February 2010 A Cynic Online Magazine Publication Volume 12 Issue 2 

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    Page 1

Dilemma
By Iliya Ansky - Contributing Poet

We are standing by the conveyor belt
Eager to claim our own baggage
As the overwrought a/c persistently blows
Agreeable weather upon our heads
In this non-smoking terminal hall
I instinctively ask myself
Who are those gung-ho pale tourists
Going to get possessed by
Once they are out there
In the melon-white heat
A dybbuk or a djinny?


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-ism
By Chris Butler - Contributing Poet

This ignorance
gives birth to
optimistic bliss;

convictive indecisions,
with precise incisions
of blind, deaf and
dumb justice,
to sacrifice saviors
with no known
nemesis, for the
gift of an angel's
instant kiss;

unintelligent design
funding common
nonsensical madness
and incoherent truths;

a meaningless existence
of meaningful extinction,
drastic distinction between

pessimistic
--isms,
systems
to believe in

across an
endless/
nameless
universe.


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The Vietnam Experience
By Frank James Davis - Contributing Poet

Once,
I went to war;
seeking purpose and glory--
finding neither.
Killed human beings
of every size; defending
my country against an attack
on another country.
Knew shirt-sopping fear,
anger, indifference;
finally, madness.
I hunted down the Godless
savage; slaughtered him;
became him.
Once, I went to war.


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Ring on the Second Hand
By Brandon Swarrow - Contributing Poet

Time flies by is cliché you know,
Hey, where did that last minute go?
Are you better, are you wiser?
Make an effort to surprise her?

Twas' precious then, forgotten now
As good a time to make a vow
A minute longer waste no more
Aging, saying you're "just plain bored"

"Forever's" new profound lush tone
Marks each moment a new milestone
Idleness stops eyes open wide
Revealing bright and polished diamonds

It's beautiful to laugh and smile
Take a forbidden chance right now
Life ticks and talks and waves goodbye
Achieve love most before you die


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The Machine
By Carl Alles - Contributing Poet

When color has no meaning
Hot and cold have no feeling
And time doesn't seem to change

When day turns to night
And it's all black and white
Everything feels so strange

When I walk down the street
I just follow my feet
And try to see through the fog

Though I wish it wasn't true
There isn't much I can do
But I too will be a gear or a cog


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When She Visits

By Susan Gieryic - Contributing Artist


Earthly Vessels
By Lee D Rorman - Contributing Poet

The human shell craves,
Thrives with might
Or so.

It flies with joy
Newly found,
Tingling.

Or sags and drags
Long days and
dark.

It seeks and accepts
Love given,
Cherishing.

Or fails and dies
Organs rotting,
Mottled.

It obeys commands
The soul
The captain.

Or scuttles a' shoal
Forgotten
Denied.


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The Voice of Despair
By April A - Contributing Poet

Triangles of half-open doors
Reveal all the truth that is hidden:
Just condoms and cans on the floor,
Black papers with verses, forbidden -
Unfinished remakes of the song,
Deprived of the right to speak loud
Of wicked intentions gone wrong -
Erasers have muffled the shout.

The only illusion-proof mind -
A poet, the voice of despair,
Sincere, the one of this kind
Throws verses far into the air
Right there, in a dirty old flat
Among once great talents, now rotten.
They all have deserved more than that,
But even their names are forgotten.


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A Secret Viewing
By Connie Guihan Ayres - Contributing Poet

Many years later
In the quiet of an evening
with a star-filled sky;
I dream upon a cherished memory
of a simpler time;
A time made pure
by streetlights and snowflakes,
and an upstairs window
overlooking a secret viewing
Of a beautiful world.


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Perspective Draw

By Linh Truong - Contributing Artist




Pop Culture Fried in Lard-Soaked Breadcrumbs
By Eric J Brinovec - Contributing Poet

I watched the plastic dummies flail and melt in the fiery crash..., their constructed looks of molded distress impressed me. Realistic expression pressed on to plastic dummy faces, brushed moving comets in the winds of stronger winds sent out by angry storms..., ready-made personalities are mass-produced for every generation..., the question is, "Do you want to be yourself or find yourself?" Or adopt a mass-produced mask(to fit in smoothly)?, you can convert you image and soul to conveniently fit in for a taxing price...



Concert
By Ryan Dressler - Contributing Poet

Maybe we can go
see a concert tonight, together
in the park. We'll sit over
the fertile grass, and under
the glossy stars. The band playing
its rhythmic beats, with tools
that conceive a unison
of melody, making the sounds
that bring us to the living
once again. Attendants swaying to the
sweet caress of music, thinking no more
of strife and sorrow.
In the midst of it all,
I'll forget the discord
between us, and the joy
of the evening, will bring us
to a newly unveiled
harmony.



Make Lemonade



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