Exterminating Angel Press

Creative Solutions for Practical Idealists.

poetry

Grandeval.

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by Cliff Beck.

When the Hittites took Babylon I was not there
nor did I fight in Iraq for Bush and Blair.
I refused the cross, was never on crusade
and bought no penance, yet still paid all my dues.
I wasn’t seen when the great witch hunts were made
and was never one to name, shame and accuse.
I didn’t demonstrate nor join the Red Brigade
and served no flag, keeping independent views.
I had no facebook page, avoided digital rage,
felt no need to twitter, but privately recused.

Empires rise, silver bullets are forged,
causes fail, truths are ignored
as generations come and go
each chanting a new credo
sincerely, hearts aflame,
unaware the world remains the same.

I read widely of our history
but failed to solve the mystery.
I planted many tree clad hills
but most were shorn for greedy mills.
I wandered far and wide
to see the other side.
I walked through glass clad halls,
heard many clarion calls
summoning the faithful
to do their duty and share the booty.
I met with countless men in black
learning that they hunt in packs
and expropriate the best intentions
to support their toxic interventions.

But then I stood to one side,
luggage left on the carousel
and with the zeitgeist defied
said farewell, went into my shell.
In quiet anonymity
I found a benign liberty
where the world overlooked me.

I sowed a few seeds,
tended them with care
and removed the weeds.
I lobbed pebbles into ponds
and wondered if the ripples
travelled into the beyond.

Now I live in an old house on a dusty street
Watching as the rodents scurry back and forth;
An old man, waiting for rain.

 

Cryptic Dreams.

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by Barry Vitcov. Before waking from a baseball game where the right fielder was an amoeba a limbless organism without arms playing a position requiring the best arms in a championship game doing the most harm. Or was I confused? Maybe it was a player named Joe Amoeba, or Mickey, or Willie, or Duke. What […]

A Piecemeal Crisis.

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by David Selzer. We are nearly two months into spring, only moments away from summer, and yet, yet, though three swifts have returned from Africa, though a pair of ungainly wood pigeons court in a neighbour’s gutter, though there are hot days perfumed with plants and bee laden, wintry winds from the north harry clouds […]

Untitled.

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by Artur Grabowski. My friend is a contractor, so everything he says is concrete. As hard as an emergenc night shift, and as short as a thirty year mortgage in quiet proximity to other mortal creatures. Our frequent arguments end in politely stubborn disagreements over the nearest place to park. See, you’ve got to be as […]

Compromise with the Air.

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by Marissa Bell Toffoli. The edge of the world glows in the evening, enchants city buildings. Take in the view from on high. Gossamer bridges span dappled bay water, the skyline floats above foundations. You stand like a lighthouse, rigid with responsibility, signaling endlessly from your precipice. Watch as a crow swoops through the scene. […]

Foul weather (a parable).

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by Artur Grabowski. (Translated by Charles S. Kraszewski) He left the house and sat down on the seashore. Over there, far away, the navy-blue stripe beneath the uncovered sky. Past it broad fields, as cold as a fish-skin fur. Further on the greenish-yellow colour of life. On the smooth strand, transparent crescents outlined in foam. […]

San Diego Zoo.

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by James Croal Jackson. after our red leash became frantic unsure of what grip the wilderness had or which eyeline to focus on oh aquamarine jewels oh black-silk storks name the artist who decided traffic was a logjam in their brain all you must do (golden hour brown on the frizz of your hair) is […]

Kitten Dreams.

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by Bruce E.R. Thompson. Feel your whiskers! The garden calls, for it will soon be night. The time has come to breach the door and scuttle out of sight. No sound will vex the silence but the calling of a loon, as, on soft paws, we creep beside the shadows of the moon. Beside an […]

Those Wild Animals Our Dreams.

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by JW James. moving slowly through the forests maybe you only get a glimpse the fox of nowhere the foxes of nothing your sensual psyche stretches across the landscape you are a deep hidden lake of everything when you drop down when you lift the skies there is no turning back and nightblack-feathered raven blocks […]

A Holding Undone.

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by Marissa Bell Toffoli. So, we speak of the past and the passed in whispers for their sake and our own; swing open the hinges of our chests offer flight to memory, aghast, we release these semiprecious stones. We speak well of the passed and the past afraid to let on when we feel pissed, […]