Halloween in Cambodia

So you sucked the blood
from a girl or two
and think that you're a fright.
Turn into a bat,
drop the hemostat.
You're a creature of the night.

You make your escape
in a black silk cape
and sleep inside a tomb.
Dream 'til noon
of a dining room
and all who you'll consume.

You think there's nothing left to fear
but your fangs won't help you here.
Brace yourself, my dear.
Brace yourself, my dear

for a Halloween in Cambodia
where even vampires scream.
It's a Halloween in Cambodia.
No escaping this bad dream.

Werewolves might take
a sheep or two
and kill them while they flail
but they can't outdo the human race
making death
on industrial scale.

No candy bars
or trick or treat
keep Khmer Rouge away.
Bullets in backs
knives to throats
in gruesome porch displays.

Now the death squad's had their fun.
Even monsters turn and run.
Better flee, my son.
Better flee, my son

from a Halloween in Cambodia
where skulls are stored on racks.
It's a Halloween in Cambodia's

Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot
Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot Pol Pot

If you spend Halloween in Cambodia,
you'd better change your plans.
It's a Halloween in Cambodia.
No killer's worse than man.
Pol Pot

by Jon Wesick

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Jon Wesick is host of San Diego's Gelato Poetry Series and an editor of the San Diego Poetry Annual. He has published over two hundred poems in journals such as The New Orphic Review, Pearl, Pudding, and Slipstream. He has also published fifty short stories. He has a Ph.D. in physics and is a longtime student of Buddhism and the martial arts.


The Lighter Side of Multiple Personalities

Sanity's overrated;
Stability's for loons.
Why have only one mind
when you can have a few?

The conversation's perfect,
(unless we can't agree)
in the end it all comes down
to sharing space in me!

It's standing room here only,
cramped in with one another.
Stuffed inside my tiny brain,
at least I have each other!

We bicker, bitch and banter,
and stand apart point moot.
Different personalities;
at parties we're a hoot!

Some people say we're crazy
(I don't see the appeal)
for when it comes to battling wits
I always choose dual-wield!

by Jasper Sole

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Jasper Sole has never really considered himself to be much of a poet, per se. For now, he's just another person who happens to put a few thoughts into fancy words every once in a while and dares to call it creative. He occasionally enjoys writing utter tripe and watching people try and glean sensible information from it, and on weekends he likes to pelt pigeons with small pebbles. He's totally deep and in touch with his emotions and all that. Oh, and he's totally single. Ladies.


Bad Romance

Do not let the clich├ęs fool you.
There is not someone for everyone.
Many of us will end up alone.

I will, and I for one, am okay with that,
Because my singledom is self-selected.

It's oversimplification to say that what a man wants,
Is an angel in the streets, and a whore in the sheets.
What I want is much more specific.

I want Laila Ali in a street fight.
Because if someone hits her, and she doesn't knock them out,
I'm going to kill them.

And I don't want a whore in the sheets,
Because I paid too much for my shit to have it torn up like that.
Nah, I want a whore in the church. Because that's a funnier visual.
I also want to stick it to those religious types who label any woman who likes sex, as a whore.

But I want more than that.
I want a poet in the kitchen, someone who can make me a sonnet omelet,
Served with a knife and pen.

I want a daydreamer in the bathtub, a karaoke partner in the car, a three-plate eater at the buffet table, who doesn't mind tattoos, but doesn't have any, and would never get one, who has seen every episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, twice.

But really, like anyone, I just want someone who gets me.
But until that person exists, I'll be found perfecting my jack off technique.

by Josh Smith

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As he grew up, Josh Smith's parents told him that he could become anything he wanted to be. Decades later, Josh decided that he wanted to be Anthony DiNozzo; but seeing as DiNozzo is a fictional character on the TV show NCIS, he settled for being the hottest rising poet in the Northeastern United States. For a less facetious bio, visit joshsmithpoetry.com


Wolf Just Has to Say

I have eaten
the tiny lady
that was in
the bed

and that
you were probably
to visit

Forgive me
she was deliciously
tender meat
for one so old

by Noel Sloboda

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Noel Sloboda lives in Pennsylvania... near the Amish. He is the author of the poetry collection Shell Games as well as several chapbooks. More information about him can be found here: http://www2.yk.psu.edu/sites/njs16



I think that I shall never see,
a food that doesn't agree with me.

I whose hungry mouth is pressed
against the pie with lemon zest;

I who looks at food all day,
and lifts my heavy arms that sway;

I who may in summer wear
a net of chocolate in her hair;

Upon whose bosom crumbs have lain;
who hates to have her bagels plain.

I think that I shall never see,
my feet somewhere below my knees.

by Anne Skalitza

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Anne Skalitza is a freelance writer who lives three blocks from the Atlantic Ocean. No matter how many times she has tried, chocolate bars just do not survive the summer sun at the beach. When trying not to wrest food away from the seagulls, Anne loves to read cozy mysteries and has even been seen reading cookbooks from cover to cover. Visit her blog at anneskal.wordpress.com