May & June 2019
Vol IV No III
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
From the Mad Mind
of Anthony Watkins
Three poems from my upcoming collection, Written in Darkness.
On Flaghole Road
the sounds of my mind
and one rooster
who thinks I should be
waking at one
in the afternoon.
The breeze blows quiet,
cooling the hot
January sun.
I hear my toothache,
the sound of
my impatience,
beating against the sky—
ablaze with emptiness.
The white dog,
on the sidewalk,
carries the dead
white chicken trophy
in its mouth.
Some neighbor
will not be impressed.
The rooster now crows
the two o’clock hour,
the tooth is still there,
the lady who I am to see
still isn’t,
but I have mosquitoes
and lizards to catch them.
I Have Been
to John Stretch,
I have seen
the vultures,
I have climbed
the dry levee.
There is no lake,
no river:
only an island,
if you can have
an island without
water.
I have been to John Stretch,
the vultures know
my name.
​
​
By the House with the Patched Red Roof
the bird dog slopes
across the back yard,
rolls and scrapes his back
in the dry grass,
looks at me at fifty paces,
sniffs the air
and wanders over
to the horse pen
and out to the bucket shed.
The red rooster watches
in the shade
of an overgrown weedbush.
Anthony Watkins
