righted myself, and took on
a more respected career:
'Lead guitarist'.
Bio: Bob lives in California, where he dreams of retiring to a hammock and listening to the Rolling Stones.  Mick may not be gathering moss, but Bob is.  Recent and forthcoming work of Bob's can be found at Cha: An Asian Literary Review, Writers Connect, Halfway Down the Stairs, Chantarelle's Notebook and Orange Room Review.




   by Patrick Pillars

Autumn sky pushes red sunset
into the rolling green lake,
sails catch the rising wind
like a turning maple leaf;
one more trip as winter
storms gather on the horizon,
one day late October.

Heading for the safety of shore,
lightning flashes across the clouds
filling the sky with thunder;
taut ringing sings along my nerves,
watching the dark storm horizon,
one day late October.

Cold surging lake water washes
over the side as the boat leans
into the deep, dark waves;
rain smears my vision of home
as the mast finally splinters;
one day late October.

Storm clouds race into the east
as the dying wind dances;
rolling waves push what remains
onto the rocky shoreline,
I roll through tattered sail,
one day late October.

In the rise of the moon
I lay tangled in the sand;
body and soul torn asunder
in the wooden wreckage
of my afternoon dream;
one day late October.

Bio: Patrick Pillars has been writing stories and poetry since he was in grade
school and over the years, has published numerous poems in the small
press. He lives in Michigan with his
wife and three sons.





            by Mike Berger


People going through robotic rituals;

acting out a tragic charade. Caught

up in the downturn, they wrestle with

the demon, depression. The depths of

the blahs grows deeper every day.


That devious demon laughs as it

tightens its grip. Food is sawdust, but

they eat too much. Can't get out of

bed in the morning; sleep didn't come



Looking through the want ads is

perfunctory; looking for a job that

doesn't exist. Cut back on everything;

sell your golf clubs on eBay.


The government should forget the

the bailout's and stimulus packages.

They could achieve the same effect

at 1/10 the cost. Uncle Sam simply

needs to put Valium in the drinking

water. The crisis would persist but

no one would care.




Mike Berger, PhD is bright, articulate, handsome and extremely humble.