Have You Seen My Whale Issue # 1
This is the last section, the finale. Everybody here is amazing. Sure, everybody before was amazing, but this is it. We see the end. How have we changed as reader? I feel there are so many new writers here; writers I didn’t even know existed. Happy to meet all of them online as that’s my preferred method of introduction.
Steve Roggenbuck writes about getting passionate in the woods. Wonder about Steve’s dad living in the woods. I thought Steve’s dad lived on a farm. How did the woods get involved? Hope you come over to Steve’s wood place. He’s about to get evening wood. For his encore he kisses witches. Truly Steve is dark. Witches are the darkest things. Warlocks are pretty lame, but witches, heck, I don’t mess with them.
James Ganas has a lot of baggage. I thought he was younger. Nope, he’s a 33 year old robot mime virgin with a freezer full of frozen sperm. He definitely must live in Seattle. That kind of behavior is acceptable in Frasier land. When James isn’t writing he’s the Chuck E. Cheese mouse. I want Panera Bread to get its own mascot: a YUPPIE Koala Bear.
Heath Ison throws his head into a pillow. His head is Halloween candy. And his relationship is scary. Relationships can be scary. With relationships comes support. We all need a little bit of that time to time.
James Root begins a play. The play immediately ends with ear bleed. Radio 4 discusses polygamy. Now polygamy can be a force for good. Look at all those insects. Look at the Queen Ant. She makes whole civilizations. Voices reverberate in the rain with the radio on and James barely notices.
Crispin Best is Soviet Jesus. That’s who communists prayed to in their darkest hours. In this poem Crispin covers the Soviet astronauts before they died to death. They love each other like vegetables. Communism banned stronger feelings from ever being expressed. Cankles are very erotic. In Soviet Russia, cankles kiss you. Cankle kisses are intense things. Why else would the USSR fail?
Cassandra Gillig is King Crab. She runs a mean theater. I’m serious. You do anything in her theater and you’re executed. What kind of play is that? That play would never make it on Broadway. Broadway doesn’t want to murder its audience, at least not most of the time.
Cameron Churchill travels across the world off his own enthusiasm. I highly recommend writing poems while in the midst of nature. I have not done this yet but I only know cities. The countryside is a mystery. September is a better month than Cameron thinks. I love you September. Don’t change a thing.
Derek Murphy has sympathy for Wasps. I don’t. Wasps make nothing. They bite. We at least get honey from bees. I can go to bed knowing the bee that stung me is dead. I can’t feel that way with a Wasp. Vile creatures like Wasps give all insects a bad name. YMCA makes more sense to me. It is fun to stay at the YMCA.
Bianca Elencevski tells us about that time she died. Death is very alt. Most people living on Earth haven’t died. Only a select few have died and been born again. Happy Bianca is one of the chosen few. She better get naked for that shower. Only ‘never-nudes’ shower with clothes. I’m always attracted to people online. Dating sites are the new bars. We get to see her edited tweet selection. That’s a high honor indeed. Nobody ever will edit my twitter selection due to the vast number of URLs I share.
Keegan Crawford looks humorously dead via pillow face plant. I am glad to see Keegan is a fellow wolf supporter. I love wolves too. They are misunderstood. He is a beautiful flower. All flowers go to heaven. Norway is a beautiful Beach House song. I’m sure Norwegian customs are just as beautiful as that song. They can’t be more beautiful though. With all that distance I just love it.
Jackson Nieuwland freaking slays it. The collection becomes a dragon. In Jackson’s right hand is a pen, mightier than the sword. He creates a self-destruct machine. Humans are the ultimate self-destruct machines, with all our cigarettes and yellow 5s. Of course self-destruction is a bleak topic so Jackson moves onto boobs and butts. I think he does that metaphorically in the poem. In real life he does it literally. Rather, the whole collection hinges on Jackson’s closer. A killing machine ends the poor collection’s life.
There you have it: 67 pages to a great beginning for a great site. Wonder if they will ever find their whale. Has anybody seen it? Feel it is difficult to misplace a whale. Maybe I’ll see one on my beach. I want more whale-supportive writing. I’m still surprised not a single poem in the entire collection mentioned whale. Hope next time whales get more of a ‘shout-out’. They earned it.