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July 2010 A Cynic Online Magazine Publication Volume 12 Issue 7 

The Unknown
By Tom Snee - Contributing Poet

When you make a wish
That does not come true,
Is fate to blame
For denying you?

When you pray at night
For things you desire,
Is God at fault
If you fail to acquire?

Or are these higher forces
Just impartial observers?
In fact, do they even exist?

Or are you the master
Of our own destiny?
Accountable for how you subsist?

Is fate another word
For whatever happens next?

Is God man's invention
To simplify the complex?

Life is too short to ever know
The meaning of truth and certainty,
So, whichever way you choose to go,
Don't blame the unknown
For acts of the known.

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By Steve DeFrance - Contributing Poet

As a child I would hold out my hand
for nickels & dimes.
He would reach into his vest,
next to his gold watch chain,
& jingle them into my hand like magic.
I remember my grandfather, bending down,
a distinguished man, in a striped three-piece suit.

Before I was 8 years old he died.
It seems so distant,
long ago now.
Almost like a film I'd once seen.
After his funeral I'd wait at the
corner expecting him to come home.
I waited for weeks until our neighbor told me
after a funeral people don't ever come back.
That night I dreamt
he was in front of a very long line.
Standing at the precipice
of some vast ethereal chasm.
I was at the back of the line.
I called.
He waved
& dissolved into shadow.

It doesn't seem so very long ago,
yet today, I'm standing in the same
line. There are a few in front of me.
But I'm close to the precipice.
The difference is
there is no one left
at the back of the line,
no one to wait at the corner
for me to return.

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Teen Mom
By Alphonso Amos - Contributing Poet

You donít want to be that teen mom
The one that canít even go to her senior prom
All because you didnít make him put a condom on
Late night crying
Pamper changing
Bottle making
Going out with friends
Going to high school events
Thatís the life you will live
I f you donít be safe and bring a baby in this world
All when youíre just a young girl and a baby yourself
So do yourself a favor and think about what your life is worth
You donít want to be that teen mom

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The Death of Cupid
By Maxwell Baumbach - Contributing Poet

was murdered
in July,
and there is nothing
to convince me

His blood poured
out from the skies,
painting the clouds
a ghastly crimson.

His body lay

His arrows
like delicate twigs
or bones
of the innocent.

His messenger arrived
on horseback.

He sat me down
and placed his hand
on my left shoulder.

and filled with
hung beneath
each of his eyes
as they met mine.

"Your dreams
of summer romance
were laid to rest
this day most harsh."

A lone tear,
lonelier than he or I,
slowly trickled
down his cheek
and fell
to the ground,
now soaked
in Cupid's red fluid.

"Where are
your tears?"
He questioned.

"I ran out
long ago."
I explained,
taken slightly aback
only by an
even greater
in my voice.

A half-broken arrow
fell from the heavens,
glancing the top half
of my left arm.

My now less-precious blood
fell to the ground,
mixing with Cupid's
on a sick cocktail.

It came to a boil
and took the shape
of half a heart

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By Amy Bernays - Contributing Artist

Day of the Iguana

By Yvonne "Evie" Harper - Contributing Artist

By Jonas L Goldstein - Contributing Poet

In all the world of flora,
there's nothing like a tree.
It emanates true beauty
and gives shade to you and me.

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By Marc Carver - Contributing Poet

I picked up some red apples
then a woman came towards me in the potatoes aisle.
I could not take my eyes off of her.
She walked past me
but I kept looking at her.
Then I saw her again near the mushrooms.
She would not look at me
but she must have felt my eyes.
Eventually I came to my senses
and moved to another aisle.
I even went to another part of the shop
but before long
I had to return
to find her.

There she was again
as beautiful as ever
close to the ready meals.
I think that she started to worry about me
so I left.
Another woman smiled at me close to the bread section
but she was not as beautiful as the potato woman.

She began to follow me
up towards the cakes
but I was going back to find the woman of my dreams.
For a second
I considered telling her
that I could look at her all day.
You are the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen
I could have told her.

I went back to try and find her but could not.
The other woman followed me to the check out
and as I left she was right behind me.
But I was looking for her.

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By Donal Mahoney - Contributing Poet

The way I walk these days the tips
of my soles and the edge of my heels
wear out too fast for a man with children.

So I tell Rocco, cobbler nonpareil,
"Tack on four cleats,
two in front, two in back"

so I can walk home between
two shopping bags
and whatever pride I can summon.

All four blocks of concrete,
I'll keep those cleats from clicking.
Ten years ago I wore cleats

as big as doubloons;
I struck them so hard sparks
flew from the sidewalk.

You bet all the girls
in my high school knew
a man was walking behind them.

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Faeries Aren't the Same Without Wings
By KM McElhinny - Contributing Poet

faerie tales are
full of

beasts, knights in
shining armor,
aligerous creatures

flitting acock, abreast
abound, granting

selling dreams.

they produce shit
on a stick,
sprinkle it with

then smile

to the curly
girl, whose eyes

purity is
her trap

she won't
believe in faeries

tiny fingers, snatch
as they flutter

she pops
off their wings

shame on them

for trying
to fool her into
believing in


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War, Politics and Hope
By William E Patterson - Contributing Poet

Late one eve as I feverishly paced thru the channels of this world's electronic eye
The remote control fastened to my hand befell
Unto tales of war and unrest

Images of charred flesh and crushed bones rose
These lost dreams into eternity's nest
Mental anguish kindled my soul as this atrocity
Dropped rain which God does cry

Mother wails over her child sacrificed in
Soldier's death by an explosive mortar shell
Blood smeared face of a Palestinian boy
Toting a rifle like a sad clown caught in a bad joke

Handless limbs of a Zulu girl in the Congo points upward to exclaim victim louder than she spoke
While leaders vie over power and Earth's resources to sell their nation's soul only to bring us closer to hell

Whether Senate, Parliament or Republic
All are the abode of human flaws to be unfold
Legislation ruled by propaganda and favors coerce multitude of good souls to deceive and conform

Yet I watched as snowflakes trickled into bleak streets of Baghdad to become a lull in a human storm
And for once the wave of innocence and play did dance upon the faces of the both young and old

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