A Father to Two Beautiful Girls

PoetryPhrog

by Catherine Smith

A father to two beautiful girls

Who thought more of their dad than anything in the world.

The love they gave you was just not enough,

But how can you blame them for your own stuff?

It wasn’t your girls that made you run.

It was the lost love of their mother that handed you the gun.

Some might say she’s a fool for not stopping you,

But how can you blame her for the things you do?

Going to the park was such a smart choice.

At two o’clock in the morning no one would hear the noise.

But you had it all planned; you told her before.

Then you blamed her for letting you walk out the door.

Yes, killing someone makes you so much bigger than the rest.

At least no one but you will have to deal with your nest.

Your life was jut way too hard,

But was she the one to blame for all of the scars?

It was almost as if your life was a game.

You played until you finally reached your fame.

Did you reach the level you wanted in life;

Or is she to blame for not wanting to be your wife?

Leaving now was such a great plan,

No more worries about her leaving you for another man.

What a smart thing indeed to shatter your own window.

How can you blame her for not wanting to be a widow?

No One Can Protect Her

PoetryPhrog

by Chelsey Lucas

Solemn, she looked down upon her America and cried,
            What have you become?

Her faded jean overalls scratch on the crumbling steps
of her three story multiple family
home
crammed and destitute,
poor, like her father who,
with hands cracked, worn, and covered in dirt, worked several shifts at many jobs,
there just wasn’t enough for them.
There was never enough.

America, what have you become?

Your children’s children are starving in the streets
And your brave policemen are afraid of the fags in NYC
And your businessman are bankrupting You, America,
            What have you become?
With your poor getting poorer
            streets getting darker
            cities getting smaller
            heart beating softer

Little girl crying at gunshots in the ghetto
but her daddy’s at work,
he can’t protect her. America, no one can
protect her.

America, what have you become?

For a Minor Fee…

Fiction Phrog

By Leeland Hindman

Archer Page

Number- Unknown

Address- Unknown

Dear Mr. Man Behind the Curtain

I would like to offer my services to solve the most peculiar problem you seem to have. There is no need to be ashamed of what you want accomplished for it is a natural fact of life, some people just need to die. That is why you need the best, and as you will see from my experience that I am the man for the job; for I can accomplish any job even if the target is not of this world, although I charge extra for that.

 I know that over the years this great field of study that I have dedicated my life to has become diluted and contaminated with such second rate lackeys. These people, who only do the job for money, have no passion, and always seem to make a mistake. I, on the other hand, do this job for pure enjoyment and pleasure, but do not believe that I work for free.

I hope that you make the right choice in your selection, remember that just like wine there is the cheap shit that only fat chicks and white trash seems to enjoy, and there is the 30 year aged 57% Merlot/ 43% Ice Wine. I’m sure you can figure out which category I place myself in.

Experience:

Ah, where to start in my vast history?

I suppose one of the best places to start would be in Texas during 1963. I’m sure that you have heard of what took place that year. A certain leader of the free world had set his eye on the Federal Reserve, and my clients could not allow their precious hold on the U.S. to falter. So I was sent, and, as you can see, I accomplished the job.  A fall man was also placed without my knowledge and I sometimes wonder what would happen if he would have survived, perhaps they would have lost their banks anyway.

 The next best place to start would be May 13 1981: I was contacted by a few men who wished to send their message to the leader of the church. They did not like his free thinking and encouragement of the church and science relationship. They wanted their presence known, but they did not want him dead. So I provided a unique job for the circumstance which went favorably well.

 I suppose the next logical step is August 31 1997. I was contacted by a man inside the royal family who wished for his earlier love to disappear. I was happy to accommodate by cutting the brake lines ever so slightly so that they would go out just as they reached the tunnel, and might I say, it worked well.

Now that you read over this impressive resumé you must be wondering how to reach me. Well simply look inside of yourself, to the deepest darkest part, which you hide to world and only show to the darkness. All you need to do is let me out and I’ll take care of the rest, for a minor fee of course.

We

PoetryPhrog

by Justin Oberg

We sleepwalk

            Eyes closed

            Ears shut

            Minds off.

The hate we awake with is

            Not our own.

We are flung

            From the

            Dream

                        Bliss state

And projected into the

            Paranoid hivemind

Our reality is lost behind

                        Glass curtains

                        Of plasma

                        And projectors

            And the imagination

            Has been replaced

            With “reality”

Everyone is out to get us

            And we don’t even

                        Know who “us”

            Is.

And even the clear mind picture

            Is not real enough

Not colorful and not fast

            Enough

                        Enough

And we the poets write

            Uninterpretable critiques

Instead of saying “go back

            To sleep.”

Epiphany

ArtsPhrog

by Blossom O’radovich

Biography


I find inspiration from many different areas of my life and through the experimentation with various mediums continue to learn my strengths and weaknesses as an artist. I can draw inspiration from anything and everything but choose my subjects mostly based on personal impact and secondly on aesthetics. I try to simplify my artwork to show the most important attributes of the subject but also enjoy realism. In contrast to my procedurally limiting studies such as chemistry, physics, and calculus, the arts affords me a creative but also therapeutic outlet I otherwise would not have. My drive comes from an opinion that art really is good or bad, in that it is not subjective; my art is either good or bad and my drive to produce “good” art inspires me to learn and grow as an artist.

Time

Fiction Phrog

By Justin Oberg

It had been almost five days now. Barreling, headlong, through the fabric of space-time, the rattling of the steel and brass death machine I had built annoyed the Hell out of me. I knew that I could not go back and save her. I knew that it would cause a paradox and I would be doomed to go back and watch her die in one of a million different ways each time. So, in my haste and without thought I build this fabulous machine, a wonderment of all technology and science, I thrust myself into the future to look for any other way of saving her. I shook off the memory of my folly. The light blue grey ball that was the Sun as it sped through the sky of night and day, and repeated the process in less time than it took for me to blink, was causing me to become extremely nauseated.  I looked away sharply and found myself staring at the broken brass lever that, at one point had propelled me into this Purgatory I was in now, sat still on the seat next to me, a testament to my unwavering love and commitment to her. As I stared at the brass I laughed at the absurdity of it all. I laughed for what seemed like minutes, but was likely weeks in the world around me. I watched the Sun begin to glow red hot and felt my head become light, I knew it was time; this long without any food or water was too much on my now frail body.  I rested my head next to the brass lever on the old brown leather seat, and allowed the darkness to overcome me.

Self Portrait

ArtsPhrog

By Blossom O’radovich


Biography

I find inspiration from many different areas of my life and through the experimentation with various mediums continue to learn my strengths and weaknesses as an artist. I can draw inspiration from anything and everything but choose my subjects mostly based on personal impact and secondly on aesthetics. I try to simplify my artwork to show the most important attributes of the subject but also enjoy realism. In contrast to my procedurally limiting studies such as chemistry, physics, and calculus, the arts affords me a creative but also therapeutic outlet I otherwise would not have. My drive comes from an opinion that art really is good or bad, in that it is not subjective; my art is either good or bad and my drive to produce “good” art inspires me to learn and grow as an artist.

Hours Old Crane Chicks

ArtsPhrog

by Chris Lagnes

Biography

I enjoy taking pictures of wildlife because to get the great shots you have to be out very early and be very sneaky. I find it so very peaceful when it is just me and the wildlife. In order to get great shots you have to always be prepared and always have your camera. With all of my studies at school, I find the need to get away and use some of the space in my brain for other activities. I also enjoy creating art pieces out of recycled wine bottles. It is a double therapy because you not only get to be creative you also get to bleed a lot and isn’t that the cure for everything?